Mystery: The Cook's Comeuppance: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 3)

by Victoria Benchley

  Fastidious at home, Duncan tried to make the best of his situation. The jail reeked of strong bleach and various other unpleasant odors. He avoided the cot, which had what appeared to be a clean blanket on top of its mattress, and didn't even look at the metal toilet. He counted the rectangular stones which formed two of the walls. There were 267 blocks on one and 412 on the other. He looked through the bars of the square, glass-free window. At least he could breath in the cool night air. He noticed the cell next to him had no window. He felt fortunate.

  Duncan recalled every BBC story he'd ever seen about British nationals spending years in foreign prisons on trumped up charges. He thought about how being a jailbird might affect his fledgling company. Where was Angus? At least he gained something tonight. Miguel was real. Too bad he was not among the inmates now.

  "What are you smiling at, Englishman?" a voice taunted through the bars.

  Someone over there is bilingual. Duncan couldn't imagine smiling in a place like this, but satisfaction over his progress on the case must have shown on his face. He remembered a verse from the Bible his mum liked to quote, something about all things working together for good for those who love God. A sense of peace began to overtake his thoughts and his body soon relaxed.

  He made a quick calculation in his mind. If he slumped against the wall and stretched his legs forward, as he longed to do, would any of his fellow prisoners be able to reach him through the bars? None of the inmates were especially tall, so their arms could only travel two-thirds of a meter into his cell, he estimated. He doubted they could do much damage as he bent his knees, sliding his back down the cool stone until his rear met the floor. Exhausted, he knew the sun would not rise for several more hours. Duncan drifted into a light slumber and dreamed he'd fallen asleep on the patio, next to the pool, at the casa.

  "All right Sleeping Beauty, get up!"

  Jarred awake by a husky, heavily accented voice, Duncan noticed the sun streaming into his cell. After a moment, he realized where he was.

  "Come on. You're leaving. Why can't you English hold your liquor?" the officer with the hoarse voice continued.

  Duncan tried to glance his way, but his neck was too stiff. As he rose from the floor, he discovered every muscle and joint ached. He got up like an old man, which must have reaffirmed to the guard that the English couldn't handle their drink. He saw that the chamber which held so many of La Aceituna's patrons was now empty except for two men. The guard opened the cell and motioned for him to walk ahead towards the exit.

  As some unseen official buzzed the security door open, his escort stated, "Charges all dropped thanks to your buddy."

  Relief swept over Duncan. His brother had tracked him down and got him out of jail. He couldn't wait to see Angus and exchange stories about last night's harrowing experience. The guard directed him down a long hall with double doors at the other end. Each door contained a reinforced window and he could glimpse what appeared to be an office beyond.

  He pushed the unlocked entry open and found himself in the garrison post he'd visited with Frogo earlier in the week. Duncan didn't see the jail then. He locked eyes with Officer Fernando Torrez. Relieved to see a familiar face, he waved. The young oficial de policía shifted his gaze in the opposite direction and turned a soft shade of pink.

  An older officer approached and said something in Spanish, pointing towards an office door. Duncan had been there before, the comisario's office. He knocked on the door.

  A moment passed before he heard a man's voice say, "Entrar."

  Duncan pushed the door open, anticipating a short chastisement from the comisario and a reunion with Angus. He'd be by the pool at the casa within the hour. The older heavyset official remained seated, but beckoned him to enter with a gesture of his hand.

  "Whatever am I to do with you, Señor Dewar?"

  Duncan jerked his head right to see who the syrupy voice belonged to and winced in pain, his neck still stiff. To his horror, Sunny Bentwell sat in the chair Frogo occupied on his last visit to the garrison post.

  "Ha sido un niño travieso," she added, crossing her legs in a seductive manner that was not lost on the comisario.

  Both Sunny and the police official laughed. Duncan didn't even want to know the translation. He felt himself turning red and tried to fight off embarrassment. He didn't want her to get the best of him. Even though he'd only met her twice, their's somehow seemed an adversarial relationship.

  The comisario, now quite jolly, wagged his forefinger at Duncan as if he were scolding a child. Duncan smiled like he was in on the joke. Sunny rose from her chair and seized his bicep. He noticed she sported a jacket made of fur with sleeves just below the elbow. The unusual thing about the boxy little coat was its color and pattern. A tomato red window pane plaid covered a white background. She wore a matching red, long pencil skirt with a high slit up the side. Her heels were red sling backs made of dainty leather strips woven to resemble crochet. His arm began to hurt where she dug her claw-like fingers into his flesh. All the while, she wore a smile, or was it a smirk?

  "You needn't worry, Señor Michael. He'll stay out of trouble in my custody," Sunny commented as they left the comisario's office.

  The police official laughed. Señor Michael liked Sunny. She still had hold of Duncan's arm as they walked from the garrison post to a waiting limousine.

  "I don't suppose you'd like to explain what you were doing in that place at that time of night?" she said after the vehicle was well on its way towards the casa.

  The limousine travelled an unusual route, skirting the village to avoid its narrow lanes.

  "No," Duncan replied.

  Never complain, never explain. Just sitting in close proximity to her made him uncomfortable. He felt his jaw tighten and his back stiffen as if preparing for a fight.

  "Are you even going to thank me for getting you out of jail?" Sunny said in a sugary sweet voice.

  He knew it was not her normal tone, yet she'd used it several times already today. Duncan shifted to look Sunny in the eye.

  "Thank you, Vizcondesa. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf. May I ask you a question?"

  "Of course," Sunny said.

  Somehow, in those two words, she conveyed how superior her manners were to his, since he'd refused her an explanation a moment before.

  "How did you know I was in jail?"

  She dipped her chin and looked up at him through long, he guessed fake, lashes. She grinned, allowing her teeth to glow white in the dark of the limousine.

  "Oh, the Jefe Superior is a dear friend of mine. When he received word this morning that an Englishman had been arrested, he phoned me immediately to see if I knew who you were. He assumed you were part of the academy, of course."

  "Of course," Duncan said more to himself than to Sunny.

  He was sick of being referred to as an Englishman.

  "Dinnae fash yersel, isn't that what you say in Scotland?" She paused before continuing, "I've seen that all charges were dropped. They'll be no blot on your stellar reputation."

  Sunny launched an all out assault. Duncan refused to give this woman the upper hand. He grinned his most dashing smile, leaned in close to Sunny and whispered in her ear.

  "I'm grateful."

  As soon as the words left his lips, the limousine came to a stop in the casa's courtyard. Duncan opened the door and was out before Sunny could reply. He marched away from the car and into the house without a backwards glance. He'd won the battle, but was sure the war wasn't over.

  Once inside the foyer, Duncan paused to lean against the door. His heart was racing. He took a deep breath.

  "Angus!" he called at the top of his lungs.

  He waited for a response from his brother or even from Mary, but none came. He took another deep breath and ran up the stairs. He could worry about his brother in a few minutes. Now, he craved a hot shower.

  As Duncan washed the stench and grime from his body, he began to unwind. Some of his muscles ached from his night
spent on the stone floor, but the tension he'd felt eased. He just wanted to sleep. If Angus didn't show up soon, he'd call Frogo for advice. He didn't want to head back to the police station. That would open another can of worms, and he'd already experienced their take on missing persons. He didn't want Sunny involved. If he didn't ever see her again, it would be too soon. He hoped and believed his brother could take care of himself.

  He was preparing to dress when Angus burst into the room. He presented a shocking sight. Trousers torn, covered in dirt, thick mane askew, and missing one shoe, Angus appeared to have survived a typhoon. Duncan placed a hand on one hip, used the other to secure his towel, and eyed his brother up and down, speechless for the moment. Angus stared back, his large hazel eyes assuming a wild glare. The brothers faced off, about two meters apart, in silence; one squeaky clean in his birthday suit, save the towel, and the other clothed but filthy.

  "Well," Duncan finally spoke. "What kept you from bailing me out? I spent the entire night in the proverbial pokey."

  "Really?"

  The shock in his brother's voice combined with something akin to admiration, and Angus's disturbed expression eased into a giant grin. As kids in the States, Angus loved watching old American westerns on the telly. He gave Duncan what seemed a congratulatory slap on the back and strolled past him into the bathroom without another word, slamming the door behind. Duncan heard the shower turn on and shook his head. He'd have to wait until later for answers regarding his brother's activities.

  It was almost noon when Angus joined him downstairs for a late breakfast. Mary had the day off, but had left instructions on what to prepare for meals if the brothers ate at the casa. He had a steaming café con leche waiting for Angus along with a plate of lemon muffins.

  "So, where did you go?" Duncan asked after his brother settled at the table.

  "When I heard that ruckus, I had my hand on the door. Your Miguel dashed past me and out into the street. For someone who seemed almost unconscious, he sure moved fast! I didn't wait to see what made him run. I figured if it scared him that much, it couldn't be good for me either."

  "Weren't you concerned about me?" Duncan asked his brother.

  "Of course, I assumed you were right behind, and I didn't want Miguel to get away. I sprinted after him, but that little weasel is slippery. He was around a corner and down a dark ginnel before I could catch him. I lost him pretty quick and was about to return to the main street when I caught a glimpse of him in the distance, hopping over a fence. I decided I might still be able to overtake him, so I darted off in his direction."

  Angus paused to pop a muffin in his mouth. He took a gulp of coffee and closed his eyes, enjoying the taste. He shifted in his chair and rolled his head from side to side. Duncan grew impatient. His brother let out a sigh before continuing.

  "That's how it went. I'd lose him, catch sight of him, try to reach him and lose him again. Finally, I must have come to the edge of town because when I leapt over the same wall I'd seen him scale a minute earlier, I fell, or should I say rolled, down a steep embankment. I thought I'd never reach the bottom. When I did, I crashed into some rocks in a shallow stream. My ankle hurt, so I couldn't climb back up the way I'd come. There was no sign of Miguel either. I suspect he might have hid behind the wall and watched me plummet into the depths of that ravine. Then, he probably went strolling through town at his leisure."

  "What did you do? I mean, how did you get out of that crevasse?"

  Duncan had seen the terrain of the vicinity from above when he first arrived via airplane. There were plenty of streams, gorges, valleys, and narrow chasms marking the area.

  "I walked downstream. I knew the land must open into a dell at some point, or a road would cross the brook. The more I walked, the better my ankle felt. After a while, I found myself in a small orchard of some sort. I propped myself against a tree trunk and slept. I never dreamed you'd been arrested."

  The corners of Angus's mouth curled up until his lips parted, revealing a toothy grin.

  "Wait until I tell Mum her boy's a jailbird!" he added, laughing.

  "I'd hold off on that if I were you, Angus. I... "

  "I haven't finished telling you about my adventure," Angus interrupted Duncan mid-sentence before continuing, "when I woke up, I was surrounded by sheep!"

  He raised his brows and paused briefly for effect, not knowing his brother had seen the animals in the area already.

  "Yes, sheep, and a real herdsman in a getup like I've never seen. Didn't speak much English, but I managed to let him know I needed to get to Manchiego and he pointed me in the right direction. You know, I think one of those sheep was licking my face before I woke up. I was dreaming I was kissing Angela and next thing I know, a sheep is staring me in the face!"

  "That's a little too much information for me, Brother," Duncan said.

  "Anyway, it was at least a five kilometer hike back to town, in one shoe, no less. I enjoyed the other night's Vespa ride far more than this morning's trek. I think I've got a blister," he added, rubbing the bottom of one foot before popping another muffin in his mouth.

  "Well, I can't say that my night was as dramatic as yours, but it did have its highlights," he remarked, raising his eyebrows.

  "Do tell, Brother."

  Angus couldn't help partaking in a tiny bit of schadenfreude.

  "The policía charged the place. I turned to see what caused the racket and Miguel must have broken free from my grasp then. Blue uniforms poured into the bar from the back. They were waving their sticks and seemed prepared to fire on us. I raised my hands over my head and thought I might back out of the front entrance unnoticed. That's when I felt a club in my back. You must have reached that alley before the policía arrived on Torro Calle," Duncan surmised.

  Angus always did have good luck.

  "I suppose I did. I never saw hide nor hair of them," his brother said.

  "They handcuffed everyone and corralled us into vans and took us to jail. I got my own cell, which was fortuitous because I think the locals blamed me for the police raid. I did have to endure several lectures from officers regarding Englishmen not handling their liquor and misbehaving."

  "Ach! We may have to send for our kilts," Angus remarked with vigor. He added, "How did you get out?"

  "Well, after a few hours sleeping on the floor, I thought you had finally come for me."

  Duncan raised an eyebrow.

  He continued, "Turns out Sunny Bentwell got the charges dropped. She picked me up."

  "Who is Sunny Bentwell?"

  "You don't want to know. She's the benefactress of the academy. She established the art retreat with money from one of her husbands and she's the reason I have this job. She's an odd duck, Angus. I don't like her at all. She told me she hired me because I was 'Good with death by crushing.'"

  A sadness swept over Duncan with this last revelation about Sunny.

  "Aye, she must be a minger to say such a thing. I hope ye dinnae pay attention to her," Angus said, his tone increasing in intensity.

  He knew Duncan had been through a lot and didn't need to be reminded of the merlon murders. He wouldn't brook someone intentionally hurting his brother. Duncan noticed Angus's Scottish accent and slang, a sure sign he was riled, and softened his own tone.

  "I tried not to let it bugger me. I just wonder if I'll ever be free of that case and what it did to my reputation," he replied with candor.

  "Dinnae fash yersel. It's only been six months. In another six, no one will even remember anything happened," Angus said.

  Duncan appreciated his brother trying to ease his concerns, but he still had his doubts.

  "Say, aren't we supposed to be having dinner with a couple of lasses tonight?"

  Angus changed the subject to something more cheerful.

  He continued, "Why don't we spend a few hours by the pool before meeting up with them? I bet you could use a nap."

  Duncan smiled and said, "So you can douse me while I sleep?"

 
; Angus grinned.

  "Last one in is a bampot!" he called as he raced upstairs to change.

  Duncan cleared the table. On his way out of the kitchen, he glanced at the dustbin. It was empty. I could swear I threw Isabella's book in that bin yesterday, he thought, climbing the stairs.

  - 11 -

  A Surprise & a Sous Chef

  Glancing to his left, Duncan spied a giant bull on the horizon. Perhaps 40 meters high and complete with horns, tail, and other anatomically correct features, it dominated the plane. He'd heard of these giant metal sculptures peppered in the Spanish countryside, but this was the first he had seen.

  As his borrowed car sped along the level terrain, he had plenty of time to think. Traffic was sparse and except for the bull, the surroundings flat and boring. He wasn't ten minutes outside of Manchiego when the lane widened and climbed to a plateau. Duncan soon lost interest in the monotonous topography surrounding the roadway.

  While Angus showed no real interest in Juliette's friend, Arianna, the brothers still had a great time Saturday night. After recuperating from their ordeals, an evening out with two vibrant, attractive girls proved just the ticket. Duncan enjoyed Juliette's company and wanted to see more of her. It was wonderful to just have fun with a lass again. They stayed out late, and Sunday remained a blur of sleep and sunning by the pool with his brother.

  Duncan worked long hours Monday and Tuesday at the academy interviewing artists and employees. He did not glean any new information, and apart from figuring out that Geoffry started the rumors among academy members that Ella Peña's death was no accident, the case stagnated.

  Angus left early Monday with his Vespa gang to explore the countryside between Manchiego and Toledo. He returned late Tuesday night with tales of the Don Quixote windmills. He and his friends ventured south of Toledo to Campo de Criptana where ten of these structures still stood, preserved.

  "It was like going back in time," he said, showing his brother photos from his mobile phone.