Harold had just stood upright when the door opened again. A large figure completely blocked the view out onto the street as he passed through the entrance, followed by another enormous man, and then another. This gang of giants paused and glanced around the room suspiciously, their eyes shifting from one area to another, then to the bar and back to the street from whence they'd come. In all, five husky fellows traipsed through the doorway before a well-turned out small man in a three-piece suit and matching fedora entered. This last chap looked around as if he owned the place, puffed his chest out, and strutted to a corner table near the back of the restaurant, followed by the colossal crew.
Duncan shot a Did you just see that? look towards Angus, who nodded as three more fellows, each larger than Angus, entered the establishment. The first of these three collapsed an umbrella and started to shake the water from it before suddenly ceasing his activity. Duncan followed the man's gaze to the table at the rear where the small man sat, wagging his head with a curt motion in the direction of the umbrella bearer.
As he scanned these new patrons, Duncan noted the rough look of the group, with the exception of the small bloke who appeared quite polished and out of place amongst his cronies. Within minutes, more people poured into the restaurant, and before long, every table and chair was occupied.
"What are we going to do with all these people?" Angus said with a harsh tone, jolting him back to reality. His blank expression spurred his brother on. "Mum and Mondo already sent the waiters home," he added with his eyes stretched as wide open as possible.
He didn't wait to answer his brother, but instead ran for the kitchen. He found his mother over the stove, stirring a pot of simmering stew. He took in the delectable aroma and swallowed before speaking.
"Mum, there's a crowd out there and they look really hungry!"
"Well tell your friends to be patient. The nibbles should tide them over until this is ready," she said, gesturing towards the pot without looking up.
"No, Mum. I mean the place is packed!"
"What?"
Now, he had his mother's full attention. Angus popped in the kitchen, panic-stricken, followed by a beaming James Dewar.
"You've done it, Honey! We've got people lined up outside in the rain, waiting to get in," James said just before he burst out laughing. He grabbed Margaret and dipped her over his arm before lifting her into a tight embrace, followed by a kiss.
For a moment, Margaret stood still, stunned and speechless. Then, she sprang into action, barking orders at the men in her kitchen as she dashed between the industrial stove and refrigeration units, removing food she'd prepped earlier in the day. She tossed aprons to her two sons and husband before crying out in exasperation, "Armondo! Where are you?"
"He'll show, Margaret, don't worry. Until then, we're at your service," James said, still smiling from ear to ear.
Angus and Duncan, along with Angela and Penny, divided up the tables and took orders. Margaret and Mondo had planned on a limited menu for the grand opening, so guests only had three choices: the thick beef stew Duncan had sampled at home a few weeks prior, a Spanish chicken dish with saffron rice created by Armondo, and a plate featuring poached salmon, prawns, and white fish chunks with asparagus spears. More than half of the customers opted for the hearty stew, and Margaret spent most of the remainder of the evening frying up the potato cakes that accompanied her bubbling beef dish. She'd wisely pre-made several pots and only had to heat the concoction on the stove top, which James gladly oversaw. Harold beckoned inside those stubborn souls who were willing to wait in line out of doors in the rain. Per his mum's instructions, he offered them free drinks while they waited for tables to become available. This group crowded around the bar, and leaning against the counter, utilized elbows and shoulders to make room for themselves. Soon, the hum of happy conversation filled the establishment, competing with the sounds of cutlery scraping china and glasses clinking.
During a brief respite, Duncan observed Angela charming customers. When she left the table in the back corner, he saw the small, dapper man lean back in his chair to watch her retreat. His eyes shifted to his lass, who was all smiles. The first chance he got, he questioned her.
"Say, who's that little man in the back?"
"What little man?"
"The short one who's been giving you all the attention."
"I didn’t notice him being short." Angela's brows furrowed, and she tapped her forefinger against her chin as she thought about the man's height. "I'm not sure who he is, but he's very nice." She smiled off into space, thinking about the handsome, well-dressed, charismatic man. She added, "He's got something, Duncan. Not sure what it is, but he's very appealing. He introduced himself, but with the loud music and all the excitement, I can't remember his name—something Biblical, I think, like Matthew or Michael. Hey! Do you think he's Margaret's guardian angel, come to save the day?" Angela laughed and continued, "He brought that crowd with him, and everyone seems to know him. Maybe he called in favors from all the other humans he's helped."
Duncan glanced across the room at the man and noticed he had a bead on Angela.
"No, whatever he is, I'm sure he's no angel. And some of those people he brought with him look pretty tough."
"Nonsense, Duncan," she said, giving his chest a playful swat. "I'd better get back to my tables. I want to earn some good tips tonight." She winked and brushed a piece of dark lint from his apron. "Say, that Penny's been a huge help. Good thing Harold's girl has restaurant experience. Unfortunately, you and Angus could use some additional training," she teased before gliding away.
Just as Angela moved off, Penny slid by with a tray full of servings of stew. He caught a whiff of the dishes and his stomach rumbled. Margaret had placed an herb sprig in each bowl, and the upright greenery made the thick, bubbling liquid with chunks of beef and vegetables look particularly appealing. As he stared after the food, wishing he had time to eat, Mondo Berluca stormed through the door, and Duncan caught all the details of the chef's entrance. At first completely downtrodden, the man's face lit up like a Christmas tree after stepping inside.
When the moment of shock passed, he ran for the kitchen, his eyes raised to heaven, repeating, "It worked, it worked, thank you, blessed Mother of God!"
Duncan followed the chef, and back at the stove, Armondo took over. He explained that he'd walked for miles, inviting people to come to their grand opening. By now, the Dewar clan had grown used to the chef's way of referring to himself in the third person.
"Some peoples, they treat Mondo as if he is the crazy man. Then run from Armondo Berluca, even call him Gowk. Can you imagine that?"
Yes, I can, he thought but kept quiet. The chef was a sight—wet, red and breathing heavy from his efforts, his tight black curls cascading around about his large face, and wild-eyed. He appeared downright frightening.
"They alert the, how you say, the bobbies, on me! Armondo had to answer questions. Received warning that Mondo needs special permit to, how you say, umm, to so lisssit. Other peoples are very kind. Say they will come another night when not raining. Mondo prayed and prayed. Mondo did not want to end up the jail bird like Duncan! A great chef should not have to sell himself on the streets!"
With that, and unaware of the picture he'd just painted for his stunned audience, Armondo tied an apron around his large girth, hugged James, moving the man away from the stove, and took over. It was after nine p.m., and Margaret appeared exhausted. The chef instructed her to go get clean and greet the customers. He could handle everything in the kitchen for the rest of the night, with the help of her sons. Grateful, Margaret disappeared into the ladies' loo to freshen up. Duncan resented the chef taking it upon himself to volunteer him for more work, but he was glad his mum could have a break. He also didn't appreciate the man bringing up his brief, unjust stint in a Spanish jail.
Most of the initial guests had finished their meals, paid, and were about to make room for those poor souls who had stood in the rain. Satisfied
expressions spoke to the quality of their meals. Margaret managed to make herself presentable and thanked each table, asking them how they enjoyed their food and answering any questions. He noticed how pleased his mum appeared. She must be getting a good response from the customers. As the first group of contented diners cleared out, she greeted those now filling the newly available chairs. Mr. Dapper and his party of eight large blokes remained, enjoying after dinner drinks and coffees and taking a more than necessary interest in their violet-eyed waitress.
At first, no one noticed the man and boy who stood near the door. The adult scanned the room, searching for a person in authority while the child stared at the floor. He appeared uncomfortable. Eventually, the man's eyes met Margaret's when she looked up from a group of people she'd just spoken with. Harold, who had been manning the door, was nowhere to be seen, so his mum approached these new customers. But before she could get a word out, the man spoke.
"I am Rajesh Patel, owner of Punjab Palace."
"Hello, Mr. Patel. I'm Margaret Dewar, one of the owners of Cocina Gaélico," she replied, shaking Mr. Patel's outstretched hand.
The man seemed extremely tense and his face earnest. Obviously, he was not here for supper, or he hadn't eaten in days, which seemed unlikely as he owned the Indian restaurant down the street.
"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Dowaarr."
He shook her hand with a ferocious energy and Margaret hoped her shoulder wouldn't ache in the morning.
"As am I yours."
"My son, Ravi, has something of which he must discuss with you."
Mr. Patel jerked the lad forward, placing him between himself and Margaret. She smiled down at the child and waited for his confession. She hadn't raised four boys without being able to recognize a lad in trouble.
"M–M–Mrs. Dowaarr," he stammered, still staring at the floor.
Mr. Patel gave his son a light whack on the head, scattering some of his thick, black strands and providing just the encouragement the boy needed to direct his large, dark brown eyes at Margaret. He gathered his courage and began.
"Mrs. Dowaarr, I sincerely regret to inform you I have been the culprit in a very dastardly deed promulgated against you and your superior establishment."
Margaret tried to look shocked and barely held back the chuckle she felt building in her chest. The effort made her eyes water.
"Please, Mrs. Dowaarr, do not cry. I know it is difficult when a lady such as yourself is faced with a terrible crime. I have come to apologize and throw myself on your mercy."
She smiled at Mr. Patel and then at Ravi. The young boy's sing-song cadence when he spoke and his impressive vocabulary proved very entertaining. His obvious sincerity impressed her.
"Are you the one who removed our advertisements, Ravi?" she asked with a gentle tone.
"Yes, Ma'am. I am that horrible villain who tried to ruin—"
"Now, now. I won't have my friends referred to in that way. You see" —she paused and directed her would-be rival's gaze around the room— "everything has turned out fine. I'm sure you won't do anything like it ever again. Will you?"
"Certainly not, Ma'am."
"Good. Then let's put it behind us and all be friends, shall we?"
Mr. Patel's posture relaxed as he thanked Margaret with another handshake, and the two late-comers departed.
The last group of patrons left around midnight, including the small man who had something, according to Angela. Duncan watched as he chatted with Harold, who manned the door. He seemed to be giving him a message for someone, and the investigator could guess who that someone was.
Everyone pitched in to clean up the kitchen and set things to rights in the dining room. Even Hamish and John hung around to help. By this time, Armondo's emotions had settled down, and he spent the rest of the night bragging about how he had saved the day by going out into the streets to gather people in.
"Just like our Lord spoke of when the master told the servants to go out in the lanes and bring in the people for the great supper!"
"That's right, Mondo. Jesus told a parable about invited guests who were too lazy to come to a man's feast. So he told his servants to go out into the streets and invite the poor, lame, and blind. I believe that's found in the book of Luke," Angela added.
Margaret beamed and gave her son an approving nod of her head.
"Some of our guests did seem to fit that bill," Duncan added in a sarcastic tone.
"Not the ones I waited on," Angela said, patting the pocket where she'd placed her tips. "I made a fortune tonight!"
By the time they arrived back at the Dewar home, the clock read three in the morning. Armondo fell asleep in the car and snored the short distance to the house. He went straight to bed while the rest of the family enjoyed a pot of herbal tea and biscuits as they tried to unwind.
Penny and Angela would take the last available bedroom in the house, while Duncan bunked in Angus's apartment and Harold stayed at his own place. Tomorrow, they'd all meet at the house again before people went their separate ways.
Harold kissed his girlfriend good night as everyone else stayed put around the kitchen table, too tired to move. He pulled on his jacket and was all the way to the hall before he turned around and cleared his throat.
"By the way, Mondo didn't bring in the customers tonight. I did."
Jaws dropped as he turned and left without another word.
Chapter 8
Another Tragedy
"Hello, " Angela said into her cellular.
She'd just arrived at Dewar and Associates to organize Duncan's filing system and hold down the fort while he did research outside of the office. Angela had helped at the restaurant each night thus far during her stay, and she had a hard time dragging herself out of bed in the mornings. In the daytime, she juggled keeping tabs on her current assignments at L and G and spending time with her fiancée, helping his business, and offering her opinions on his current case.
"Hello, Angela. I’m afraid I have some sad news."
She immediately recognized the distinctive voice of Nigel Carlyle, a former client of Dewar and Associates and ex-husband of her friend, Sunny Bentwell. She'd first met Sunny assisting with a case Duncan had in Spain, and the two ladies had instantly bonded over fashion. Older, Sunny helped fill the role of mother figure the lass so desperately missed since the death of her own mum years before. The doyenne of international society and couture proved emotionally troubled and fragile due to tragedies in her past. She'd ended up in an exclusive private hospital in Madrid, cared for by doctors and psychiatrists instead of prison, thanks to Nigel. Angela remained faithful to her friend and was one of the few guests allowed to visit the ailing, unstable woman.
"Oh, no." Angela leaned on the desk, feeling dizzy and nauseated, already sure of what Mr. Carlyle would relay.
"I'm sorry, Dear, but Sunny passed away peacefully last night. I was with her at the end."
Unable to speak, she sobbed into the phone as Nigel tried to comfort her as best he could. He waited to impart the rest of his message until her crying subsided and he heard her blow her nose.
"I'll be in Edinburgh the day after tomorrow, Angela. Sunny mentioned you in her will and we have many things to discuss. She loved you very much and appreciated the great care you took to continue your friendship. She thought highly of you, Dear, and she wouldn't say that of many."
After more comforting words, Nigel signed off, asking if there were any way the girl could meet him at the Balmoral on Thursday morning. He had no way of knowing she was already in Scotland. Concerned for her emotional state, he suggested she have Duncan accompany her. She agreed without thinking to give an explanation of her whereabouts.
Angela felt wave after wave of resentment towards her fiancée mix with her grief and flow over her. She struggled to fight off the bitterness which tried to engulf her mind, knowing her anger was irrational. Her brain realized he had nothing to do with Sunny's guilt, but her heart blamed him for
stirring up the woman's past when he investigated the death of Ella Pena in Spain. Yet, she had no dislike of Nigel, and he had been responsible for hiring Duncan. Nigel, like herself, remained devoted to Sunny.
She fought a mental and emotional battle while she cried for the loss of her friend. The older woman had sincere affection for Angela. She took her under her wing and always gave her sound advice, even if that advice was not in Sunny's own best interest. They'd known each other for almost a year, but their relationship proved intense, loving, genuine, and even fun. Their love of fashion brought them together, but something much stronger kept them close. One woman needed a daughter to replace the child she'd lost, and the other longed for the mother she'd missed growing up.
Duncan had just left Edinburgh's largest auction house when his mobile phone buzzed. Surprised to hear from Nigel Carlyle after so many months, he answered the call immediately. When he first heard his former client's voice, he guessed at what had happened and braced himself for the effect it would have on his lass and their own relationship. He knew Ms. Bentwell's health to be precarious.
After informing Angela of Sunny's passing, Nigel became concerned for the girl's wellbeing, given her overwhelming grief, and hoped Duncan could provide some comfort. The Scotsman explained that they were both in Edinburgh and that he would immediately see to it.
Bad things always come in threes. The thought raised an alarm as it rattled through Duncan's brain on his way back to the office. First, Peter Menzies and now this. He and his fiancée had been hit with two terrible pieces of news in just a few weeks. He wondered what would come next and when the other shoe would drop. Rushing from his car, he barely took note of the shabby sedan parked across the street. The man living in his automobile in the alley had relocated to Grassly Close.
The Siamese Suicides: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 6) Page 7
