"Not physically. I think he's cooked his goose at L and G, though. I get the feeling his outburst may not be the first infraction noticed by upper management."
A relieved smile spread across her face.
"As far as France goes, it's not the way he made it sound."
"I was sure it wasn't."
"He scheduled me to work on an investigation in Lyon, along with two others from the department. When Sunny died, I told him I couldn't make the trip, and he agreed to get someone else to go. He never told me he planned to come."
"Hadley may have been planning a surprise attack."
Angela laughed, relieving some of the heavy mood. She wagged her head.
"I never cared much for him, even though he always went out of his way to be nice."
"Why didn't you just quit and come work for me then?"
She drew in a sharp breath, filling her lungs with air, and took her time exhaling.
"I really wanted to accomplish something on my own. I've worked my way up from secretary to personal assistant, then to assistant investigator. It's always been important to me to make full investigator. I know I'm capable of running a case myself, and I want everyone else to know it, too. I spent enough years getting talked down to and treated like an empty-headed piece of fluff."
"Did I ever do that?"
"Only rarely. When you were in a great fuss over something."
"I'm sorry."
Duncan draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her into a kiss.
"I forgive you."
"Everyone knows how sharp you are. I don't think you've anything to prove to anyone."
She smiled and gave him a kiss. When she pulled back, he saw a lone tear trailing down her face. He wiped it away, assuming Sunny was never far from the surface of her emotions.
"Besides, if you don't want to work for me, Mum could always use you, full-time!
Angela swatted his chest playfully.
"I've no doubt she would," she said with a giggle.
They ceased their banter when a waitress approached and took their order. Things were going so well, Duncan didn't want to bring up the secret trips to Spain, but he felt he should.
"There's something else Hadley mentioned."
"Oh?"
"He said you'd been going to Spain every week, but you didn't trust me enough to tell me. Is that true?"
Angela dropped her gaze, and another tear slipped down her cheek. She nodded. Duncan lifted her chin with his forefinger.
"Look at me, Angela. Please."
Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to meet his stare.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Darling, I'm sorry I behaved in such a way that you thought you couldn't trust that information with me. I realize I can be overprotective at times, but that's only because I love you so. I'm glad you had that extra time with Sunny. I hope you'll feel comfortable confiding the truth in me in the future."
Flinging her arms around his neck, she burst into tears.
"I'm sorry. I was a coward not to tell you. I just didn't want to fight over it. It's been bothering me for so long . . ." Her voice trailed off.
Duncan pulled her arms away and used a serviette to dry her tears.
"Shh. They'll kick us out if you cause a scene, and I'm famished," he joked.
Angela laughed, tears still streaming down her face.
"Nigel sent the jet for me, and I'd leave the office at noon and be back before work the next day. Forgive me?"
"You'll have to make it up to me." He flashed his devilishly handsome grin.
"I will."
"From now on, tell me everything. The worst thing that can happen is that we fight. Then, we make up. It won't be the end of the world."
She nodded between sniffles then blew her nose loudly, her eyes darting around the room in an exaggerated fashion as if she were afraid of being booted from the restaurant. Then, they both had a laugh.
"Want to elope?" he whispered.
Chapter 11
Fiancée Envy
He spent the following week tracking down the histories of artwork sold by Begbie and Wainwrithe over the past twenty years—those pieces that were documented. He'd like to have gone even further back, but the purveyors had their policy elsewhere at that time. A clear pattern emerged. He ran his theory past Angela, who appeared most afternoons at the office. The place could get crowded with the cleaning girl's duties sometimes overlapping business hours.
"Have you decided anything?" he asked from behind his laptop.
"Dr. Brightly says I'm a people pleaser and that I need to carefully weigh my options before making any decisions, professional or personal."
He didn't like the sound of that. Angela had been meeting, casually, with Helen Brightly most evenings, after her regular clients had all left.
"Have you spoken to Hadley yet?" he ventured, not wanting to press a people pleaser.
"Only once, by phone. He's back in London. I informed him I'd need to take some of my banked vacation time. I didn't mention anything about Sunny's foundation—"
The phone interrupted her. Duncan held up a finger, asking her to hold her thought, and tried to answer.
"Let me!" she said, snatching the receiver.
"Dewar and Associates, how may I direct your call?" Her voice sounded pitch perfect professional, but no sooner had the last word passed her lips than her hand flew to her mouth, silencing a giggle. There only was one line, after all, and Duncan remained the sole employee.
"One moment, please." Angela's eyes grew wide as she pointed at the device. "It's the man we were just talking about, that Bigbe fellow," she whispered, passing the device off. She'd traded her smile for a scowl.
He nodded.
"Hallo, Mr. Begbie. What can I do for you?"
"Well, you see—oh, you must call me Begs, all right?"
"Yes, thank you, Begs. How can I be of service?" He crossed his eyes at Angela who'd taken up a position on the edge of his desk, looking tense. He hoped to relieve her worry with his silly faces.
"Well, you see, I thought we could break bread together and discuss my insurance, that sort of thing. I didn't get to spend much time with you the other day. How does luncheon Monday sound? Say the Cat's Cradle at one?"
"Sounds brilliant," Duncan said, doing his best pirate impersonation for his future bride.
"What was that all about?" she asked after he'd signed off.
"Begs wants to share a meal. I should have suggested supper at Mum's, huh?"
She pursed her lips and gave a small shake to her head.
"What? Might have been the beginning of a whole new clientele for Cocina Gaélico. Ho! What do you say we get out of town and spend the weekend in Taye? I want your input on the cottage."
Angela sighed.
"All right. But you have to promise me you'll be careful around that Mr. Bigs. I just read an article about an entire gang of seniors who pulled off a heist in Hatton Garden a couple of years back."
"Y–y–yes, Ma'am." Duncan hunched his back, pulled his lips over his teeth and gummed his words as if missing his wallies.
"Seriously. These guys aren't your typical granddads. Be careful around Bigs. Your theory about him isn't beyond the realm of possibility."
"It's Begs, Darling. Clarence Begbie, and I'll be careful."
Angela glanced at her watch.
"I'm going to just pop up and say hello to Dr. Brightly for a moment. Should I meet you at your parents' house or will you wait?"
"I'll wait. I'm going to punch some information into my fiddly thing."
He gave her a wink before she turned to go, still shaking her head.
A good hour passed before she returned. Her entry startled him, as he'd been deep in thought over his fault tree analysis. He decided to go ahead and run the program with the facts he'd entered.
"Ready?"
"Your mum phoned. She asked if I could fill in again tonight at the restaurant."
"Again?"
"Do you want me to tell her No?"
"That won't be necessary. Would you mind dropping me there?"
"I guess I might as well stick around and help too."
"You might want to ask your mum about that first, Duncan."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't think the customers are exactly clamoring for you."
"We'll see about that!" he said, grabbing his jacket.
Cocina Gaélico held a full house of what he now thought of as regulars. After Angus held the door open for them, Angela made a dash for the kitchen and Duncan scanned the restaurant. One or two new faces crowded around the bar, but everyone else seemed familiar. He noticed one big change. The dapper man who'd come in the first night with a group of large henchmen sat alone at a table in his usual corner. His friends were still present, just seated in their own, separate area.
"So, you're front of the house worthy?" he asked, raising his voice above the din.
Conversation among the patrons mixed with the sounds of background music, clattering plates, clanking cutlery, and tinkling glasses, increasing the decibel level. Before Angus could answer, a group near the front broke into laughter while a tiny woman slammed her hand on a table for effect, rattling the dinner service.
"I guess so," his brother replied glumly.
He started to comment, but the appearance of Mondo heading straight for Mr. Dapper's table, grinning from ear to ear, stopped him. The large chef garnered attention wherever he went. Duncan watched as the cook began gesticulating, and Angus arched an eyebrow, lifting one corner of his mouth in a c'est la vie expression while bobbing his head.
I'll leave them to it, he thought and went in search of his mum.
Apron-clad, Angela squeezed past him on her way back out front, smiling. Glancing after the girl, he admired the way her thick hair bounced across her back with every hurried step. He found Margaret barking orders over her shoulder at Harold while Penny took a tray laden with dishes full of steaming food into the dining room.
"Where's the staff, Mum?" he asked, running one hand through his thick locks.
"This is the staff, for now," she said, turning away from the stove. She took the moment to wipe drops of sweat from her forehead with a serviette. "I called an agency today, but they couldn't get anyone here until tomor—oh, hello, Ravi."
Duncan glanced in the direction of Margaret's line of sight. At the back door stood a small Indian boy.
"Hello, Mrs. Dowaarr. My father has instructed me to come and serve in your establishment as busboy or in whatever capacity you may require. I wish to tell you I am an excellent busboy and dish washer. He says I am to work until I have paid my debt to you and to society."
"Very good, Ravi. We can use your assistance," Margaret said, bending to look eye to eye with the boy. She continued in a warm tone, "You will have to thank your father for me. Now, go find the red-haired lass and ask her where to begin. Her name is Penny Bowes. She is my head waitress for the time being. Oh, and thank you, Ravi. You will be a blessing tonight."
The lad nodded, mouthing the word blessing to himself, and went in search of Penny, passing Armondo as he did.
"What is the scoundrel doing here?" Mondo demanded after the lad had cleared the room.
Duncan had heard the tale of how the young Patel boy had tried to sabotage his mum's opening, and he had to agree with the chef. The lad had already hurt business. He could cause even more trouble with an inside job.
"Tut, Armondo. He's trying to work off any damage he did. Frankly, we need all the help we can get. He's going to bus tables and Penny will oversee him. I'm sure it's a sacrifice for his father to spare him from Punjab Palace."
"Hmph!"
"Please, come see to this lamb. I'm worried it's taking too long," she said, distracting the temperamental chef.
Mondo opened the stove, allowing a delectable aroma to escape. He bent and waved his hand in front of his face to capture as much of the smell as possible.
"Perfecto! Mondo is not worried. If anyone complains, we give them the shrimp to placate the appetites. And, you, why are you doing the loitering?" he added, pointing a fat accusatory finger at Duncan.
"I thought I'd offer my services, since Angela's helping."
"Good!"
Armondo turned his back to him. Duncan watched as the chef grabbed ingredients from the fridge and pantry, using his bulky body as a shield to block his view of whatever it was he created.
"There!" the large man exclaimed, turning to present him with a tall glass on a tiny, round tray. Inside the vessel, layers of green, red, and white created diagonal stripes. A long piece of crisp bread protruded from the top, along with a staff of herbs. "Take this to Mr. MacDonald while he waits for his roasted lamb and potatoes. Tell him it is compliments of Chef Mondo!"
"All . . . right. But who is Mr. MacDonald?" he asked, taking the hunger-appeasing appetizer from Armondo.
"Who is Mr. MacDonald? Did you hear that, Margaret? Your Duncan wants to help, yet he doesn't even know our most important customer!" He sounded incredulous.
"Let me guess. The fellow in the back corner, Mr. Dapper."
"No, his name is MacDonald, not Dapper! But he is in the corner. Now hurry!"
Mondo swished his big paw through the air at waist level as if to shoo him from the kitchen, while Margaret placated her eldest with an apologetic smile. Ravi burst into the kitchen carrying a tub of dirty dishes, piled high, and headed straight for the industrial machine. The kid was a pro. Harold kept his head down, meticulously chopping some green veg. Only his father, James, appeared missing from the action.
He rounded the corner into the dining room, the chef's words about tomatoes, ceviche, and avocado foam ringing in his ears. His gaze traveled to the corner closest to him. Angela sat next to MacDonald. The lass was giggling and obviously enjoying herself while Mr. Dapper rested his arm on the back of her chair, engaging her in an intimate, entertaining conversation.
Did he stomp towards them in a threatening manner? Surely not. Did he yell Get your arm off my lass or I'll break it? No. Did he roll up his sleeves to prepare for fisticuffs? No. Still, before Duncan could reach the table, he ran smack into the chest of one of MacDonald's henchmen. He found himself staring at an oversized Adam's apple. He figured the bloke must be over two meters tall.
"Excuse—"
"I'll take that," the man interrupted, swooping the bobbling glass off the little tray supplied by Mondo. Fortunately, he hadn't dropped it during the encounter with the man's larynx.
Agile and quick for his size, the crony had passed the item to MacDonald and returned before Duncan could respond. Just inches away, the man looked down at him with a large beak and a toothy grin. He looked like a humungous game bird stuffed in a cheap suit.
"Noo one interroopts the boos," he said through the side of his mouth, which gaped open on the right as he spoke, revealing crooked or missing teeth.
Duncan was about to challenge him when he was tugged away by a smiling Angus. By the time they reached the door and he could look back at the corner, Angela had disappeared and Mr. Dapper seemed enthralled with his foam.
"What are you doing?"
"Savin' ye from yerself, Duncan. Ye dinnae noo whoo that is."
There goes the burr again.
"I don't care who it is. He's making a play for Angela."
"Ah'mno ginnae see Mum's place cracked. It's Big Mo, Duncan."
"The capercaillie over there?"
"Nooo. The wee one's Moses MacDonald, Harold's business assoociate."
"Ach!" Duncan ran his fingers through his thick, black hair and yanked on a tuft. "That's Big Mo? So that's what Harold meant when he said he brought in the customers on opening night. He asked his criminal friends to save the day. Does Mum know?"
"Nae, and she dinnae need to. Dinnae fash yersel. He'll tire of the scran and move on."
"I wonder," Duncan mumbled, glancing at the small man tucked away in the back
corner, enjoying his nibble.
* * * * *
They sat next to the fire, enjoying the warmth from the blaze. The weather had turned cold with temperatures hovering above freezing and rain turning to sleet outside. The precipitation hadn't begun until they were half way to Taye, but the last part of the drive proved nerve wracking. Melting into the booth while enjoying a bowl of soup, a piece, and a pint relaxed Duncan.
"What did you bring in that carrier?"
"Something to grease the wheels with the council."
"Sounds intriguing."
"As soon as the storm lets up, I'm going to pay a visit to Mr. Trotter. Skye told me where to find him. Do you mind if I pop in the kitchen to see her?"
"No. Take your time. If she's too busy to come out, tell her I said hallo."
He concentrated on enjoying his seafood bisque when a waitress stopped by his table.
"How do ye find the soup today?"
"Delicious," Duncan said, leaning back in his seat. "Luscious, wonderful. Andrew's outdone himself."
"So, ye know our Andrew?"
"Yes. He provided a fabulous Christmas feast for the inn."
"He'll be glad to hear it."
"I’m Duncan, by the way." He stretched his hand out to shake hers.
"Oh, ye're Duncan Dewar! Ye're me new boss," she said, pulling a chair up to his table and taking a seat. "Me name's Rachel. Ah'm so happy to meet ye finally."
"N–not really. N–nothing's been decided yet," he stammered. He wasn't aware word had gotten around regarding Donald selling his share of the inn. His brain scrambled for a different topic to discuss.
"You're new here, aren't you?"
"Aye. Ah'm Andrew's sister. He goot me the job. Ah hear ye're moving into the old cottage. Ah've always loved that place."
"You have?"
"Aye. We live jist doown the rood a bit. It's soo picturesque, dae ye ken?"
"Yes. That's why I bought it. That and it has a fine yard, big enough for my dog."
"Mister Lincoln?"
"Ah, you've heard the story then."
"Of course. Everyone aboot these parts has. He's a hero. Ye're very lucky ye've goot him," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "Ah'm a dog lover meself."
The Siamese Suicides: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 6) Page 10