Downward Facing Death Read Free

and disapproving eyes—unlike her mother. Darla Carpenter’s dissatisfaction with both her husband and her daughter had been evident pretty much every day that Keeley could remember.
    Pushing the memories and sting of tears aside, Keeley strode through to the small kitchen at the back of the shop, aware of Ben’s keen eyes upon her. The smell of charred wood and brick hit her instantly, and she surveyed the damage with an unsettling mixture of emotions. Relief that it wasn’t as bad as she had feared—though the back door and frame were all but burned to a crisp and the back wall was seared black—and horror that someone, anyone, could deliberately do such a thing. It seemed almost a macabre joke that it should happen here, in this very room, defiling her father’s memory.
    â€œWas it kids, maybe?” she asked hopefully. Teenagers perhaps, hanging around, playing a silly game, a prank that had gotten out of hand. Ben paused, obviously unsure how much to tell her, and Keeley felt like stamping her foot with frustration.
    â€œIt’s my shop,” she pointed out. “I have a right to know what happened.”
    Ben shrugged. “As I said, Miss Carpenter”—she wondered why he didn’t call her Keeley and concluded that he didn’t remember her at all—“we have been trying to reach you. Your mother seemed to be under the impression you were arriving here before today. You’re renting Rose Cottage from Mrs. Rowland, I believe.”
    â€œMy mother,” Keeley said with impatience, “barely remembers I exist, never mind keeps track of my plans. I had my things sent up to the cottage two days ago, but I’ve been staying in London with a friend. I wasn’t due to arrive until today, as I’m sure Mrs. Rowland will be able to confirm.”
    Ben didn’t respond to that, and she had a suspicion that Mrs. Rowland had already been questioned.
    â€œYour phone?”
    â€œI had no signal on the train, and the battery was going anyway, so I turned it off. See?” Keeley pulled her phone from her bag and thrust it in Ben’s face. He looked at her calmly.
    â€œThank you.”
    Feeling foolish, she returned her phone to her bag and walked toward the back door. Ben followed, placing a hand on her arm. He was very close, standing over her so that she had to tip her chin to look at him, and she could smell the musky scent of his cologne and the faint tang of male skin. Her mouth felt dry as he gazed down at her and lifted those full lips into a half smile.
    â€œIt’s still a crime scene, so I’m going to have to ask you not to touch anything. We’ve cordoned it off round the back, and upstairs.” He nodded toward the stairwell in the far corner of the kitchen that led up to a small studio flat.
    Stepping away from him, Keeley felt her cheeks burning with a combination of embarrassment, desire, and anger. Even so, she didn’t miss the mysterious way he had said the last two words, hinting at darker things. Things he wasn’t sharing with her.
    â€œWhy upstairs? You didn’t say the damage was that bad,” Keeley accused. “I’m supposed to be opening in two weeks! I’m going to be delayed as it is, sorting this mess out.”
    â€œDon’t you want us to find out who it was? These things take time, Miss Carpenter.”
    His constant use of her surname was getting on her nerves. “It’s Keeley, or at least Ms. ,” she snapped. “As for uncovering the culprit, it would help if you told me exactly what has happened. Like I said, couldn’t it just be kids?”
    Ben looked serious.
    â€œI’m afraid not. Thankfully, the fire services were alerted almost as soon as the blaze started, thanks to Jack Tibbons’s dog barking its head off, but it was no prank. There’s evidence that gasoline was poured all around the back door. ‘Kids,’ as you put it,