The Little Black Book Killer, page 11
‘Shrooms, Aunt Beth. Least that’s what your Seph said they were, but everyone reckoned they were just enokis from that posh hotel where he works.’
‘My Joseph – his friends call him Seph – is easily led,’ Bethany told the others, then smirked at Mil. ‘Like me.’
Mil beamed back, slowly rolled his neck to loosen it. ‘Good job I’m not playing cricket. Think I pulled something last night.’
At this, Courtney let slip another ‘eww’, louder and longer. ‘Can you all just please order?’
‘Back in a mo!’ Juno leapt up, belting off in the direction of the ladies’ loo.
‘Rein it in, Mil,’ muttered Phoebe, who had credited him with more tact.
‘What did I say?’ He seemed baffled.
‘Let’s look at the specials, Felix,’ she suggested pointedly. Waving aside his protest that he wanted roast beef, she towed him inside, whispering, ‘Did you know about this?’
‘About what?’
‘Mil and that Welch…’
‘Bethany.’
‘Bethany, yes. Is it a casual thing, do you think?’
‘The man’s allowed a sex life.’
‘Juno is invested.’
‘Hardly Mil’s problem.’
‘You ready to order, yeah?’
They both jumped, realising that Courtney had followed them and was standing close behind with her pad.
‘One moment.’ Phoebe gazed up at the board, irritated with herself for betraying Juno.
‘FYI, they’re FWB, I reckon,’ Courtney revealed in a stage whisper. ‘It’s your generation that’s up for all that if you ask me. We just watch existential horror and eat exotic fungi, which reminds me’ – she pointed her pen up at the Specials Board – ‘swerve the wild mushrooms on sourdough. Cat sick on a doormat.’
Having been about to order it, Phoebe’s appetite stalled. ‘Did you see anything odd last night, by chance?’
‘Nah, same old. We were all supposed to go round to River’s cos he’s got decent games and gear, and Auntie Cheryl’s away, but he and Xanthe were simping as usual, so Seph said to go to his place as usual and it was crap and boring as usual. Mum always said Richard Bass was a dirty old perv and to steer clear.’
Phoebe remembered Zadie saying much the same to her last night. The scene she’d stumbled across this morning had done nothing to dispel that theory.
‘You made up your minds cos I ain’t got all day?’
As soon as Courtney had gone into the kitchen with their order, Felix drew Phoebe aside, whispering, ‘You seriously think a killer might have been at loose in the village last night?’
‘Let’s humour Juno here.’
‘Why? You were only saying last week that she needs to forget all this Miss Marpling and focus more on getting work, and on Eric and her unborn grandchild.’
‘This has a lot to do with the unborn grandchild, I think,’ Phoebe whispered, silently adding and its much-missed grandfather. ‘Trust me, she needs this. It’s her way of coping.’
Felix nodded. He understood that the way Juno had lost Jay meant she would be forever seeking answers. Believed killed in a bombing raid after being taken captive in Syria, the war photographer’s death remained so swathed in mystery it was no wonder his widow constantly sought to solve those around her, even ones she’d imagined.
They could see Juno emerging from the corridor that led to the ladies’. She’d reapplied her lipstick and fluffed up her hair, a determinedly cheery smile glued on, but her eyes were puffy and she looked greyer than ever.
‘So the Graveyard Ravers struck again, Juno!’ Felix launched into action, striding off to put an arm round her. ‘What’s your take? Could it be more sinister than we thought? You have a far better detective nose than me.’
Within a few steps, Juno was bouncing on her trainers again, tapping her small, upturned nose with one finger. ‘We must gather facts, Felix, and fast. In fact, I spotted something earlier I need you all to see.’
‘I won’t blink until it’s in front of my eyes.’
Immensely grateful for him, Phoebe followed them back outside, where Bethany was giving Mil a neck massage.
He had the grace to duck away when they all sat back down. ‘What did you see when you discovered Rich dead in the pavilion, Phoebe?’
‘Can we not talk about death, guys?’ asked Bethany brightly.
‘We’re Village Detectives,’ Mil told her proudly.
‘Yeah, and I’m Veronica Mars.’ Flashing a dismissive smile, Bethany crossed her arms. ‘Go on then. This should be a laugh.’
Instinct told Phoebe not to reveal too much in front of Bethany, so she gave them a nominal summary of finding Rich trussed up to the changing room coat hooks, glossing over the more salacious details. Nor did she share her concerns that all was not quite as it seemed. That could wait.
Showing no such restraint, Juno took over to explain. ‘We think Rich’s death may be connected with up to two more suspicious deaths locally.’
‘We do?’ Mil looked nonplussed.
‘Two more deaths, you say?’ asked Felix, looking at Phoebe, who widened her eyes to remind him to humour her.
‘It’s a theory,’ she said carefully.
‘That’s right,’ Juno clarified. ‘Three deaths in total.’
‘We can summarise those later,’ Phoebe said quickly. ‘It’s all still very nebulous.’
‘What happened to investigating the lacy ladies’ lingerie on the church headstones?’ asked Mil, looking disappointed.
‘Oh, that’s still ongoing,’ Juno assured him. ‘In fact, the Graveyard Ravers may well be connected too.’
‘Right-ho.’ Mil nodded, smiling. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’
‘What are you even talking about?’ asked Bethany, looking around them all in alarm.
Mil explained about the naughty plus-sized lingerie that had been appearing on the village church headstones. ‘Mary the churchwarden reckons it’s village kids.’
‘They’re all way too busy on their screens to bother with old-fashioned vandalism,’ said Felix.
‘You’re right, oldies would be my guess,’ said Bethany, eyeing Juno, who had started leafing through the Sunday papers again. ‘Reckon it’s a drunken prank, something like that, so look out for the boozers. One of the am dram lot after too many clarets in the Golden Balloon, or the allotment grannies fresh from downing dandelion gin in their sheds.’
‘Do you think we need to stake out the scene at all?’ suggested Mil.
‘Good idea!’ Juno pushed several sections of newsprint aside to unearth more, clearly searching for something.
‘Two of us could lie low in a car all night on Church End,’ Mil went on, ‘snacks, tea, banter.’
‘I’m up for that,’ Bethany offered.
‘Here!’ Juno stabbed a finger at a photograph in the obituary section. ‘Wayne Baxendale! Mega-wealthy Wexshire entrepreneur. Made his fortune in ready meals and fast-food delivery apps. Friend and business associate of Rich Bass. Village cricket captain. Died a couple of weeks ago. Freddy was there!’
There was an expectant silence.
‘Who is Freddy?’ Bethany asked eventually.
‘I am,’ said Phoebe reluctantly.
‘Are you suggesting Phoebe is a suspect?’ Felix ventured.
‘Of course not,’ Phoebe dismissed. ‘Wayne had a heart attack.’
‘Ready meals and fast food says it all,’ Mil sighed.
‘He was in a Michelin-starred restaurant.’ Juno folded the paper and started scrutinising the piece more closely.
‘You seen how much butter they use on Great British Menu?’ Mil chortled.
‘I wouldn’t say no to a meal in The Priory if someone else is paying.’ Bethany flicked her dreadlocks from left to right shoulder impatiently.
‘What makes you think Rich’s and Wayne’s deaths are connected?’ Mil asked Juno.
‘The cricket club is an obvious one,’ Felix pointed out.
‘Exactly!’ Juno agreed. ‘Plus they were old friends, did a lot of business together, played golf.’ She held up a finger as she read. ‘Wayne Baxendale was one of the original members of the Wexshire Enterprise Startup Investment Network, spearheaded by long-term business partner Richard Bass. Debra mentioned it at Clubbercise after Wayne died, said one particular deal made them a fortune. Were you there when she was talking about it, Bethany?’
‘I teach a lot of classes.’ She rolled her eyes in exasperation, clearly eager for a change of subject. ‘Tell me, how is the online dating going, Juno?’
Mil’s smile faded.
Juno looked strained, big grey eyes averted. ‘I might knock all that on the head.’
‘I feel you.’ Bethany nodded. ‘It’s hard when you get older, isn’t it? The algorithms are against you.’
‘I am actually very popular,’ Juno clarified crossly, ‘but I’ll still probably step off the digital love path. Far too crowded.’
‘Sounds like a wise plan!’ Mil encouraged.
‘Don’t do anything just yet,’ Phoebe insisted, thinking back to last night’s conversation just before Debra Bass swanned drunkenly upstairs. ‘I think Rich might have been invested in… that sector.’ She eyed Bethany warily, wondering if she knew more than she was letting on. The change of subject felt almost deliberate.
‘The millionaire app!’ Bethany duh-ed. Then she pulled a selfie-surprised face, feigning ignorance. ‘Just a wild guess.’
‘Is she right?’ Juno said in a small voice, turning to Phoebe.
‘Possibly,’ Phoebe hedged, eyeing Bethany, convinced she knew a lot more.
‘Not a clue,’ Mil shrugged.
‘What even is it?’ Felix looked blank.
‘Kind of like Raya if Waitrose designed it?’ Bethany explained. ‘It started out local but it went global, and your mate’s right.’ She leaned closer to Juno. ‘Don’t delete it. If you have a VIP match, bite his hand off, I say! You do realise a man has to be worth a million minimum to be on that app? No offence, Juno queen, but that’s a big result for a woman in her fifties living over a shop.’
‘I’m sorry but I’m definitely deleting it.’ Juno gulped, looking pale.
‘Don’t,’ Phoebe repeated more forcefully.
‘Why not?’ asked Mil.
‘If Rich Bass put up the venture capital for Dapper and Discreet, it could be relevant. We know Wayne dated online. Useful to have a foot in the door.’
‘You do think we have a case!’ Juno gasped.
‘I think we need to keep an open mind, but something isn’t right,’ she said, glancing at Felix, thinking again about this morning’s grim discovery in the cricket pavilion. Could it have been murder?
He held her gaze, reading her uncertainty.
‘A man is dead, Freddy.’ Juno’s voice trembled with emotion. ‘What’s right about that? A woman in this village has just been widowed.’ For a moment, her big grey eyes were fixed, clouded by the grief.
‘How do the Graveyard Ravers fit in?’ Mil asked again.
‘And what was the other death you mentioned, Juno?’ queried Felix.
‘Just meet your millionaire match!’ Bethany’s cry was louder than any of them.
Juno covered her ears. ‘Can you all please stop!’
There was an awkward silence, broken by the clanking of Courtney arriving with a tray. ‘Two chicken popcorn, one soup.’ She set it down on the table, saying, ‘Loving the meme of you grooving, Juno. It’s all over TikTok.’
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, hands still over her ears.
‘What meme?’ asked Mil.
‘It’s nothing,’ Phoebe said quickly.
‘I’ll show you,’ offered Courtney. A moment later she was holding up her phone. ‘It’s everywhere!’
‘Was this last night?’ asked Felix. ‘Are you doing some sort of dance?’
Phoebe, who had already seen it, watched their faces change from confusion to hilarity as they took it in.
It was a video of Juno in front of the pop-up gazebo in Wheeler’s Yard, gyrating on the spot, giggling uncontrollably, waving and holding on to her crotch before crab-walking quickly out of shot.
‘I took that!’ Bethany recognised it. ‘I just sent it to the family WhatsApp. Did you share it, Courtney?’ The rebuke sounded half-hearted.
‘Is that a Michael Jackson move you’re busting, Juno love?’ asked Mil.
Juno stood up, accidentally upending the soup bowl. ‘I’m really not hungry, sorry.’
Half falling out of the picnic table, she hurried away across the pub’s beer garden.
Phoebe leapt up to follow. ‘I’ll go after her.’
But Felix reached for her hand before she could climb out, whispering, ‘Give her some space.’
She lowered her voice so that only he could hear. ‘You know what today is. It’s why she drank too much last night, why she’s so hyped and caught up in conspiracy theories…’
Nodding, Felix sucked his lip. ‘It’s her wedding anniversary.’
Phoebe looked at him in surprise. She’d only realised herself because of the photographs and diaries she’d found earlier.
‘It’s Juno’s four-digit code for everything,’ Felix explained. ‘All the padlocks on the barns full of Jay’s bikes and their clutter at our place. Same code.’
Phoebe sometimes forgot how astute his mind was.
‘She and Jay got married twenty-five years ago today.’ She nodded.
Today would have been their silver wedding anniversary.
11
JUNO
Mother Loves Mother’s Ruin
The Party Postscript
So every time I get a sore head, I swear I’ll never drink again. This oath never lasted longer than twenty-four hours when I was in my twenties, but it can stretch for weeks and months now I’m Mother Love. Go me, with my midlife self-control. Dry Januarys and ‘No’-vembers are welcome firebreaks in a year of occasional excess.
Full disclosure: last night, not only did I get a bit – okay, way too – fried at my housewarming, but I managed to get the entire village blotto. That takes some doing. Bad Juno. And now, deep breath…
One guest is dead.
Gotta stress the sauce didn’t kill him, and he wasn’t at my party when he died, but I still feel kinda guilty about it.
So I’m not going to drink for a while. Not for a long time.
And I’m not throwing a party again. Not ever. You heard it here first.
But I *am* investigating another murder. Possibly more. Because there’s something not right…
The Village Detectives are back!
BLOG SPONSORED BY WHEELER’S YARD FLOWERS: BLOOMING WITH HAPPINESS!
Juno looked at what she’d written, highlighted it, then pressed the backspace to delete the lot.
Her Mother Love subscribers deserved better, and her sponsors wanted her to spread happiness, not doom and gloom, she decided. Hungover penitence didn’t sit well with her brand. She’d write up the party when she could see the funny side.
And much as her readers had loved the unexpected true crime developments in her posts since moving to Britain, Juno knew she needed to hold fire until the others were convinced there was anything to investigate. It didn’t do to bulldoze in, especially with grieving widows to think about. She of all people should know that.
Walking to her flat’s kitchen, the sight of the high-rise stacks of uneaten food platters in their clingfilm shrouds made Juno’s stomach heave. Perhaps she would take some of it to Debra after all?
In her heart, Juno knew it was too soon, but she was filled with such overwhelming obligation and compassion, she felt she had no choice but to call on Greenside Manor, no matter how briefly. And Juno never went anywhere empty handed.
Although she had met the Basses multiple times, Juno had been to their house just once, and then only for a quick cup of tea with Debra after a fitness class, when she’d been persuaded to donate to the Dunford Golf Club Annual Fundraiser. The Basses weren’t big on hosting at home to her knowledge, one of the reasons they had a reputation in the village for being mean as well as overbearing.
When she slipped through the open gates, she spotted a police car parked alongside the Basses’ glossy fleet on the turning circle and almost turned back, hearing Phoebe lecturing her in her head: ‘Far too soon.’
But Juno hadn’t accounted for the Basses’ CCTVs alerting those in the house to a new arrival, and the door was already opening, a scowling figure framed in it, gesturing her to hurry up.
She didn’t recognise the small, bearded wolverine of a man in a Chelsea strip, Metallica cap and pool sliders, Bullet yapping upside down in his arms. He didn’t look like a plain-clothes detective, but it was best not to pre-judge these days.
‘I’m Juno!’ She hurried closer. ‘Debra’s friend. I am so desperately sorr—’
‘I know who you are. You’d better come in.’ He beckoned her in with a jerk of the head, sounding more Surrey Street Market than Wexshire Constabulary. ‘I’m Grant.’
‘Of course!’ This was Debra’s brother, she realised as she followed him through to the open-plan kitchen.
He was younger than she’d expected, and far smaller. Bow-legged and round-shouldered, he was nothing like the old-fashioned Danny Dyer diamond geezer Debra had tried to sell to her. He wasn’t much taller than her, and twice as narrow, like a jockey. Not that this mattered, because Juno had already decided to ditch all her romantic aspirations and live like a nun. A sleuthing, Sister Boniface type of a nun. Who never threw parties.
‘Is Debra around?’
‘She’ll be finished soon. Good of you to come over. That stuff for us?’
‘Yes, sorry – just some bits and bobs because I know how stressful it is to remember to eat, let alone cook. I’ll put it in the fridge, shall I?’
Juno loved the Basses’ kitchen, a glitzy nod to TOWIE and Dallas with its sparkly granite, mood lights and multitude of high-tech German appliances. One wall was entirely devoted to ovens, all showroom immaculate. The huge American cooler was as big as a double wardrobe.
