Chapter Thirteen #2
His eyes are wide with fear or something close to that. Sidekicks can’t be fearful. This is a concern. ‘Those looks, riiiight. But Vi, I mean, Viviane, do you really think Lucinda is capable of …’ he darts a nervous glance over his shoulder ‘… murder?’ The word comes out in a whisper.
‘Yes, if pushed to breaking point, most humans would be. Maybe Lucinda’s husband is a loud chewer, that would drive anyone mad. What on earth did you think my urgent looks at book club were about?’ I’m stunned that we’re not on the same page. In fact, we’re not even reading the same book!
Tiago runs a hand through his hair, tousling it further.
‘I guess I thought … it doesn’t matter. Someone is going to die, shouldn’t that be our main concern?
’ He swallows hard as if the idea is unpalatable to him.
That’s a good thing, but it’s not like we haven’t read about these exact scenarios, being whodunnit enthusiasts, right?
He should be equipped to handle this, unless he can’t stomach the fact it’s a real person, and that I can understand.
‘Depends,’ I say, taking a sip of wine, relishing in my power. As if I, Viviane álverez, am made from the same cloth as the indomitable Detective Amber Quill.
There’s a hunch to his shoulders as if this news is weighing him down. To be expected. Detective Amber Quill’s sidekick, Dr Alexander is much the same.
‘Depends on what?’
I arch a brow. ‘If she’s already done the deed.’
‘Who would she kill?’
And I deflate, just like that. My hapless prodigy is not joining the dots. ‘Well, Poirot, I presume it’s Lucinda’s husband if she has six methods already plotted out like her list described, one of which must be some kind of toxin – maybe an ingestible poison.’
He slaps his forehead. ‘Right, right.’
‘Do you remember the jagged cut on Lucinda’s hand the first day we met her? A gardening injury, allegedly. Who potters around their garden wearing white clothing? Don’t you think that’s a little odd?’
‘No.’ He frowns. ‘I mean, maybe? Should I?’
‘Tiago, really?’
‘OK, it’s a little odd.’ He takes a huge slug of wine. ‘Let’s hope she is back at book club next week and this has all been blown out of proportion.’ He shudders. ‘I’m going to hope the list was about kissing, because wouldn’t that be such a relief? Are there even six ways to kiss?’
An uncomfortable heat creeps up my neck. Is it hot in here? No doubt their air conditioning is subpar or struggling under the intensity of a long, hot Porto summer.
‘I can confirm there are.’
He waggles a brow, his goofy side coming to the fore. It’s impossible not to laugh, Tiago really does bring the comic relief. I’ve chosen my sidekick well.
‘Why would she write a kiss list though?’ I ask. ‘Makes no sense.’
‘It’s a mystery. And I’d suggest we need to schedule further time to discuss this together, if I am to be your right-hand man. I know you like keeping to a strict timetable.’
‘That’s a good idea.’ I smile, relieved Tiago hasn’t laughed off this whole wacky situation, like so many have done before when my suspicions have been aroused for one reason or another.
‘Let’s put a pin in that for now.’ He gives a subtle nod to a table of four who’ve just been seated close enough to overhear. ‘I’d hate for our food to get cold. Would you like to try this?’ Before I can object Tiago is bringing a fork to my lips.
I have two choices. Keep my lips firmly closed. Or accept the morsel before it ends up down the front of my red dress. In the interests of not losing another item of clothing to a Tiago debacle I reluctantly open my mouth.
‘Good?’
The action of a man feeding me is far too intimate.
A tingle sweeps over me, but I duly shut the feeling off.
Well, I try to, but that’s the problem with visceral reactions, we are but at the mercy of our bodies, a design fault if ever there was one.
This might be the breaking down of defences that I need to be on the lookout for.
Wary of. Just because my body is reacting it doesn’t have to mean anything.
He motions to the small share plate in front of me, as if he wants me to feed him. ‘We’re sharing forks now?’ I hardly know the guy.
Do platonic friends feed each other this way?
I hazard a guess it’s not standard for book club friends.
This sort of behaviour is romance novel worthy.
I have little experience with long-term friends, but it’s not as if Tiago is being flirty, he seems to be genuinely enjoying sharing the dish and delighting over the flavours.
When the waiter returns with more share plates I ask, ‘Are these dishes free of almonds?’
He gives me a nod and sing-songs, ‘No almonds, I promise.’
I don’t like his jocular tone. Something about the word promise feels off. Tiago doesn’t seem fazed though. ‘Do you think he slipped an almond into your meal?’
Tiago’s expressive eyebrows shoot up. ‘No. Why would he?’
‘No reason. Have you got your EpiPen?’
Tiago does the usual panicked pat-down. ‘Ah, yes. I have it.’
‘Let me see.’ He very well could have a fountain pen in his pocket, which won’t help when time is of the essence. He brandishes it and I take note of the style of pen. ‘We need a backup pen in future. In case you forget yours.’
‘You want to carry an EpiPen around?’
‘I don’t want to, but chances are you will have misplaced yours right when we need it. And as much as I enjoy reading a good whodunnit, I don’t like dead bodies in real life.’
‘You care about me.’ His voice lilts at the end as if he’s surprised by the idea.
Can you care for a friend so quickly? Care is multilayered, so I reply truthfully. ‘Yes. I worry about you dying and wish you’d take more interest in life-preserving measures.’
‘Thanks, Viviane. I promise I’ll do better. And I’ll even get a second EpiPen for you, so you can rest assured if you’re in the vicinity and I’ve misplaced mine there will be a backup. Now, actually … I have a little something for you.’
‘For me?’
He takes a gift wrapped in tissue paper from his rucksack and hands it to me. ‘It’s an apology gift.’
I tamp down my smile but it’s a losing battle. ‘What are you apologising for?’
‘My poor walking etiquette the other day.’
I open the box to find a pristine white shirt with book-shaped buttons. I’m impressed.
‘This is gorgeous.’ I give him a dazzling smile. I’m touched beyond measure. ‘Thank you.’
‘I found the buttons in a quirky shop on Rua Miguel Bombarda. After watching a couple of YouTube tutorials, I managed to sew them on. What can I say, I’ve got a lot of time on my hands lately.’ He lets out a laugh that rings out across the tasca.
‘You sewed them on?’
‘I hope they’re not too asymmetrical. Threading such a small needle took forever.’
A shock of laughter spills from my lips before I catch it.
They’re wonky, but that’s what makes it special.
‘This is so thoughtful. I can’t wait to wear it.
’ I trace the book-shaped buttons with a finger.
Not only is it the perfect gift for a bookworm but the shirt is made from breathable fabric, not polyester which I can’t wear because I feel like I’m being strangled in plastic.
Does he know this about me? For someone so lax he can be rather astute.
‘You’re forgiven for your momentary lapse in concentration while walking, Tiago,’ I joke.
‘What a relief.’ He pretends to mop his brow. ‘Now, as for the Lucinda mystery. We need to talk to her. There’s no other way.’
I grimace. ‘I have a horrible premonition she won’t be back to book club.
’ His face falls. Perhaps this is the time for positivity?
I don’t want to cast a pall on the evening.
‘If she does return though, we’ll pull her aside and present the facts as we know them and tell her …
’ I lower my voice so the table of four don’t hear ‘… homicide is not the answer.’
‘Yes, some light torture would suffice,’ he deadpans.
My jaw unhinges.
‘Joke. I’m joking!’ The gesticulating ramps up a notch, and I quickly blow out the candle so Tiago doesn’t self-immolate by accident. ‘And I’m happy to accept your offer, but what does a bumbling sidekick do?’
Is he joking again? ‘You don’t know, not even after reading The Quill Chronicles?
Surely you jest, Tiago!’ Detective Amber Quill goes into the specifics of how her sidekick Dr Alexander came to be in book one, The Baffling Disappearance at Briar Lodge.
And just what qualities a sidekick must possess.
‘Oh, umm, yes. But I’m only on book four.’
How perplexing. ‘You read the other books in the series first though, right; one, two and three?’ Perhaps Tiago is one of those readers who don’t retain much information once they’ve finished the book.
It happens. With his line of work he’s probably been exposed to a lifetime of five-second videos and the damage has been done.
‘Uh-huh – yes.’ He guzzles his wine and chokes, sputtering red wine all over the tablecloth. As he gasps for breath, his eyes widen and his pallor changes.
‘Oh my God. He poisoned you, didn’t he?’ I knew that waiter wasn’t to be trusted.
I’m up out of my seat in a flash. Tiago coughs and fumbles, clutches at his chest. What to do!
Is this the start of anaphylaxis? What else can it be?
I fumble in his pockets for the EpiPen. When I find it, he tries to take it back, it’s like his limbs are working independent of his brain.
Maybe it’s muscle memory? I brush his hands from mine, take hold of the EpiPen and raise it high, ready for one almighty stab. ‘This will only hurt a bit …’
‘What, Vi? No! I’m not.’ He coughs, wheezes. His complexion turns a worrying shade of red.
There’s simply no time to dilly-dally or lament that I should have researched how to correctly administer a dose of epinephrine.