Chapter Sixteen #2
‘Are you kidding? You’ve travelled around the world solo.
That takes planning, organisational expertise and supreme confidence.
You can talk to anyone, a skill I do not possess.
That can come in very handy if we need to question someone on the sly.
Same goes with you, Albert. If you and Zephyr team up, you’d make a formidable pair.
No one will suspect the American and Australian are investigating their very own cosy crime. No one!’
Thomas sends me a dubious look. ‘A cosy crime? If this in fact happened, which I don’t think it did, not one part of it would be cosy, would it?’
It’s hard to stop a grin forming, but I’m ecstatic Thomas is playing the sceptic archetype perfectly – this is just like the whodunnits.
‘As a genre convention, it would be considered cosy. It’s cosy crime, because we’re amateur sleuths, or at least willing to be.
We’re a close-knit group of quirky but lovably offbeat characters who remain emotionally distant from the victim, and our goal is to puzzle together the clues, in a cosy environment, a pastelaria off the beaten track.
And from what we know about Lucinda – homebody, reader, talks to hydrangeas – she’s not the malicious type, therefore, it’s cosy.
Sometimes bad people need to die, it’s just the way it is. ’
‘What?’ Thomas is at risk of a neck injury from how fast he’s shaking his head. ‘This is insane.’
‘Exactly! We’ll get to the bottom of it. Our first goal should be to find her, stop her from murdering her husband, and if we’re too late we move to Plan B.’
‘What’s Plan B?’ Zephyr asks, her eyes manga wide.
‘To be determined.’
Thomas scrubs his face while Tiago leans back on the pew like he’s ready for a nap.
‘If there was a murder in Porto, we’d have heard about it by now,’ Thomas says. I take a moment to delight in the fact he’s really contributing despite his disbelief.
‘Maybe they haven’t found the body yet,’ Zephyr says. ‘Porto is surrounded by water. No doubt the husband is fish food, gone just like that.’ She snaps her fingers.
‘Don’t you mean let’s hope Lucinda hasn’t committed homicide yet?’ Thomas stutters.
Zephyr’s eyes flash. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Thomas. I’m just saying, some men, not all men, deserve to swim with the fishes, and until we know more, I’m sticking to the fact he deserves what’s coming to him. I’ll team up with old Albert.’
Old Albert’s face dissolves into a smile as if he’s happy to be chosen by Zephyr, which makes not a lick of sense considering they spend most of their time together bickering. ‘Me! Really?’
Zephyr grins. ‘Really. You can play the charming yet doddering old man and I can play your long-suffering granddaughter, trying to educate the unwoke out of you. We’re the perfect foil for one another.’
Old Albert positively glows from the praise, if you can call it that. ‘I’m charming, eh? Well, I always say I have a gift with the ladies …’
‘Don’t ruin it. When your chauvinistic tendencies spring up, I’ll be there to smother them.’
That unleashes the beast and away they go arguing about whether old Albert is a misogynist, chauvinist or a mix of both.
Tiago taps old Albert on the knee. ‘Not in the chapel, guys, please.’ They duly snap their traps closed.
I quickly jump in. ‘Why don’t you two question the waitress at Pastelaria História, but whatever you do, don’t let her know any details about why you’re interested. Somehow, see if you can find out how long Lucinda’s been going there, any detail that might point us in the right direction.’
Zephyr gives a decisive nod. ‘Good plan. We’ll see what we can pry out of her, with old Albert chatting her ear off she’ll lose the will to live and spill her secrets.’
‘I do have quite the goldmine of stories I can share,’ old Albert says. ‘Once, back when I was a young boy, must’ve been four or five, no maybe I was six, anyway, it doesn’t matter, or was I seven?’
‘See?’ Zephyr says. ‘That’ll do for now, old man.’
‘Ah – I was eight and we lived on Longfellows Road, which won’t mean much to you …’ Zephyr clamps a hand across his mouth.
‘What about you, Thomas?’ Tiago says. ‘Did you have anything in mind as our resident reality checker?’
He gives a quick shake of the head. ‘I’m busy with work most days. Why don’t I keep in the background, be more of a sounding board … ?’
‘Sure,’ I say, having predicted this outcome.
It’s whodunnit 101 that the sceptic won’t help the amateur sleuths, not until we find a clue that convinces him this is real.
It’s all part of the cosy crime blueprint.
‘I’ll go through the notebook of mysteries again and see if I can figure out any links.
’ I don’t mention The Man in the Blue Beret, not yet.
I haven’t got any proof he’s linked to Lucinda.
I’ve seen him at the pastelaria a number of times when we’ve been there but like Tiago said, he might just use it as a workspace.
‘I’ll see if I can find out who exactly Lucinda is,’ Tiago says. ‘But we don’t have a lot to go on. Should we meet earlier than next Wednesday? At this point seven days seems so far away, and the delay won’t help us find Lucinda quickly.’
‘Not to burst anyone’s crime-fighting bubble but the chance this is a wild goose chase is exceptionally high,’ Thomas says.
‘I’m happy to meet for another reading session though while you discuss …
this.’ He screws up his face as if he’s rethinking his offer to be a sounding board.
It’s typical sceptic behaviour so I don’t press him on it.
‘Perfect,’ I say. ‘Outwardly, we should still appear just like a regular book club to avoid suspicion.’
I’ve been waiting my whole life for the chance to be in a real-life whodunnit and here we are! Sure, I don’t want the messiness of murder, but I can’t lie, the thrill of the chase is exhilarating.
‘Even if this is a wild goose chase it’s not like we’re doing anything except a harmless bit of investigating to make sure Lucinda is safe,’ Tiago says with a small shrug, as if it’s nothing.
Tiago really does seem like a solid friend to have.
Sure, he’s got his foibles, he talks a lot when he’s nervous.
If there’s a drink in his vicinity, he will spill it with his inability to contain his flying appendages, but those are minor in the scheme of things.
‘Tiago’s right. People often fail to act at the most important times, not wanting to overstep.
Detective Amber Quill always acts first because what’s the alternative?
Wait? How many weeks would we allow to slip by before we figure out Lucinda is genuinely missing?
And by then crucial clue-gathering time has elapsed and there is no evidence to be found. ’
Thomas’s expression is tinged with doubt, but I don’t let that bother me. The man reads books about military history; he’s woefully out of touch when it comes to a potential modern-day murder mystery.
‘You’re a good friend, Viviane. We’re lucky to have you,’ Tiago says and grins.
‘You are,’ Zephyr concurs.
Now it’s my turn to blush. I ignore the compliments and say, ‘What day shall we meet next? What are everyone’s schedules like?’
‘I work around the hostel in exchange for my room, so I’m free most afternoons,’ Zephyr says.
‘Free every day.’ Tiago shrugs.
‘I’m a man of leisure. I’d prefer to meet on Saturday though,’ old Albert says. ‘That’s when my wife makes me go to the food markets with her and I detest it, I really do.’
‘So you’ll make her trudge home carrying all the groceries and leave the life admin to the woman?’ Zephyr rails. ‘Not on my watch. Sunday, it is.’
‘And what are you avoiding on Sunday?’ Old Albert cocks a brow.
‘Never you mind!’
‘OK,’ I say decisively. ‘Sunday it is unless anything happens in the interim. And we should still meet at the pastelaria every Wednesday at precisely 4 p.m. so nothing looks untoward.’
‘I’ll take a rain check for Sunday,’ Thomas says. ‘Busy that day.’ My heart hurts when I survey the reluctant sleuth. There’s such a sadness in his eyes at times that not even his scepticism about the case can hide it.