by Agatha Frost
“It does.” She sipped the hot tea, unable to bear the thought that she might die without having another decent, traditional British cuppa. “You’ll remember the loose bars in the bedroom? We haven’t acted on that because we feared we’d be dead out there in the wilderness or shot before we made it ten yards, but what if we didn’t need to brave whatever was beyond those trees?”
“Are you suggesting we steal a car?” Percy asked. “I don’t know if you recall, but neither of us can drive.”
“We don’t have to.” She sipped more tea. “Say, for arguments’ sake, we could get out to that road undetected. If cars regularly use that road, we don’t need to steal a car, we just have to get someone to stop.”
“You mean we hitchhike our way back?”
She nodded. “We’d just need one person to stop, and I don’t think it would take long. Not many people would drive past a pair our age, especially since our faces were briefly plastered on the news.”
“It sounds like you’ve . . .” Percy’s voice drifted off as his eyes wandered to the television screen. “Isn’t that—”
“Lisa.” Dot hurried over to the television and cranked up the volume, not that it mattered since she still couldn’t speak Spanish. “Why is my niece on the news?”
“Whatever it is, it can’t be good.” Percy chewed at his thumbnail. “I don’t need to speak the language to know what that tone of voice means. What on earth could be going on down at La Casa?”
Dot couldn’t respond, her imagination running away with her. Her eyes stayed trained on Lisa’s face until the news reporter moved on to another story. She hadn’t had a chance to get to know her niece much outside of Minnie’s brief descriptions in her letters, but the mere thought that something had happened to her was enough to turn her stomach.
“It seems we’re not the only ones in a tricky situation,” Dot finally said as she returned to her seat next to Percy. “We can’t rely on anyone coming to rescue us. We need to get out of here on our own.”
“Do you really think we stand a chance?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but as much as we want to pretend everything is okay, it’s not. We can’t sit around forever, waiting for our fates to be decided. We need to take matters into our own hands.”
“And when do you propose we do that?” he asked, gulping hard.
“Tonight,” Dot said firmly, without needing to think about it. “And I know exactly how we’re going to do it. But first, that soap opera is on next, and I’d quite like to see what happened after yesterday’s cliff-hanger.”
13
Julia
Sitting on the terrace later that afternoon, Julia turned the pages of her gran’s photo album. Once again, the four of them were in fancy dress, and it made her smile.
“Who are they supposed to be?” Jessie asked as she joined her, a cocktail in each hand. “They look like hippie soldiers.”
“The Beatles.” Julia smiled her thanks as Jessie set the drink on the small table next to the cup of peppermint tea she’d yet to touch. “Sergeant Pepper era.”
“Does the existence of a Sergeant Pepper imply there’s a more powerful Sergeant Salt somewhere?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Julia admitted. “Naturally, my gran is dressed up as John Lennon.”
“Is he the one who married that Linda woman who makes the vegetarian sausages your sister raves about?”
“No, that was Paul. Minnie swears she went skiing with him once.”
“Oh.” Jessie took the album from her and stretched out on the next deck chair. “Was he the one who played the drums?”
“You’re thinking of Ringo.”
“So, which one was shot in the theatre?”
“Abraham Lincoln.” Julia narrowed her eyes. “John was the one who was shot, but that was in the street. I think he was still alive when they did that fancy dress.”
“You’ve lost me.” Jessie flicked through the album, tilting her head at the images. “Looks like they threw a lot of fancy dress parties. It’s weird to think of Dot having had a life like this so many years before I was born.”
“Before I was born too.”
“Yeah, but not too many years before.” Jessie shot her a wink. “Did they even have colour TVs when you were a kid?”
“I will throw my drink over you.” Julia picked up her cocktail, but she paused before taking a sip. “Virgin?”
“None of your business, Mother.”
“I meant the cocktail.”
“I know.” Jessie slapped the album shut. “I just wanted to see if I could make you smile, and it worked. And of course it’s virgin. It’s basically fruit juice with a fancy straw and an umbrella. I’m not gonna push alcohol on a pregnant woman, am I?” She sipped her drink and winced. “Maybe vodka and tequila don’t quite go together in these quantities.”
“Jessie . . .”
“What?” She rolled her eyes and sipped again. “Legal drinking age, remember? I’m having enough for the both of us. It’s five o’clock somewhere, and we’re still sorta kinda on holiday.”
“It doesn’t feel like one.” Julia checked her watch. “Do you think it’s too soon to call the hospital again?”
“You called an hour ago.”
“I know.” Julia finally took a sip of her drink; the overwhelming sweetness was more biting than pleasant. “I feel so useless right now. Lisa is fighting for her life, Minnie is no doubt hysterical in the waiting room, my gran and Percy are God knows where, and I’m here—”
“Pregnant and not pushing yourself too hard,” Jessie cut in as she slid her sunglasses down from her hair. “Nobody expects you to be running around this town with a magnifying glass and a notepad. Well, nobody but you.”
While Julia heard the truth in Jessie’s words, she couldn’t seem to help herself. She pulled her phone from her bag, and Jessie quickly snatched it away.
“I just want to—”
“Check in on Lisa.” Jessie slid the phone into her denim shorts. “I know. It’s rubbish what happened to her. Stabbed in her kitchen by some psycho and left to bleed out isn’t how anyone wants to start the day but calling again won’t help her. It took you ten minutes to get through to someone who spoke English last time, all for them to tell you she was still in surgery, where she’ll still likely be. You can’t worry her better.”
“But I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
“It’s what you were doing when I turned up with the cocktails.” She tucked her hands behind her head and positioned her face in the direction of the sun before adding, “There will be an answer, let it be.”
“You just quoted a Beatles lyric.”
“Oh, I know.” A pleased grin spread from ear to ear. “I was pulling your leg. I’m nineteen, not stupid.”
Julia opened her mouth to respond, but only a dry laugh emerged. Somehow, Jessie’s sarcastic humour was the antidote to the continuously unfolding madness around her.
Still, as appealing as the proposition of sunbathing the afternoon away might be, she couldn’t bring herself to keep at it. She’d only come out to the terrace on Barker’s request, and she’d given him more than enough time to get somewhere with Inspector Hillard.
Leaving Jessie to slather herself in sun cream, Julia ventured back into the coolness of the hotel. Barker was by the reception desk where she’d left him, talking to the more agreeable Sub-Inspector Castro rather than the inspector. At least no one appeared poised to rip the other’s head off.
“How is he even allowed to be an inspector here?” she overheard Barker say when she came into listening range. “I looked it up. You have to be Spanish and speak the language fluently to even join the force, let alone claw your way up to the rank of inspector.”
“His mother, she is Spanish, I think,” Castro replied. “He is far from fluent, but he knows enough to get by.” The phone in his hand beeped. “Ah, that is him. He wants me in the kitchen. You cannot go down, you know this.”
; “I know the protocol,” Barker replied with a huff. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”
Castro patted Barker’s arm and offered Julia a taut smile as he slid around the reception desk to venture down into the kitchen.
Julia joined Barker in leaning against the reception desk and asked, “Get anywhere?”
“If by ‘anywhere’ you mean even more frustrated, then yes, I definitely got somewhere.” He sighed and rubbed at the faint wrinkles on his forehead. “It’s not easy being on this side of the line. I wish I could go down there and look at the crime scene myself, but I know the rules. At least that Castro seems to have some sense. He’s certainly the only one I’d want on my team, were I still on the force. He obviously dislikes Hillard as much as we do, but he’s not going to openly question his superior. He’s too much of a—”
The door behind the reception desk flew open, cutting Barker off. Hillard stormed out, a phone to his ear. Castro followed closely behind, hurrying to keep up.
“Inspector?” Julia stood in his way as he tried to walk straight for the door. “Any updates?”
He sighed and held the phone against his shoulder. “None. I’m a little—”
“Busy,” she finished the line for him. “Yes, I imagine you are. But three members of my family have been the victims of crimes in your town, and I can’t help but feel like you’re not doing enough about it.”
The inspector ended the phone call while glaring at Julia. He tucked the device into the inside of his jacket before folding his arms and nodding at Julia to talk.
“Are you any closer to finding my gran?” she asked, making sure to keep her tone firm. “It’s been days, and you’ve told us nothing. We know nothing.”
“We’re following several lines of inquiry.”
“Yeah, right,” Barker scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s police waffle for ‘we have no clue what’s going on.’ You can’t pull that trick on us, mate. I speak the language. It won’t work.” He gestured with his phone. “You wouldn’t even look at the video footage I obtained for you. What exactly are you doing to find my wife’s grandparents, Inspector Hillard?”
“That’s confidential,” he replied, not bothering to look at Barker. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I need to be.”
He attempted to step around Julia, but like their first meeting, she matched his step and blocked his path.
“Do you think Lisa’s stabbing is connected?” she asked.
“Not at present.”
“Oh, here we go.” Barker exhaled, tossing his hands out. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
“Maybe you’re psychic, Mr Brown,” he replied dryly. “Or, perhaps not. If you were, you’d know I’m on my way to making an arrest connected to Lisa’s attack based on fingerprints left at the scene of the crime. We’ve already found a match.”
“The knife?” Barker asked.
“The watch.” Hillard’s phone rang in his pocket. “And before you ask whose prints, that is, quite frankly, none of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me and let me get on with my job, I have to take this call.”
Evidently not wanting to risk another stand-off, Inspector Hillard clutched Julia’s shoulders tightly and moved her to the side. He pulled out his phone, answered it, and marched for the door. The two officers smoking cigarettes and relaxing in front of the hotel momentarily snapped to attention as Hillard jumped into his car. He honked his horn, causing Castro to hurry after him.
“That Hillard is corrupt,” Barker said as he watched the car drive off. “I’d bet my left leg on it.”
“What are we betting our limbs on?” Jessie appeared between them, an arm around each of their necks. “Something good, I hope.”
“Hillard being corrupt,” said Julia.
“Oh, definitely. He’s got shady written all over him.” She plucked a complementary foil-wrapped chocolate from the bowl on the counter. “Forget him. We might be on the back foot, but there’s a brain somewhere between the three of us. We can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
Julia arched a brow. “You’ve changed your tune.”
“Sunbathing is more boring than I thought it would be.” Jessie unwrapped the chocolate and tossed it into her mouth. “There’s only so many times you can look out and be impressed by the view. It’s not like it’s changing. There must be something on your to-do list that we can tackle while we wait for Hillard to not find Dot?”
Julia followed Jessie’s lead and plucked a chocolate out of the bowl. Chocolatería Valor sprang to mind. More importantly, Arlo’s suggestion about who they should talk to.
“We still haven’t spoken to Gabriel Caron,” she suggested before biting into the chocolate; it was overly sweet and tasted cheap. “Minnie admitted to borrowing money from him and not paying it back.”
“Minnie owes someone money and you haven’t spoken to him yet?” Jessie rolled her eyes and took a handful of the small chocolates. “I think that baby brain is getting to the both of you. Isn’t that covered in Investigator 101? Lead the way.”
The plaza was the quietest Julia had seen it. They walked around the fountain and straight to Eiffel restaurant, the grandest and most striking building by far. There were no diners outside, and from the looks of it, none inside either.
“Looks empty,” Julia mused as they walked through the open doors. “Might be the perfect time to catch him.”
“In a net?” Jessie replied, looking around the large, grand restaurant. “I thought French people were supposed to have style. This is très tacky.”
“You can speak French?” Julia stopped dead in her tracks.
“No,” she replied with a smirk, “but it sounded convincing, didn’t it? Back to your plan about catching this French bloke in a net.”
“Does she have an off button?” Barker whispered to Julia.
“I don’t,” Jessie responded with a broad, cheesy grin. “I think that cocktail has gone to my head already.”
“You only had a sip.”
“Who said that was my first?” Jessie leaned against the maître d’ station and fanned herself with a menu. “Why is it always so hot here?”
“It’s Spain,” Barker replied, looking around the empty restaurant. “Where is everyone?”
“There’s a guy behind the bar.” Jessie pointed out before slapping the bell on the station until he set down the glass he was polishing. “Let me do the talking.”
Julia and Barker exchanged unsure looks, but they stepped back and let Jessie take centre stage. The young barman drew near, slinging a towel over his shoulder and nodding for Jessie to talk.
“I want to speak with Gabriel Caron at once!” Jessie demanded in a voice that wasn’t quite her own, looking around the restaurant with a slightly curled lip. “My parents and I dined here last night, and my poor father hasn’t been off the toilet since. And, as you can clearly see, my mother’s stomach has ballooned up to the size of a small house. Oh, you might assume she’s pregnant, but she’s not, she just has the opposite of my father’s problem. I don’t know what you’re putting in the food here, but I’m sure Mr Caron would like to know what his chef is doing to his unsuspecting guests.”
The barman stared at Jessie with an open mouth, obviously rendered as speechless as Julia felt.
“Go on then!” she called, ringing the bell again. “Fetch the man!”
He nodded and turned, knocking into a chair. He quickly straightened it, glanced back at Jessie with fear in his eyes, and hurried off to the back of the restaurant.
“Dare I ask?” said Barker.
“I improvised.” Jessie circled her finger around the bell, clearly pleased with herself. “It’s amazing what your mind comes up with on the spot.”
“Yes. It’s amazing what your mind comes up with.”
“I could have said worse.” She nodded across the restaurant. “Looks like it worked.”
A fifty-something man with dark shaggy hair and a matching goatee marched across t
he restaurant, wearing a white t-shirt so short and tight it rose above the belt of his trousers and revealed his flat, tanned stomach. He was the same man they’d spotted zooming away from the restaurant in his red sports car only days earlier, although the current expression of rage was new.
“Which one of you dares insult the cooking of my restaurant?” he called in a thick, French accent, planting his hands on his hips. “Never in my life have I heard such ridiculousness!”
“Excuse my daughter,” Julia said, glancing at Jessie before stepping forward to take the lead this time. “She has a very specific brand of humour that gets lost in translation sometimes.”
“Are you insinuating the French do not have the sense of humour?” he retorted.
“Not at all.”
“Good.” He narrowed his eyes on Julia, his arms crossing tightly across his chest. “So, what is it you want from me then, if it is not insulting my food?”
“We’re relatives of Minnie’s,” Julia explained, deciding now wasn’t the time for games. “We heard that you—”
“Is Lisa okay?” he interrupted, both his voice and his gaze softening. “Oh, the poor woman. We have all heard what happened this morning.”
“Last I checked, she’s still alive,” Julia said, taken aback by the question and by Gabriel’s obvious sincerity in asking it. “You know them well, then?”
“Of course!” he cried, planting his hands on his hips once more. “Twenty years I have been here. Minnie has been here also for twenty years. It is impossible to be strangers after so long. It is only that her bad luck has come through all at once, but she is not the only one who struggles, oh no.”
“Is that why you let her borrow money?” Julia pushed. “Because you knew she was struggling?”
“Of course!” he replied, eyes narrowing slightly on Julia. “If this is about the money, please, you must tell Minnie to forget about it. The last thing she needs is money stress. The debt is cleared.”
“Just like that?”
“Why, of course!” he said, as though it should have been obvious. Again, Julia was struck by his sincerity. “Like I said, we neighbours, we must look out for each other. So much has changed in our little town so quickly. I have been doing my part to help keep people’s businesses open. Fortunately, I do not share in these struggles. They say I am crazy for opening a French restaurant in a sea of flamenco dancers and sangria, but the tourists, they adore the novelty.”
