Assignment in Amsterdam

by Carrie Bedford

  Praise for Carrie Bedford

  “Kate Benedict is a female protagonist to cheer for--a talented architect, a seer of auras, and a young woman who does whatever it takes to keep her friends alive. Charming Amsterdam is the setting for a suspenseful story centering on a majestic old building harboring lethal secrets.”

  — Susan Garzon, Ph.D, author of “Reading the Knots”

  “Kate Benedict could be BFFs with Mary O’Reilly. Kate’s desire to help, especially when she notices an aura looming over someone’s head, spurs her into action that carries with it both mystery and danger. I thoroughly enjoyed the fast-paced action and exotic locales of The Florentine Cypher. It is an edge-of-your-seat page turner.”

  – Terri Reid, author of the Mary O’Reilly Paranormal Mystery Series

  “An intense edge of your seat mystery with just the right amount of paranormal twist I look for.”

  – M.P. McDonald, author of the Mark Taylor Mystery Series

  Assignment in Amsterdam

  A Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery

  Carrie Bedford

  booksBnimble Publishing

  New Orleans, La.

  Assignment in Amsterdam

  Copyright 2019 by Carrie Bedford

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Also available in print:

  ISBN 978-0-9998131-8-8

  www.booksnimble.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Our Guarantee

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Carrie Bedford

  About the Author

  1

  The Underground was packed with miserable, rain-soaked commuters. The smell of damp wool reminded me of a sheep corral I had come across while on a recent visit to Scotland. The poor scared creatures had only been penned up to be shorn, but they didn’t know that. It could have been the end of the world for all they knew. We, on the other hand, were taking the Tube by choice.

  As the train sped through the dark tunnels under London’s streets, I gripped a handrail and looked at the Italian language app on my mobile. Every few weeks, I took a break from reading the news in an attempt to retain my sanity. It worked, but only until I sneaked a peek at the headlines and my hard-won peace of mind popped like a soap bubble.

  A scream and a sudden burst of voices caught my attention and I looked up to find out what was happening. Halfway down the carriage, a man in a suit had collapsed and fallen to the floor. Unseen to all but me, the air over his head swirled in dizzying, fast-moving circles. My stomach flipped.

  “Let me through,” a woman demanded, elbowing people aside. “I’m a doctor.”

  But even as she crouched down beside the stricken passenger, I saw the rippling air slow and then stop. It was over. I knew the man was dead.

  The doctor did her best for the next few minutes, swiftly clearing a space around him before doing chest compressions. Finally, she took off her coat and laid it gently over the man’s face and body.

  I turned away. The sight of that moving air, even over the head of a total stranger, always unnerved me. To me, it was a sign of imminent death. I called it an aura, for want of a better word. The faster the aura moved, the sooner death would come.

  “Bloody hell.” The man standing next to me gazed at the lifeless form on the floor. “I hope this doesn’t cause any delays. I’m already late for work.”

  He was to be disappointed. We soon pulled into Blackfriars station but were kept on the train until an ambulance crew had removed the body. Tensions were high by the time the doors opened and we, like well-dressed sheep, surged onto the platform. After following the herd of commuters up the escalators, I hurried through the streets under gusty winds and pouring rain to my office near Paternoster Square.

  Nestled among modern, glass-fronted office towers, our building was dated and unattractive, but the inside made up for the shabby façade. With soaring glass ceilings and light wood floors, it was home to a competent and successful architectural firm.

  As I stepped across the threshold, the dulcet tones of my boss, Alan, rang across the lobby.

  “Kate! Wondered where you were. I’ve been looking for you.” He bore down on me like a freight train at full speed.

  A glance at the clock over the reception desk confirmed that it was eight a.m., still early. Even the receptionist hadn’t come in yet. But with Alan, nothing was stable in the time continuum. Someone else’s early was Alan’s late. Tomorrow meant yesterday, and an hour of overtime often stretched past midnight.

  “I’ve got a new project for you, in Holland,” he said. “Interested? Come with me, and I’ll give you the details.”

  Peeling my wet scarf from around my neck, I followed, my boots tapping on the light oak wood flooring.

  “So,” he said, when we were seated on opposite sides of his massive desk, he in his fancy leather ergonomic chair, while I was stuck on a rigid, upright one. For much of the year, he had a strangely orange cast to his skin, probably from using a sunbed. Although we’d all warned him it wasn’t safe, for Alan, vanity trumped all, even health. But he had shed a few pounds recently, so that his starched blue shirt didn’t strain quite so much over his stomach. Late middle age wasn’t being very kind to him, but at least he was fighting back.

  As usual, he didn’t waste any time. “Amsterdam. Could be a good one for us,” he said. “A breakthrough into a new market.”

  A loud ping on his phone caught his attention. It took him a minute to tap out a text before tearing his eyes away from his screen.

  “The client is a multinational financial company. They’re currently based in London, but they want to move their headquarters to Amsterdam. Brexit, you know.”

  I waited a beat and was duly rewarded. “And don’t get me started,” he continued, going on to deliver an expletive-laden rant against politicians of all parties and the public in general. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it and would certainly not be the last.

  “Anyway,” he continued. “They’re planning to renovate a historic building. The basics have been done. Building permits in process, inspection reports completed. Next step is a feasibility review, and that’s where we come in. The client has to be sure we can make the building work for them. Access, space, all the usual stuff.”

  Alan’s phone pinged, and he glanced at his screen again. He had the attention span of a toddler.

  “You’ll leave for Amsterdam on Monday. Short notice, I know, but that’s how it goes sometimes. And expect to be there for about eight days. Give it your very best, Kate. If we do well there, we’ll win more European business.”

  “I appreciate you trusting me with this.” I smiled, genuinely pleased that he had chosen me for the job.

  We had something of a rocky relationship, due in most part to my occasional but unavoidable absences. After I’d started seeing those stra
nge death-forecasting auras over people several years ago, I’d been drawn into the lives of potential victims as I tried to save them from whatever threatened them. And if that meant taking a few hours or a few days away from work, I did it. I had no choice.

  I had told Alan all about the auras a couple of years ago, in the aftermath of a murder investigation that directly affected the firm. He now thought I was insane, but I knew he appreciated the quality of my designs. So, we bumped along, never talking again about my bizarre gift.

  “Yeah, well, I was going to send Michael,” Alan said. “But someone specifically asked for you, apparently. Someone on the TBA team.”

  Before I could ask who, he’d picked up his phone. “Off you go then,” he said. “Book your flights. Use one of the low-cost carriers. Budgets, you know. Keep me up to date on progress, won’t you?”

  “I will. Thank you, Alan.” I gathered my coat and bag and headed to the door.

  “Oh, and Kate?”

  Turning, I saw him clenching and unclenching his hands, a habit of his when he was nervous, which was hardly ever, or impatient, which was frequent. “There are some rumors about the building. You’ll hear them, no doubt, when you get there.”

  “What sort of rumors?” I asked.

  He waved a hand in the air as though sweeping aside his own words. “Silly stuff. Just ignore them, okay? We need this project to succeed.”

  I opened my mouth to ask again, but he was typing on his phone again. Knowing I wouldn’t get anything more out of him, I strode off towards my office, calling a cheery good morning to a couple of colleagues who were coming in through the front door.

  First on my to-do list was to ring my boyfriend Josh to let him know I’d be leaving for a while. Not that it made much difference, as he was already away, managing a development in Bristol that would go on for several weeks. My call rang through to his voicemail and I left a message. At least he was coming home this weekend, so we would have some time together before going our separate ways again on Monday.

  I’d just switched on my computer when my mobile rang. It was a number I recognized but couldn’t immediately place.

  “Kate Benedict,” I answered, leafing through a pile of papers on my desk.

  “It’s Sam Holden.”

  “Sam!”

  We’d been in the same classes at university in London and had stayed in touch since graduating, meeting up as often as possible for drinks or dinner. Sam and Josh got along well too. But when I thought back, I realized it must have been nearly six months since we last saw him. Funny how time runs away with us, with our jobs and relationships and all those other bad excuses for letting friends go.

  “Have you spoken with Alan yet?” Sam asked. “About Amsterdam?”

  I was confused.

  “I’m working with TBA Capital Management as a consultant,” he went on. “My job is to manage the transition from their current location in London to the new place in Amsterdam. When I found out TBA had already selected your company for the architectural services, I thought of you and suggested they call Alan to ask if he could get you assigned to the project. It will be fun to work together, don’t you think?”

  It would be fun to work with Sam. I liked him immensely. He was very smart but didn’t take himself too seriously. And he didn’t let the traumas of his personal life affect his generally sunny attitude.

  “I’m flying in tomorrow, just to get my bearings before we all start work. I’ll come pick you up at Schiphol airport on Monday morning,” he said. “Send me your flight details when you have them. See you soon.”

  2

  On Monday morning, the flight arrived in Amsterdam on time, and I was soon walking through Arrivals, looking out for Sam. I passed a row of black-suited drivers holding signs for the passengers they were meeting, names from all over the world scrawled on white cards.

  Then I saw my own name written on one, held by a grinning Sam, never one to pass up a chance for a joke.

  “May I take your case, ma’am?” he asked, folding the card and chucking it into a nearby bin.

  I couldn’t answer. I just stood there gripping the handle of my rolling suitcase as people rushed past me, like streams of water around a rock.

  “Kate?” he waved a hand in front of my face. “You okay?”

  “No,” I screamed. “No, no, no.”

  Then I realized, to my relief, that I wasn’t screaming out loud. The words were ricocheting around in my head, and Sam was looking at me with an expression of confusion.

  Over his head, the air moved in gentle circles, like ripples on a pond. Why? What could possibly be the danger to him?

  I pulled my eyes away and looked into his, turned my lips up into a smile and then gave him a hug. “It’s lovely to see you, Sam. How are you doing?”

  “Great,” he said. “Really good, thanks.”

  He was looking good. As usual, his mop of light brown hair flopped down over his hazel eyes. Even when he’d just had it cut, it managed to look unruly. His clothes, however, were tailored and pressed, his trouser creases sharp.

  “I’m super excited we get to work together,” I said, working hard to keep my voice from shaking.

  “Me too.” But I noticed that his grin had faded. “It should be an interesting assignment.”

  Interesting. That was a fairly understated word, coming from him. I was dying to know more, but our conversation was limited as we pushed our way through the noisy, crowded terminal.

  Once we were on the train to Amsterdam Central Station, I settled into the upholstered seat, finally feeling my heartbeat slow down. I needed time to come to terms with Sam’s aura so, for now, I’d do my best to act as though nothing was wrong.

  “So, you’re enjoying this consulting job?” I asked.

  Sam had worked for a property development company for his first few years after graduating, but now he worked for himself, assisting companies with moves like the one TBA was planning. It was stressful, being self-employed, but Sam seemed to thrive on it. And he made good money.

  As the train left the station, watery sunlight fell through the windows, highlighting the moving air over Sam’s head. I shivered, looking at it, but kept a smile plastered on my face.

  “Everything okay?” I asked. “Any news apart from the job? What about that doctor you were dating?”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t work out. We’re both so busy.”

  “I hope you’re not working too hard. It’s not worth risking your health for a job, you know.”

  “I know. Work was an issue but…well, maybe we weren’t a good match.”

  “Did you break up with her or what?”

  “I did. About a month ago. She was a bit upset.”

  I’d seen Fatal Attraction. The ex-girlfriend could be the threat to Sam. I didn’t know when his aura had appeared. It could have been when they split up.

  He gave me a quizzical look, but I kept going, delving for any information that might explain that aura. “What about your family? How’s Sarah?”

  Sam and his disabled sister, Sarah, lived with his grandmother in Surrey. For the last fifteen years, after losing her daughter and son-in-law, she’d cared for Sam and Sarah as her own. Although she was eighty now, she was a force of nature. Nothing seemed to stop her. But Sam’s income was vital to the family’s well-being. Gran’s pension and Sarah’s disability allowance didn’t go far. If he ever felt the stress of it all, he never let it show.

  “Everything is good,” Sam said. “Sarah’s doing well, and Gran is too. We all are. What’s with all the weird questions, Kate?”

  I was saved from answering when the train came to a stop. Sam grabbed my suitcase and we headed through the impressive Neo-Renaissance station building to the taxi rank where tourists mingled with businesspeople in a long queue. I didn’t mind the wait, enjoying the experience of being in a new city, hearing foreign languages, seeing different architecture. I gazed around, happy to be distracted from the sight of Sam’s aura. />
  When we were in the taxi, I gave up on the personal questions and asked about the project, the reason I was here. “Tell me more about this big old house we’re going to be working on.”

  “It’s a magnificent building, dating back to 1650, the height of the Golden Age in Holland. The most recent owners are a Dutch couple, Tomas and Eline Janssen. After Mr. Janssen died recently, his wife decided to sell. My client, TBA Capital, wants to convert it into their world headquarters.”

  “I was wondering about that. Isn’t it a historic building? Change of use is usually tricky with those.”

  “It is listed, but we’ve already obtained the permits from the city of Amsterdam. It turned out that wasn’t too hard because the house was used for offices for a while— I’ll tell you more about that later. And a few of the neighboring buildings have been converted into commercial use properties.”

  “No issues there then. That part sounds straightforward enough.”

  “I hope so. The price has been agreed, and the sale is contingent only on us confirming that the renovation is feasible. Once that’s done, the real work starts. You complete the designs and construction begins. TBA Capital wants to move in by the end of the year.”

  “That’s tight.”

  Sam nodded. “We can make it work. Although it’s going more slowly than it should.”

  “Any particular reason?”