Downward Facing Death by Michelle Kelly

Most of us did; he came in here for the football sometimes. Ran the betting shop, you see. Ben told you what happened, then?”
    Keeley nodded. “I think he suspected I had something to do with it,” she confided. Jack just nodded, not at all surprised, and Keeley couldn’t help but wonder if that was because he thought Ben likely to suspect anyone in the vicinity, or because he thought of Keeley as an automatic suspect as well.
    â€œI wasn’t even in Belfrey at the time of the murder,” she said, her words coming out more defensive than she would have liked.
    Jack shrugged. “Got nothing to worry about, then, have you?”
    Keeley wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, but was saved from responding by the arrival of Tom with tea and a limp-looking sandwich. Keeley smiled at him and he stared at her for a minute, then gave her a slow, unfocused smile of his own before sloping off. Jack shook his head at Tom’s retreating figure.
    â€œCourse, it could have been anyone,” he said suddenly. Keeley swallowed her bite of sandwich—which, in spite of its limp appearance, had the texture of cardboard—and looked at him in puzzlement.
    â€œTerry’s murderer,” the old man clarified. “No one liked him, you see. Mean man, had a nasty streak in him, I reckon.”
    Keeley nodded. Annie had said as much, albeit more diplomatically. Although she wouldn’t wish his end on anyone, the fact that Smith didn’t seem to be well liked did hint that his unfortunate demise was due to someone’s having a grudge against him, rather than against Keeley or her family. Perhaps rather than Terry interrupting the arsonist, the killer had attempted to cover the evidence with a fire. It made a great deal more sense, considering that the murder must have happened first. The burning of her shop then would have been a cover-up attempt that had unfortunately just happened to be on her premises.
    Of course, that didn’t explain why on earth Terry Smith and his killer had been there in the first place. Keeley sat back in her chair, deflated that her theory didn’t stack up quite so neatly after all.
    â€œDo you have any idea who might have done it?” she asked Jack. He shook his head sharply, looking around as if afraid of being overheard, though there was no one else in the pub other than a few youths by the pool table in the far corner and two middle-aged men drinking bitter in the other.
    â€œNo,” Jack said, “and it wouldn’t do for people to go around accusing people, either. Belfrey’s a small town, you see. Gossip gets around.”
    â€œDoes everyone think it’s me?” Keeley blurted. Jack seemed to think about his answer for a few moments, which didn’t reassure her.
    â€œI reckon not,” he said finally. “Though it’s a bit strange, all the same.”
    Keeley shifted in her seat uneasily. If Jack Tibbons, who had known her since she was tiny and who had been a dear friend of her father’s, didn’t seem completely convinced of her innocence, then what could she expect from anyone else? She thought about Raquel’s less-than-friendly welcome. Although the other woman hadn’t even mentioned the murder, seeming more interested in the prospect of Keeley setting herself up as a business rival. She told Jack about her encounter with her old friend, leaving off the part where Raquel had spitefully alluded to her high school nickname. Jack pulled a face.
    â€œShe’s a right sort, that girl. All fur coat and no knickers, if you ask me.”
    Keeley laughed in surprise at the old saying, coughing on the piece of sandwich in her mouth. She took a sip of tea to wash it down and grinned at Jack, who smiled back, a wicked glint in his rheumy eyes.
    Looking at the clock, Keeley remembered she had a date with Duane in a few hours and had wanted to visit Megan’s shop before returning home. She swigged