Chapter Thirty
As I power walk home, Tiago slips beside me. There’s a lot of pondering that needs to be done, but his golden retriever energy isn’t exactly conducive to clutching onto those most important thoughts. Which … have already slipped from my mind.
‘That went well, considering.’ The weather is cooler today, autumn is just around the corner.
Fall in Porto is a sight to behold, especially in the many gardens dotted around the city.
I enjoy the cooler months, there’s something decidedly bookish about it, the excuse to snuggle up with a novel, a mug of hot chocolate.
Or taking a walk through the park, the crunch of walking over fallen leaves.
For a moment, I slip into fantasyland, Tiago and me walking hand in hand, a light dusting of rain, a stolen kiss under …
‘Viviane?’
I pull myself from reverie, a blush creeping up my neck.
‘Yes?’ My voice comes out like a squeak.
‘That went well, don’t you think? The waitress didn’t overhear anything and it looked like business as usual.’
‘Yes.’ I will my mind to focus, to concentrate, but it’s no use, all I can see in my mind’s eye is us embracing, the warmth of being in his arms, the promise of a kiss.
What has got into me? I’m dreaming like my life is a Hallmark movie.
And is that so bad? Doesn’t everyone want their happy ever after?
‘What I meant to say was …’ I recalibrate.
Remember the task. ‘We don’t have any clue who Lucinda is, or who the missing man is.
For someone with such a bright brilliant mind, I can’t help but be disappointed that I’m getting nowhere fast.’ Frankly, what can we do as law abiding citizens in our hunt for clues?
Being people avoidant, I’m not about to participate in social engineering in the hopes of manipulating a person into giving up their secrets.
‘Maybe I’m not cut from the same cloth as Detective Amber Quill. ’
‘Viviane, it’s not like you to be so morose. What does our favourite detective always say?’
There’s a sparkle in his eyes, as we say in unison, ‘The first puzzle piece is always the hardest to find!’ It’s her signature line.
‘Yes.’ He laughs. ‘And the man is only missing. Maybe she hasn’t done anything rash yet.’
‘You’re right. Do you think it’s The Man in the Blue Beret?’
‘Well, he wasn’t at the pastelaria today.’
‘We still have a small chance at saving Lucinda from making a terrible mistake and I’m grateful that we’re all on board to help achieve that objective.
I’m not sure if she’s even aware of the state of the prison system in Portugal, but it’s not ideal and she’s got such lovely skin and those French manicured nails. ’
‘Lovely skin? French manicured nails?’ A flummoxed look crosses his features.
‘Tiago, she wouldn’t be able to keep up her grooming standards in prison.’
‘Right. Why don’t you come to my house, and we’ll go through the notebook again.
See if we’ve overlooked anything and if we can find out exactly who this missing man is as I plumb the depths of the world wide web.
I know we haven’t scheduled it, but needs must, eh?
’ His smile threatens to swallow him whole, his dimples on display.
‘Why your house?’
‘We could go to yours if you want?’
Another misstep by me. I’m really rather rattled of late. ‘Absolutely not. My mother would give you an inquisition far worse than your mother gave me.’
‘Really?’ His mouth pulls into a knowing half-smile, but he really doesn’t understand the seriousness of the situation.
‘There are Portuguese mothers, and then there’s my Portuguese mother. I’m sure the phrase “helicopter mother” came into existence because of her. She’s a meddler.’
We sidestep a group of tourists filming a street artist balancing on a scaffold painting a mural. ‘Well, you better text her and tell her you’re coming to my place so we don’t have the Polícia out looking for another missing person.’
I give him a coy smile. ‘I don’t remember agreeing to your invitation.’ Am I flirting? Lucinda could very well be making the choice between someone’s life and death and I’m here attempting my hand at flirting.
‘You didn’t say no. And she made P?o de Deus.’
P?o de Deus means the bread of God, because they were traditionally served on All Saints’ Day.
They’re a sweet brioche dusted with coconut, usually made for an afternoon treat when guests visit because they’re a comfort food and absolutely delicious too.
‘Let me guess, she made a batch on the off chance I visit?’ This is what happens when you’re both single and of marriageable age. The cogs are working overtime.
‘Yes, she’s been baking ever since your visit the other day.’
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, as I tilt my face in his direction. ‘You know what she’s hoping for, don’t you?’
‘Marriage, babies.’ He lifts his shoulders as if it’s just the way it is.
‘Fine. I’ll accept your invitation, but we’ll have to stop somewhere so I can buy her a thank you gift in case my mother finds out I visited twice without one.’
‘OK, sure.’
I sigh. ‘We’ll have to let her know this is strictly platonic.’
He holds up his hands in surrender. ‘I’m your humble sidekick, am I not?’
‘Humble?’ A smile tugs at my lips.
‘Humble and at your service, just like Detective Amber Quill’s faithful friend, Dr Alexander. Tell me, do they finally act on their impulses at some stage?’
I give him a long stare. ‘Are you asking for spoilers? I will never be that person, Tiago.’ They do act on their feelings and kiss under a blazing sun on a Santorini clifftop at the culmination of book ten.
‘I have high hopes there will be a book eleven, but so far, there haven’t been any announcements.
The author’s website hasn’t been updated in a year.
It strikes fear in my heart – what if The Quill Chronicles are finished forever?
I’ll be lost without her. There’s always rereading, but it’s not the same as a new book to sink into, is it? ’
‘Hmm, from that I deduce that book ten wrapped things up nicely so I’m guessing our detective and her fiercely intelligent sidekick do commit to a smooch.’ Fiercely intelligent sidekick, more like creator of chaos, but I let it go.
‘A smooch?’
‘A long, well overdue smooch, under a glittery sky of stars.’ He’s not far off.
‘You’d have to read faster to find out. Don’t do that though. Savour every word.’
We stop at a frutaria so I can buy some fresh fruit to gift Zeliá.
The small family-run greengrocers in Porto sell the best quality fruit and vegetables.
The colourful displays of fresh fruit outside always pull me in.
There is nothing quite as tasty as organic fruit grown under the Portuguese sun.
I choose a section of plump, juicy alperces and pêsegoes; apricots and peaches, which are in season over the summer, and ripe and ready to eat.
Back at Tiago’s home, his mum Zeliá lavishes praise on me for the fruit and bustles off to the kitchen to get us some drinks.
She soon returns with a fruit platter and a jug of iced limonada.
‘So, Tiago tells me you’re investigating a book club friend who’s gone rogue!
How interesting. You don’t think she really offed her husband, do you?
Nothing that exciting ever happens in our lives. ’
My mouth falls open. He told his MOTHER? His Portuguese mother! This is unacceptable, especially for a sidekick. ‘Ah, excuse me, Tiago, can I speak with you privately for a moment?’
Zeliá stands. ‘I’ll slice some bread and cheese to go with the fruit. Back in a minute.’
Tiago’s complexion pinkens and so it should. I hope his toes curl in panic. ‘What happens in book club, stays in book club, yes?’ I say, my jaw clicking.
His poor lip is at risk of being bitten clean off. ‘You know what mums are like! She had me on the ropes, quizzing me about you, Viviane. Wanted all the juicy details. How long you’ve been back in Porto, where you live, what you do. If you like boats.’
‘Boats?’
‘She has a thing about boats.’
‘OK, and … ?’
‘And I panicked! She’s already texted your cousin Catarina and asked her for your mother’s phone number.’
‘Oh no.’ This is suboptimal! ‘Did Catarina give it to her?’ My minx of a cousin who’s married to the walking red flag wouldn’t think twice about giving out my mother’s phone number.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Tiago! Now we have two disasters on our hands! Firstly, our mothers meeting and planning our upcoming nuptials, never mind we’re not even dating, and second, that there’s a possible murderer in our book club and a Portuguese mum knows, which means before long everyone in Porto will know.
’ This is a disaster, an unmitigated disaster.
‘I broke under the pressure of her questioning. You know how they do it, start off all sweet and ply you with food and drinks, get under your defences and then …’
‘Darlings, here’s some bread and cheese, and I hope you like chocolate, Viviane.
I picked these up yesterday from Confeitaria Arcádia near the S?o Bento Railway Station.
I intended to visit the station to see the azulejos walls, but I didn’t factor in all the tourists in the middle of the day.
Anyway, I battled the crowds and then decided to stop and get some treats at the confectioner.
We have coffee, caramel, tangerine and … ’
I narrow my eyes. Hospitality like this spells trouble. Big trouble. She’s softening me up just like she did with Tiago. The woman wants details, and lots of them. I will not surrender my morals for artisanal chocolate no matter how …
‘Porto Calém bonbons,’ she says with a sly smile.
My willpower slides out of reach. ‘Porto Calém?’ The famous port-infused chocolate bonbon that is the taste of Porto all rolled into a tiny round chocolate, the perfect size to eat in one delicious bite.
Dammit I must resist but the temptation is too great. I snatch up a bonbon. Tiago takes two.