Downward Facing Death by Michelle Kelly

had decided the previous day, would be Jack. She had thought of Annie too, but remembering the landlady’s valiant attempts to be diplomatic when it came to discussing the personalities of both Terry Smith and Keeley’s own mother, she thought Jack her best bet. He wasn’t one to mince his words.
    For once, though, he wasn’t alone as she stepped into the dingy half-light of the Tavern, but sitting with two other men, both as craggy and hard-bitten-looking as Jack himself. He looked up and nodded at her as she came in, his nicotine-stained fingers clutched as ever around his pipe. The other two men eyed her with a curiosity that didn’t seem entirely friendly, but Jack’s dog at least was pleased to see her; sitting up and wagging his tail in an excited motion that caused his whole body to shake—no mean feat, given the size of him. Again Keeley thought about the fact that if it wasn’t for the wolfhound, the arson attempt on her café may well have succeeded. She crouched down by the dog and rubbed behind his ears, and he rewarded her with an affectionate butt to the side of the head that nearly had her sprawling on the floor. Jack tutted and yanked the dog away.
    â€œBehave yourself, now, Bambi,” he admonished, the name eliciting a surprised squawk of a laugh from Keeley as she stood up.
    â€œBambi? That’s his name?”
    â€œAye. It were the wife’s idea. When he was a puppy, he had these long spindly legs and these big eyes, see. And she always was a soft ’un, so Bambi he became. She had just gotten ill then, and the dog was a comfort to her like.”
    â€œIt suits him,” Keeley said kindly, remembering Jack’s wife had died just a year before her father, of a cancer that had taken a long, painful time to reach its inevitable end. Jack had been by her side throughout.
    â€œCan I get you a drink?” she asked him, glancing at the other two men, who had made no move to introduce themselves. Jack shook his head and Keeley made her way to the bar, ordering a tonic water from a vacant Tom. As she walked back over to the table, she realized that Jack hadn’t actually invited her to sit with him and hesitated, wondering if she was interrupting something.
    â€œJack, have you got a minute?” She hovered uncertainly at the edge of the table. Jack looked up at her, frowned for a moment, then waved his hand toward a free stool.
    â€œSit down. This is the Carpenter girl,” he said to the two men, who gave her a brief nod in unison. They looked alike, one just being a little fatter than the other, with a red nose that spoke of a life spent working outdoors and a touch more homemade liquor than was healthy. Brothers, perhaps.
    â€œTed and Dan Glover,” Jack introduced, confirming her assumption. “They own the big farm at the top of the hill.”
    â€œOh, of course, I remember,” Keeley said, giving them a warm smile. “We used to get our milk and eggs from you.”
    The skinnier of the two men—Ted, she remembered now—regarded her with an even look that froze the smile on her face. Definitely not friendly.
    â€œThat’s right, and your father got a lot of his meat from us, too, you know, just over the road.”
    Keeley nodded in encouragement but felt her stomach sink a little. She had a feeling she knew where this conversation was going.
    â€œI hear you’ve got plans to turn it into a vegetarian café now,” the brother chimed in, saying “vegetarian” the way another person might say “cockroach.” Trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed their obvious hostility, Keeley nodded, her smile now not so much frozen as having succumbed to rigor mortis.
    â€œThat’s right.” She sensed that launching into her usual mini sales pitch about a healthy diet and lifestyle wouldn’t be advisable in the face of the Glover brothers.
    â€œYou don’t think that’s a bit