Chapter Fifteen
It’s finally book club again. My mind has been stuck on a loop about Tiago and our dinner date.
I have to face the real prospect that my closed-for-business heart is fluttering and that is a problem.
No matter how hard I try to concentrate, I find my thoughts drifting back to Tiago and it’s rather distracting.
My plan is to ignore those feelings completely because I don’t want to ruin the budding friendship between us.
Not to mention we have a mystery to solve. Will Lucinda appear or not?
My fellow book club members trickle in, postures relaxed, as if they’re not concerned at all about the Lucinda dilemma. Over the top of my book, I stare out the window. Hoping I’m wrong about everything and that our missing book club member will turn up with a perfectly reasonable explanation.
‘I’m like lowkey struggling after that hill climb,’ Zephyr says, flopping into a chair, perspiration beading her brow. ‘Porto is one of the prettiest cities I’ve visited, but it’s also a bit oof, to walk.’
‘A bit oof ?’ old Albert sputters in dismay. ‘Can’t you use real words? What does oof even mean? That’s simply a sound you make when you trip over.’
‘Is it?’ Zephyr laughs. ‘Maybe if you got your bunged up knees looked at, you wouldn’t trip over so much.’
Albert ignores the insult and moves on to a lengthy laundry list of every physical ailment he’s currently suffering.
‘And then there’s the tennis elbow and I don’t even play tennis!
’ At this rate we’ll be here all day and not one of them have noticed the fact that it’s now precisely 4.
27 and Lucinda is still not here. And worryingly, neither is Tiago.
My stomach flips. How unlucky could I be losing two book club members so early into the piece?
It’s his almond allergy that concerns me.
And this outcome was clearly foreshadowed. What if he ingested—
There he is. The relief at seeing him is immense, my shoulders that were up around my ears soften.
Tiago appears healthy as he navigates the cobblestones, a spring in his step as he smiles to himself about something.
He really is a sight to behold, with his mussed black hair that catches the sunlight and those dark arresting eyes that contain galaxies.
I’ll even forgive him for being woefully late because I’m thrilled he’s alive, he’s survived yet another day living in a world where a simple almond is a murder weapon.
‘Hello, everyone. Viviane.’ He gives me a nod and takes a seat beside me, his cologne drifts over, a summery citrusy scent, which is so Tiago, in that uplifting mood-boosting way.
In romance novels the hero is always wearing some leathery, cedar, peppery perfume that’s only heightened by his rugged manly musk, which makes me think of dead animals and sweaty bodies – no, thank you.
I’ll take Tiago’s bright sunshine scent any day of the week.
How are my thoughts being diverted like this? Tiago’s bright sunshine scent? I’m failing my missing book club member at the very first hurdle. I will myself to concentrate on Lucinda, to hyperfocus on the matter at hand.
The book club are mellow today, they’re absorbed in their novels, pausing every now and then to sip coffee or eat a forkful of cake.
Even Tiago is gripped by book four of The Quill Chronicles, although I do catch him peeking over the cover at me occasionally.
When I catch his eye, he quickly looks away, which doesn’t help when I’m trying to send him subliminal messages.
Does he not notice we’re a member short for the second consecutive week?
I’m going to have to do the unthinkable and broach this once more with my fellow introverts and make them understand the gravity of the situation. Sure, it could be any number of things keeping Lucinda away.
But it’s not.
When you read whodunnits as voraciously as I do, you sense these shifts in the natural order of things.
And I can sniff out a murder plot a mile away, even if I didn’t have a veritable treasure trove of clues pointing the way.
I almost feel bad interrupting their peaceful reading, but I have so much to say that I’m about to burst. Wildly out of character for me, but here we are.
What if Lucinda killed her husband, a cruel and vicious man, and needs our help hiding the body? You read about this kind of thing all the time. And should it be illegal if it was self-defence? He could leave empty milk cartons in the fridge or hog the TV remote. We need answers.
Something is afoot. And I wouldn’t be actively talking to people, especially those following the book club rule of silence, if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.
‘If I can have your attention for a moment, fellow bookworms. Tiago, will you join me?’ He stands tall and proud, as if he’s found his calling.
‘Gather close. What we’re about to tell you can go no further from this table.
We all need to follow the rule; what happens at book club, stays at book club.
’ I manage to control the shake in my voice but only just. It’s nerve-wracking, speaking up like this with so many eyes on me.
I’m not one to crave the spotlight so I channel Detective Amber Quill and do my best to appear in control.
‘It may or may not concern murder, so if you’d rather leave now, then please do. ’
Zephyr’s mouth falls open.
Old Albert’s eyes widen with glee.
Sad-eyed Thomas straightens his posture.
Tiago gives me a supportive thumbs-up. Honestly.
Dammit, my keen observational skills must be on hiatus because I didn’t see The Man in the Blue Beret sitting close by, the man who now leans closer as if to eavesdrop. We may need to have these meetings on the move so there’s less risk of being overheard.
No one in the book club leaves.
Keeping half an eye on The Man in the Blue Beret, I motion for them to come even closer. In hushed whispers, I tell them what we know and brandish my notebook of mysteries so they can read the facts in print themselves.
The Case of the Missing Book Club Member with Murder on Her Mind
An unusual sight: The ‘gardening cut’ that clearly needed medical attention.
The jotted notes: Six ways to kill (or kiss?) my husband.
The statement: The only way I’ll miss book club is if I’m dead.
Overheard snatches of phone call: An enquiry about toxins.
Concerning behaviours: Mentions of reading whodunnits to get away with murder/learning new techniques to dispose of dead bodies/aggressively frowning, heavily sighing.
Other notes: Focus group – how does it fit?
Turn the page for my speculations on these matters.
‘May we?’ old Albert asks and points to my notebook.
‘Yes, you may.’ The three book club members convene while Tiago and I sit side by side in silence.
They take an inordinate amount of time, their faces tense, but it’s not every day your book club friend goes missing, is it?
The Man in the Blue Beret is tapping away on his phone and occasionally darts an enquiring glance to our group. Suspicious, if you ask me.
I nudge Tiago and motion to the fishy onlooker.
His face dissolves into a cheeky grin. ‘Yeah, yeah, a man who dresses well, no slouchy clothing in sight. I get it, but I just don’t think I could pull off a beret.
Don’t really have much of a hat head. Some people have hat heads, some don’t, have you ever noticed that?
I bet you’d look pretty in a beret, Viviane.
You have that kind of face, graceful, the perfect shape to pull it off. ’
I sift through all of that. Lord, give me strength. ‘Thank you, but what I meant was—’
‘What about sunglasses? I bet they suit you too. Give you an air of mystery.’ He waggles his brow. We’re getting off track here and once again Tiago is missing the point entirely.
‘Yes, yes, I like wearing the same type as Detective Amber Quill, thick black frames that highlight my intelligence, but enough about that. Don’t you think it’s odd that The Man in the Blue Beret is always here when we are?
Have you noticed that? And now he’s trying his best to eavesdrop while he’s tapping away at his phone.
Is he recording details or informing someone?
’ Who could he be and how is he connected to this, because in whodunnits there are no coincidences.
Tiago’s expression turns to one of awe. ‘You really are observant, Viviane. I’m sure I’ve never seen that guy before in my life.’
‘He’s been here four times, right when we have.’ I let out a sigh worthy of a Bridgerton sister. ‘Do you think he’s watching us? Or is he just a nosy parker?’ It could be I’m reading too much into it; but my whodunnit senses tingle and that can only mean I’m on the right track.
Tiago massages his temples, I presume in an effort to hide the direction of his gaze, as he sneaks a look at the man and then whispers, ‘I think he’s just nosy.
He might be a local using this place as an office, like so many remote workers do.
’ It’s true, he does have a laptop opened in front of him, a leather compendium too but they could just as easily be props.
Our musings are cut short when our fellow book club members wave us close.
‘There’s enough here to concern me that you might be right, Viviane.
We have an obligation to our book club friend to at least ascertain she’s OK,’ old Albert says, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.
‘I’d bet good money that this is some mafia thing.
Could even be that the cartels are involved.
They’ve snatched her, wanting to silence her for whatever reason. ’
Thomas, who seldom speaks, manages a loud scoff.
How could I not factor in that old Albert, our resident conspiracy theorist, would jump straight into wild speculations? I’ll have to nip this in the bud. ‘Albert, there’s no proof of that. We should stick to the facts as much as we can.’
‘Don’t you think it’s more likely that Lucinda killed her husband, what with her kill list and all?’ Tiago says, as he bumps the table, sending my coffee spilling over the sides of the mug into the saucer, and mouths sorry.
I wave his apology away. I’m getting used to Tiago’s clumsiness. He’s always so animated that his spatial awareness suffers for it, not unusual for those who ‘talk with their elbows’.
Zephyr glowers. ‘Yeah, I’m hopeful that Lucinda is the puppet master in this scenario. Why should men always be the ones getting away with murder, why can’t a woman have the same opportunity?’
Now we’ve got mafia, cartels and gender disputes? When last week they thought I was being rash. The shift in the meek and mild book club is monumental.
I mop the spilt coffee with a napkin while old Albert huffs and puffs like an old steam train.
‘Have a listen to yourself, Zephyr! Now you want me to support women’s rights and women’s wrongs, too?
Not on my watch. Have you ever thought that maybe Lucinda’s husband is a good guy?
He’s probably provided for her his whole life—’
‘Provided for her!’ Zephyr explodes. ‘Why, because she’s a woman so therefore can’t provide for herself? What century have you astral travelled from?’
Old Albert folds his arms and leans back in his chair. ‘This is ageism at its finest. It’s time you took a good long look in the mirror, young lady.’
‘Young lady!’ Laughter gets the better of Zephyr.
Tiago jumps into the fray. ‘OK, let’s not lose focus here. We can argue about all of this after we solve this little mystery, eh? Our priority should be on Lucinda and finding her.’
‘Well said, Tiago.’ I must steer this ship straight, but the Gen Z–Boomer rivalry is interesting to watch.
‘From my experience reading whodunnits there is a small chance,’ I whisper so The Man in the Blue Beret doesn’t hear, ‘that we may be called in to help her in some way that might make us uncomfortable, and we should steel ourselves for that eventuality, if in fact she did choose one of the six ways in which to end her husband’s time earthside.
It happens when there’s a community group involved. Tests their loyalty.’
‘Has anyone considered the possibility that Lucinda could be working? Maybe caught up with the focus group that Zephyr heard her talking about?’ Thomas says, letting out a short, incredulous laugh.
‘I’m sure there’s a simple explanation as to her whereabouts.
Maybe book club bored her. Lucinda didn’t do a lot of reading, did she? ’
Thomas is correct, she did not, there was mostly a lot of heavy sighing and aggressive frowning, but that’s beside the point.
I’m going to have to speak plainly, and this is usually where the wheels fall off for me in social groups.
‘Thomas, I say this with great affection, you are so naive. We must face facts here. Lucinda asked someone about toxins. Toxins. Explain that?’
Thomas cradles his head and groans. ‘Sure – at a guess she’s in the medical field.’
It’s my turn to scoff. ‘And let an injury of that size on her hand go untreated, I think not.’
‘OK, perhaps she’s an academic. A scientist. A reporter. There are an unlimited number of things that are much more believable than murderer.’
‘I dunno, I think Viviane is right; when you add all the clues together so far. Guys, you know my existential dread … ?’ says Zephyr.
‘Well, it’s not so existential anymore. I bet Lucinda’s husband was like those bad guys you read about on Reddit.
You know the type, rich, profusely sweats, creepy AF. ’
‘Was? Was. Shouldn’t we be speaking of him in the present tense?’ old Albert says in a stage whisper.
Zephyr slaps her forehead. ‘Sorry. Sorry. I’m just saying the statistics don’t lie.
And sometimes, oftentimes, women are pushed to the edge in these sorts of scenarios.
It’s likely she snapped. He probably cheated on her their whole marriage and she just had enough. Understandable, men give me the ick.’
‘The ick?’ Old Albert frowns.
‘Yeah, hard pass.’ She pulls a sucked-lemon face.
The Man in the Blue Beret shifts his chair, so I make an executive decision without consulting my sidekick. ‘Let’s take this outside, shall we?’