Lemonade and Lies (Peridale Cafe Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 7

  “Smells delicious,” Barker said, sniffing Julia’s tea as he walked back in clutching two mismatching mugs. “I’ve always been a coffee man myself.”

  “Two sugars?”

  “You remembered,” Barker said with a nod. “Impressive.”

  “It’s a talent,” Julia said, accepting her mug. “Or a curse. Depending on how you look at it. There’s not a villager’s order in the café that I seem to be able to forget, even if I wanted to.”

  Barker sat in an armchair across from Julia and stared ahead at the blank TV, which Julia noticed hadn’t even been plugged in. She remembered moving into her own cottage, eager to unpack everything to feel right at home as quickly as possible. Adjusting from the city to Peridale had taken her minutes, not months, but she had been born there. She wondered what it must feel like to come to such a small village and be thrown into its hustle and bustle with no time to acclimatise.

  “I heard you were interviewing my father,” Julia said, trying and failing to drop it casually into the silence.

  Barker smirked as he sipped his steaming hot coffee. He reached out and placed the coffee mug on top of a golfing magazine before leaning back in his chair to rest his fingers over his creased white shirt and tie.

  “I don’t like to rule anybody out,” Barker said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he did it.”

  “Did his feet not match the footprints you found?” Julia asked, again trying and failing to sound casual.

  “How do you know about those?”

  “I noticed them when I was at the manor.”

  Barker narrowed his eyes on Julia, a smirk tickling his lips. He sighed and rubbed his eyes heavily with his hands before sitting straight up and leaning against the chair’s arm. The armchair didn’t look particularly comfortable, but neither was the couch under her.

  “You don’t miss a trick, do you, Julia?”

  “I try not to.”

  “No, his feet didn’t match those boot prints, not that we’ve found the boots yet,” Barker said. “It doesn’t mean he’s innocent. Those boot prints could have been made at any time before the murder.”

  “Actually, between about midday and the murder,” Julia corrected him. “When I went to the bathroom earlier in the day, the boot prints weren’t there.”

  “And you only just think to mention this now?” Barker asked, his nostrils flaring.

  “You told me to stay out of things,” Julia said quietly before taking another sip of her tea. “I’m just doing what you told me.”

  Barker stared at her, and for a moment he appeared angry, but his scowl turned into a warm smile. He let out a small laugh and shook his head. Leaning his arm on the chair and resting his head on his knuckles, he stared at Julia.

  “Did you manage to figure out what was missing from the plinth next to the window?” Julia asked.

  “Katie couldn’t remember what was there,” Barker said. “Neither could your father. Vincent Wellington barely knows what day it is. I don’t even think he realises his son has died.”

  “It’s a sad situation,” Julia said. “It’s no life to have.”

  “I can’t help but feel your step-mother is taking advantage of his state.”

  “She’s not my step-mother,” Julia quickly added. “She just happens to be married to my father. We’re the same age, you know?”

  “She looks much older,” Barker said with a small wink. “Did you know she used to be a glamour model? When I was investigating the house, I was surprised to see very explicit pictures of her hung all over her bedroom.”

  “Sounds like Katie,” Julia said. “Self-indulgent and superficial to the core. She told me she was only doing this spa thing because she was bored.”

  Julia recognised the venom in her voice, forcing her to sit up and sip her tea. She thought back to what her gran had told her about her sleepwalking, and the lingering resentment towards her father bubbled stronger than it had in over two decades. That resentment had found a new target in Katie, and she hated herself for being that way.

  “One of my officers saw you snooping around Peridale Manor yesterday,” Barker said, seeming to sense Julia’s thoughts.

  “And what makes you so sure that was me?”

  “I gave them your exact description and told them to watch out for you,” Barker said. “Even I didn’t expect you to jump so quickly into this one.”

  “I was visiting my family.”

  “The family you’re not even that close to?” Barker asked, leaning forward a little. “I asked your father about his relationships. He filled me in a little.”

  “You were asking my father about me?” Julia asked quietly, her brow reflectively arching.

  “It was just routine. We ask all sorts of questions to establish a profile of somebody. He didn’t say much, just that you two weren’t close.”

  Julia sipped her tea, wondering if that was true, or if Barker had purposefully asked her father questions about her to try and figure her out. As the sweet liquorice coated her throat, she wasn’t sure if she should be offended or flattered.

  “My father’s feet are quite big, aren’t they?” Julia asked suddenly.

  “Yes? Why?”

  “Size twelve?” Julia asked. “Maybe eleven?”

  “Eleven,” Barker said, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’m just trying to establish the size of the boot prints found at the scene. If they didn’t fit my father, I’m guessing they were smaller, rather than larger? I’d say size thirteen, even for a man, is a little on the large size. I’d also say it wasn’t a ten either. It’s possible to fit your foot into a boot one size smaller, even if it will be a little uncomfortable. The way you said my father’s foot didn’t fit makes me think it didn’t fit by a long way because you sounded rather disappointed that your obvious suspect didn’t quite fit into the frame, which was why you suggested the boot prints may be unrelated, even though we both know they were. So, my guess is that the prints found at the scene were either a seven, or an eight? From my memory, they didn’t look much smaller than that, which means the murderer has either size seven, or eight feet, or maybe even a little smaller, but not too much smaller. Just like you can fit your feet into a size smaller, you could fit your feet into boots a little bigger, but not too much bigger because boots that large would be too heavy to produce such clear footprints if the boots drastically didn’t fit a person. Am I thinking along the right lines here, Detective?”

  Julia paused to sip her tea and enjoy the look of complete shock that had slowly spread across Barker’s face. She had stitched together the theory in the back of her mind over the last couple of minutes, but it made complete sense to her.

  “If this was a couple hundred years ago, you would have been burned at the stake for being a witch,” Barker said, his eyes widening. “You know that, right?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, and also that I was right.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you didn’t correct me,” Julia said, her hands closing around the warm mug. “If I had been wildly wrong, you would have tried to correct me, Detective Inspector. I know you’re not a man who puts a lot of stock into his pride, but you are a man, which means you like to be right.”

  “What makes you think I don’t put stock into my pride?” Barker asked, his eyes widening as though he really were sitting in the company of a witch.

  “Because if you were a proud man, you wouldn’t have invited a woman into your cottage when it looks like this,” Julia said as she rested her half finished tea on the cluttered coffee table. “Thank you for the boiled water.”

  “You’re leaving already?” Barker jumped up, his head almost hitting the low ceiling.

  “Jessie will be wondering where I am. Unless you want to sit around for the rest of the night discussing the finer details of your case?”

  Barker let out a small laugh of disbelief, and Julia revelled in the fact that she had clearly tru
mped him more than once. When she had first met Barker, she knew he underestimated her, and even though she knew he no longer did, she still enjoyed being one step ahead of him. Just like when she was following somebody else’s recipe for a cake she had never baked before, she liked to guess the next step before reading it. More often than not, her logical thinking proved her right.

  “You’re an extraordinary woman, Julia Smith,” Barker said as he led her towards the front door. “I can easily say I have never met a woman quite like you.”

  “Should I take that as a compliment?” she asked as she fished her car keys from her pocket.

  “I’m not quite sure,” Barker said as he leaned around her to open the front door. “What I am sure of is that I’m going to ask you out on a date, and this time I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Julia stepped out of his cottage, dropping her curls over her face to conceal her sudden blushing.

  “I wasn’t intending to say no.”

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven,” Barker said.

  “I look forward to it,” Julia replied, the butterflies in her stomach swirling around so hard that they were crashing into one another. “One more thing, Detective Inspector. Size seven, or size eight?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The boots. Seven or eight?” Julia said, her fingers gripping around her keys. “For my own piece of mind.”

  “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Barker said, his usual smug smirk returning at being able to trump Julia back. “Goodnight, Julia.”

  Julia walked casually back to her car, and set off up the lane. Just before Barker’s cottage faded from view, she glanced back in her rear-view mirror to see Barker still standing on his doorstep, looking towards her car. The man she had only known for a month was making her feel excited in a way that her husband of sixteen years had failed to.

  Back in her cottage, she was disappointed to see Jessie asleep on top of her bed, not because her lodger had fallen asleep, but because she appeared to be pretending to have done so. It only confirmed to Julia that there was something she didn’t want to talk about.

  Julia made a mental note to investigate two things; she wanted to revisit Peridale Manor to speak to her father, and she wanted to check Jessie’s wardrobe to see what she was hiding.

  Julia left Jessie in charge of the café the next morning for the first time so she could visit Peridale Manor alone. Dark clouds circled above the house as she drove towards it, blocking out the blue sky Julia had awoken to. In Julia’s mind, the dark clouds had been circling all morning. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was being lied to by more than one person.

  “Julia,” her dad exclaimed after Hilary let her into the house, putting up less of a fight this time. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Can I get you a cup of tea, or coffee?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” Julia said as she reached into her handbag to grab a teabag. “I’ve brought my own.”

  “Peppermint and liquorice?” he mumbled as he read over the label. “How – unusual. I’m sure it tastes more delicious than it sounds.”

  Julia’s father handed the teabag to Hilary, who eyed it disdainfully. Brian stepped to the side and let Julia lead the way through the house to the grand sitting room.

  “This is one of the rooms we’re turning into a treatment room,” he said as he sat on an uncomfortable looking antique sofa. “It has beautiful views of the grounds, although I dare say it’s going to rain today.”

  Julia looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows where she could see a team of four working on the new pool. It appeared they were getting ready to pour concrete into the foundations they had dug.

  “Is Katie home today?” Julia asked after Hilary brought through their tea on a heavy silver tray.

  “She’s gone to London for the day for a shopping trip with some of the girls, to take her mind off things. You know what it’s like.”

  Julia didn’t know what it was like. She didn’t have a brother, but if she did, she couldn’t imagine a shopping trip taking her mind off his murder. She tried to imagine the pain she would feel if Sue were taken from her so cruelly, but it was impossible to summon.

  “She seems to be coping quite well,” Julia said as she sipped her hot tea. “Were they close?”

  “Not as close as she would have liked. He was rather jealous of her.”

  “Jealous?” Julia asked, remembering the argument she had overheard between them. “Because she is Vincent’s favourite?”

  Brian’s lips quivered, appearing confused by Julia’s knowledge of their relationship. She busied herself by blowing on her hot tea, wishing she had kept that information closer to her chest.

  “Parents don’t have favourites,” he said with a small shrug. “We just love our children differently.”

  Julia attempted to ignore the irony in what he had just said. If Vincent cared differently for each of his children, Brian cared equally indifferently for his own.

  “This isn’t my first time here to talk to you,” Julia said, resting her tea on the edge of the awkwardly shaped antique sofa. “I was here two days ago, but you were busy.”

  “Katie mentioned your visit,” he said, giving a non-convincing smile. “I suppose she told you where I was? The police were simply just trying to eliminate me because I live here.”

  “And did they eliminate you?”

  “Of course they did,” he said with a small laugh, the suspicion on his face growing. “You don’t think I could push a man from a window, do you?”

  Julia didn’t know what to think. She didn’t like the thought of her father committing a murder, but she didn’t know the man sitting in front of her as much as he was pretending. She remembered what Barker had told her about the boots not fitting, so she shook her head and reached for her tea.

  “And Katie?” Julia asked, wanting to steer the conversation towards the purpose of her visit. “Have they eliminated her yet?”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated by my own daughter?”

  “I’m just curious. I was here. Everybody was here. We all just want to figure this out as much as I suppose you do.”

  “There’s no supposing about it,” he said, his voice growing a little darker. “Charles and I never particularly saw eye to eye. There was a reason it appeared Vincent favoured his daughter. Charles was a loose cannon, a troublemaker some might say. Vincent’s money is old family money, but there’s less of it left than people assume. If Charles had had his way, he would have gambled away every penny the moment he inherited his share of Peridale Manor and it’s dwindling fortune. When Katie suggested to her father that they turn this place into a spa, he was happy to consent. Of course, this was before his last stroke. He doesn’t talk much these days. In fact, he doesn’t do much at all. If he knows his son is dead, he’s not grieving. Charles wasn’t a nice man, nor was he kind to his sister or father. He lived recklessly, surfing from couch to couch. He burned through his trust fund in a matter of years and had been living off hand-outs from his father. Katie is an entrepreneur. She is invested in giving this old place a purpose. She has vision, unlike her brother. She saw the Wellington name becoming a brand so future generations would reap what she had sown. All her brother cared about was getting his cut and wasting it.”

  “Future generations?” Julia choked, her minty tea catching the back of her throat. “I didn’t think Katie or Charles had kids.”

  Brian squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, telling Julia everything she needed to know. She remembered how scared she had been of the announcement, and how relieved she had been when her fears had been proven wrong.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you girls until it was official,” Brian said with a heavy sigh. “We’re trying for a baby, but it’s not easy. We’re having – complications.”

  “A baby?” Julia mumbled, her cheeks burning red. “Don’t you think you’r
e -,”

  “Too old?”

  “Maybe just a little.”

  Brian exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair. He stared ahead at Julia with sadness in his eyes, and for a brief moment, Julia thought she saw years of regret flash through them. In that split second, Julia was looking at the father she was still clinging to in the back of her mind.

  “We have a lot to offer a child,” Brian said in a rehearsed way. “The Wellington name must continue somehow.”

  “You’re not a Wellington,” Julia found herself saying without thinking about it. “You’re a South.”

  “Well, the baby would be a Wellington-South. You get the idea.”

  “I do,” Julia said, her jaw gritting tightly. “Very clearly.”

  At that moment, as if on cue, the heavens opened. Heavy rain pounded down on Peridale Manor, scattering the workman like ants. Julia and her father sipped their tea in silence as they listened to the pitter-patter of rain echo throughout the old manor.

  “Was there anything else, Julia?” her father asked as he stood up. “I have a meeting at noon with some old antiques contacts to ask about furniture for the spa.”

  Julia finished her tea, and placed it back on the silver tray. She followed him in standing, knowing she had dozens of unanswered questions, but she was unable to think of anything other than a tiny screaming baby who would be her brother or sister.

  “There was one thing,” Julia said, gathering her thoughts, trying to think of what was the most important. “After Charles was pushed, I noticed something had been taken from one of the display plinths next the window. Do you know what was there?”

  “Ah, yes. The detective asked me that too,” he said with a small nod, his finger napping his chin. “I’m afraid I don’t. Katie doesn’t either. This house is so big and full of so much junk, neither of us can recall what was there. Vincent would probably know, but it’s almost impossible to get a word out of the poor man. Is it important?”

  “I’m sure it’s not,” Julia lied, not wanting to let him know that she thought the missing item was a possible murder weapon. “Can I use your bathroom before I go?”