Doughnuts and Deception (Peridale Cafe Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 8

  “Julia!” Stella beamed from behind the counter as she walked in carrying her boxes of ingredients. “You came! Max, go and give her a hand.”

  After gratefully handing the heavy boxes over to Max, she joined Stella behind the counter, where she was chopping vegetables for the day’s soup. Julia pitched up next to her and started to sift out her flour.

  “Baking is a skill I always wished I had,” Stella said softly when she had finished chopping the carrots. “God never blessed me in that department.”

  “You make lovely scones, dear,” Max said, diving in to peck her on the cheek. “God blessed you in other ways.”

  “My scones are like rock cakes,” Stella whispered to Julia when Max took the carrots away and dumped them in the giant vat simmering over a low heat. “My husband is too kind.”

  “Baking is like driving,” Julia said as she added in the butter. “Once you learn the basics, you only really start learning for real when you’ve passed your test. When you have the basic knowledge of why certain things work and how ingredients come together, you’ll be able to venture out and start creating your own recipes.”

  “It all sounds far too complicated for me,” Stella said meekly, her fingers brushing over the silver cross around her neck. “I’m more suited to cutting the vegetables. Max has always been the cook.”

  Julia smiled and nodded. She decided against replying. She wondered if Stella knew she had put herself into an outdated stereotype of what a wife should be. It didn’t seem intentional, but it upset Julia all the same. She had been the same way with Jerrad, but it was only when she realised she could fly on her own that she soared. Unlike Jerrad however, Max seemed like a lovely husband. Not wanting to judge how their dynamic worked, Julia turned her attention to sprinkling the chocolate chips into the dough.

  “My mother taught me to bake,” Julia said when she had achieved the perfect chip to dough ratio. “Without her, I doubt I would be able to make a simple sponge cake.”

  “Are you close to your mother?”

  “I was,” Julia said softly, smiling through her pain. “She died when I was a young girl. I still think about her everyday, but I’m not sure if much of what I remember is real, or things my imagination has created over time.”

  “Your mother is here with you in spirit everyday,” Stella said, resting her hand on Julia’s, and then immediately pulling it away. “The dead never truly leave us.”

  It was a theory Julia wanted so desperately to believe in. Over the years, she had felt her mother’s presence, usually when she had hit rock bottom. If she felt her mother’s presence when she was lying in bed at night, or doing the washing up in her café, she might have believed it was more than her own conscience creating the feelings of closeness. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she held onto the hope that she would see her mother again one day.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Julia said as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “It’s a nice idea, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not an idea,” Stella said, her pale brows tilting inwards as though it was obvious. “The Bible tells us so. When Jesus died for our sins, he returned to his disciples and walked among them in death. I believe the spirits of our departed loved ones walk alongside us, even if we cannot see them. Those we love never truly leave us.”

  “Stella, can you take over stirring?” Max called across the kitchen.

  Stella smiled meekly at Julia before scurrying off. Julia didn’t doubt Stella believed what she was saying. She wanted to believe so desperately too, but her logical brain wouldn’t let her believe that her mother was walking alongside her. She glanced awkwardly over her shoulder, wondering if her mother really was there. A cold chill brushed against her neck, making her arm hairs stand on end. It wasn’t until she saw Max closing the open back door she realised how silly she was being.

  As she started to roll the dough into small balls, she looked over to Stella as she struggled to stir the soup with the giant wooden spoon. Julia wondered what spirit was walking alongside her. The pain hidden under Stella’s conviction hadn’t gone unnoticed. Reminding herself it wasn’t her place to ask, she continued to roll her dough in silence.

  By lunchtime, the empty canteen transformed into a hub of activity. Stella and Max’s soup went down a treat, as did Julia’s cookies. Some of the faces she recognised from Fenton smiled at her, but most of them were different people, only confirming to her how widespread the problem was.

  “Do you have a bathroom?” Julia asked Max.

  “We don’t have a public one, but there’s one me and Stella use in the yard.”

  Julia thanked him and pushed on the heavy metal door into the stone yard. The smell of rotten vegetables hit her immediately, radiating from the overflowing uncollected bin in the corner. Clutching her nose she stepped over the rubbish towards the small outhouse. She opened the door and immediately closed it again when she saw Stella.

  “I’m so sorry,” Julia called through the door, her cheeks flushing from embarrassment. “I should have knocked.”

  “It’s okay,” Stella mumbled back as she washed her hands.

  Julia thought about what she had seen in the split second she had seen Stella. She had been sitting on the toilet, but she was hitching her blouse up, and she appeared to be injecting something into her stomach. When Stella opened the door, smiling awkwardly down at the ground, she was clutching a small needle with a blue syringe.

  “I’m diabetic,” Stella said before Julia asked. “Type one. I was diagnosed when I was six, so it’s my version of normal.”

  “I really should have knocked.”

  “I’m not ashamed of it. It’s as normal as brushing my teeth or putting on shoes. God only gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.”

  With that, Stella hurried around Julia and back into the kitchen. When Julia was finished in the bathroom, she joined her behind the counter as Max started to clear away the bowls and plates from the tables that had already finished and left.

  “I didn’t think you used actual needles anymore for diabetes?” Julia asked, trying to sound casual. “I could have sworn it was those injectable pen things.”

  “It is usually,” Stella said. “I’ve been a bit silly. I lost my insulin pen yesterday and I haven’t had time to go to the doctors to get a replacement.”

  “I’d lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

  “It’s not the first time either,” Stella said as she filled up the sink with hot, soapy water. “I lost it on holiday in the lake district last summer. They didn’t have any replacements at the pharmacy. It was a tiny village and there weren’t any diabetics, so they gave me some needles and vials of insulin so I could do it the old fashioned way. We ended up cutting our trip short, so when I got back I got my replacement pen. I keep the needles here as an emergency. It’s not technically allowed, but God knows I wouldn’t abuse them. I would have reported the pen missing sooner, but since Fenton got so full, we’ve been working all hours God gives us.”

  “Report it, as in report it to the police?”

  “There are people out there who abuse the insulin,” Stella said, glancing over her shoulder and narrowing her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” Julia said with a smile. “I’m just curious.”

  Stella narrowed her eyes on Julia even further but her expression didn’t shift. She busied herself with wiping down the counter, and Julia almost thought her question was going to be ignored.

  “So many people are scared of needles, but they have no reason to be,” Stella said as she focussed on scrubbing a patch of dried on soup. “The insulin pens are a little cleaner, but I don’t mind the old fashioned way. Pain is a part of living.”

  “I must admit, I’m not the best when I need to have an injection.”

  “Think about Jesus’s pain hanging on the cross,” Stella said firmly as she walked over to the sink to wash the cloth. “Even with nails in His hands and feet, He didn’t beg for mercy like many e
xpected Him to. He knew He was dying for our sins, and He accepted that He was going to a better place, to join His true father in Heaven.”

  Julia was beginning to wonder if all of their conversations were going to revolve around stories from the Bible. It reminded her of being forced to sit still in church as a little girl as the priest droned on and on in his monotonous voice about sins and scripture. She had always wondered if she had found the church experience more fun, would her faith be stronger?

  “So do you keep a lot on hand for spare?” Julia asked, following Stella over to the sink, where she had already started to wash the large pile of plastic bowls and plates.

  “They gave me a two weeks supply that time. It was extraordinary circumstances.”

  “It sounds like you have a lot left over.”

  “Why are you so interested?” Stella asked, stopping her scrubbing to turn and look at Julia.

  “Oh, my gran was recently diagnosed with diabetes,” Julia lied quickly, hoping her cheeks wouldn’t burn too brightly. “I just wanted to get to grips with it in case she needed my help.”

  “She’ll have type two. You don’t always need to inject insulin with type two,” Stella said, returning to the dishes, Julia’s lie seeming to wash over her. “Although now that you mention it, there were less needles than I expected this morning.”

  “Oh?”

  “The box seems a little emptier than I remembered,” Stella said. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “In the last couple of months?”

  “I haven’t looked at them for nearly a year because I haven’t needed them,” Stella said, her tone growing more and more frustrated with Julia’s questioning. “Can you pass me that cloth?”

  Julia decided she had pushed her luck so she started to gather up her leftover ingredients. As she did, she wondered if Stella’s needles had really been misplaced, or if they had been stolen. She knew it was a long shot, but whoever was killing the homeless people could have stolen the needles from Stella’s supply, a theory which didn’t sit right with Julia. If it were true, it meant a homeless person was killing other homeless people, and that turned Julia’s stomach.

  When she had packed up her things, she decided she was going to leave Stella and Max to prepare for the evening serving. Stella seemed to be offended by Julia’s questioning, so she knew it was better to retreat before the tension grew.

  On her way out, she paused at the framed newspaper clipping of Stella, Max and their daughter. As she read through the article, Max joined her and started to read.

  “Your daughter is very beautiful,” Julia said.

  “She was,” Max said, sniffing as he adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses. “She died just before Christmas.”

  “I didn’t realise,” Julia mumbled, her hand drifting up to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Max said, smiling down at Julia to let her know he wasn’t upset. “I’d like to say it’s getting a little easier everyday, but I’d be lying. I heard you talking to Stella about your mother, so I know you understand the pain.”

  “Like Stella said, she’s here with you.”

  “If you believe that,” Max said, his eyes suddenly glazing over. “Death can send people closer to God in ways one never expected.”

  With that, he left Julia and joined his wife in the soup kitchen. She finished reading the article before heading for the door. Before she left, she looked back at Stella and Max, who were working silently in the kitchen, not speaking to each other. Their relationship suddenly made more sense to Julia. It was almost as though she could see the strain the death of their daughter had placed on them, but she could also sense how desperately they wanted to cling to each other. It seemed as though dedicating their lives to helping the homeless was a worthy distraction for both of them.

  After packing her leftover ingredients and equipment in the boot of her car, she drove back to Peridale with a heavy heart and a lot on her mind.

  On Monday morning, Julia sat in her café like a customer, sipping peppermint and liquorice tea, and scribbling notes in her pad. She wrote down everything she could think of connected to the deaths, including the list of clues she had gathered, and possible motives. She flipped the page and wrote ‘suspects’ at the top in big, bold lettering. After underlining it a couple of times, she realised she didn’t have a single one.

  “We’re running low on cupcake cases,” Jessie called from the kitchen. “And icing sugar.”

  “Hmm,” Julia mumbled back as she underlined the word again before flipping to her stock check ingredients list and scribbling down ‘cupcake cases’ and ‘icing sugar’. “Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of,” Jessie said as she walked through the beads separating the kitchen and the café. “I wrote down a recipe from the cookbook. I didn’t know if you wanted to try it or not.”

  Jessie unfolded a small piece of paper and tossed it to Julia, stepping back and shrugging. Julia read over Jessie’s messy handwriting, smiling as she did.

  “A Chinese sticky rice cake?”

  “I thought it sounded nice,” Jessie said, almost apologetically. “It ‘sup to you.”

  “It sounds great. We’ll give it a shot this week.”

  Jessie seemed surprised and smiled awkwardly, looking down at her shoes. Julia scribbled down the ingredients before flipping back to her investigation page. She motioned for Jessie to sit across from her. Julia grabbed two giant cream and jam scones from the display case and set them on the table.

  “I’ve been writing down everything I know about the case,” Julia mumbled through a mouthful of scone as she licked cream from her lips. “It’s not a lot.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Jessie said before cramming half of the scone straight into her mouth.

  Julia sipped her peppermint and liquorice tea, glancing to the door. The village green was empty, and the few villagers who were out were walking right by Julia’s café. She didn’t mind. She had come to look forward to her quiet Mondays and was almost disappointed when she was serving more than a couple of customers at a time.

  “We have four men, all dead without a real cause of death,” Julia started, dusting her icing sugar covered fingers on her dress as she licked the last of the fruity, sweet jam off her lips. “They don’t seem to be connected in any way, other than that they are men, homeless and they all died in the same place. We know at least two of them had puncture marks on their arms, but we also have testimonials from people who don’t believe they would voluntarily take drugs.”

  “Bailey wouldn’t for certain,” Jessie jumped in, mumbling through a full mouth and spitting crumbs as she did. “His folks died from overdoses. He told me when we were back in the system together. He hated it.”

  “And I spoke to Mac and he told me he didn’t touch anything, and that Robert didn’t either. Pete also said Father Thind wouldn’t, so that’s all four men.”

  “Why haven’t the police noticed this?”

  “They’re not connecting the deaths,” Julia said, sighing as she rubbed her brow. “You’ve got cream on your chin.”

  Jessie quickly wiped where she was pointing and licked her finger clean. She narrowed her eyes and screwed up her face as though she was thinking hard. When she was finished, she looked sceptically down her nose at Julia.

  “Why wouldn’t they connect them? It’s obvious.”

  “Maybe, but Barker said they probably don’t want to link the deaths because if they do, they’re going to be looking for a serial killer. They probably don’t want to cause a panic.”

  “Instead they’re just letting them die one by one?”

  “It seems that way,” Julia said, nodding as she resumed reading her notes. “I’ve been researching different poisons that can kill people without leaving a trace, and the list seems endless. Most of them can be made quite easily, without many ingredients. It’s rather worrying. Most of them wouldn’t even show up, even if somebody went looking for them.”
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br />   “And those needles that were nicked from the soup kitchen.”

  “That might not be connected,” Julia said, tilting her head. “Although it is suspicious. It would certainly give the murderer the means to do what they’re doing.”

  “And it would have to be someone who visited the soup kitchen,” Jessie added. “Only homeless people really know about that place.”

  Julia flicked the page to her list of possible motives. Most of them seemed as far-fetched as the next, but they were all she could think of.

  “Motives,” Julia read aloud. “Somebody is trying to scare the homeless away from Fenton.”

  “So, the developer?”

  “Perhaps,” Julia agreed, flipping to the empty suspects page and scribbling down ‘Carl Black’. “That’s one suspect.”

  “One is all you need.”

  “He certainly seemed cold-hearted enough to do something so evil.” Julia circled his name several times. “Money can make people do crazy things. There are other motives though. The other idea I had is that there is somebody with a vendetta against the homeless, so they’re taking it out by murdering as many as they can.”

  “That one wouldn’t surprise me,” Jessie said, rolling her eyes. “There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t meet somebody who hated me because I was homeless.”

  “But who?”

  “The police?” Jessie offered, drumming her fingers on the table. “Those officers just want to get rid of us to save them the job. They can’t rehouse us all.”

  Julia reluctantly wrote down ‘the police’, even if she didn’t believe that one. She knew it wasn’t impossible, but she couldn’t imagine an officer taking the law into their own hands in such a way.

  “We also have another homeless person,” Julia said, gauging Jessie’s reaction carefully. “Perhaps there was a person who was connected to all four of the men, and had a different grievance with each of them.”

  “What’s a grievance?”

  “It’s like a problem,” she said. “A falling out.”