The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  Special thanks to Dr. Carl Ingber and Dr. Sophie Cayeux for your invaluable assistance with the medical aspects of this book. Any technical errors are entirely my own.

  I couldn’t have come this far without the assistance and encouragement of my writing group. To Maryvonne Fent, Sue Garzon, Diana Corbitt and Gillian Hobbs, many thanks for reading, editing, commenting, and for your own amazing stories that inspire me to do better. Writing wouldn’t be half the fun it is without you to share it with. Thank you to J. Leonard DeCarlo, MD, who came up with the title, and to the talented Melissa DeCarlo for her insight and encouragement. And I’m immensely grateful to Julie Smith for her guiding hand and incisive comments.

  WE GUARANTEE OUR BOOKS… AND WE LISTEN TO OUR READERS

  We’ll give you your money back if you find as many as five errors. (That’s five verified errors— punctuation or spelling that leaves no room for judgment calls or alternatives.) Or if you just don’t like the book—for any reason! If you find more than five errors, we’ll give you a dollar for every one you catch up to twenty. Just tell us where they are. More than that and we reproof and remake the book. Email mittie.bbn@gmail.com and it shall be done!

  Carrie Bedford’s next spine-tingling international paranormal thriller is The Florentine Cypher!

  Also by Carrie Bedford:

  NOBILISSIMA: A Novel of Imperial Rome

  The Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery Series

  THE AURA

  DOUBLE BLIND

  THE FLORENTINE CYPHER

  THE SCOTTISH CONNECTION

  About the Author

  CARRIE BEDFORD grew up in London and has since lived in Switzerland, France, Spain, and Italy. An enthusiastic traveler, she draws on her experiences in her writing. She wrote her debut novel, Nobilissima, while living in Italy, where she researched the life and times of the Empress Placidia. The Aura is set in London and Florence.

  Carrie now lives in California with her husband, their two daughters, two yellow labs, and a calico cat who assists in edit cycles by taking random walks on the keyboard.

  After winning a Greater London Essay Competition in her teens, Carrie has written for both pleasure and for business. Over the last twenty years, she’s published many articles in leading computer and technology magazines. She was editor for a small magazine publisher for several years, and more recently co-owned and managed a public relations and marketing firm in Silicon Valley. She has an Honors degree in English Language and Literature from Manchester University in England.

  Praise for THE FLORENTINE CYPHER, the third Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery by Carrie Bedford

  "An intense, edge of your seat mystery, with just the right amount of paranormal twist I'm always looking for.”

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

  “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 Cipher. It is an edge-of-your-seat page turner.”

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

  booksBnimble Publishing

  New Orleans, La.

  The Florentine Cypher

  Copyright 2016 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.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9973630-2-9

  www.booksbnimble.com

  First booksBnimble electronic publication: September 2016

  1

  I’d seen an aura on my way to work that morning, and the memory of it had stayed with me all day. It was only a brief glimpse of swirling air over the head of a man who’d boarded the Tube train I was just leaving. I couldn’t help but stare for a few seconds— he was so young— and he grinned back at me, no doubt assuming I was admiring his fashionably gel-spiked hair and hazel eyes. But all I’d been thinking of was that aura. What was going to happen to him? What was it that would kill him, and soon? I’d thought about him this afternoon when I should have been working, the image of the aura blurring the lines on my computer screen. Should I have warned him? Said something that might save him?

  “Hey Kate?” A voice brought a welcome halt to my bleak thoughts. It was Laura, my project manager, standing at the door to my office. “We’re going to the Fox and Hound for a drink,” she said. “We all bloody deserve it after the week we’ve just had. And it’s my turn to buy.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was six-fifteen already, and I’d promised Ethan I’d be at his office by half past six.

  “I wish I could, but I can’t tonight,” I said, shoving my mobile phone and some weekend work files into my well-used leather shoulder bag. “I’m going out to dinner with a friend.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Just a friend,” I said.

  “Okay. I’ll walk down with you.” She waited, smoothing her short white-blond hair into place while I shut down my computer before putting on my coat. “You did great work this week, Kate. If it weren’t for you, we’d be pulling an all-nighter, but you got it done. And your designs were brilliant. I really do owe you a drink.”

  My cheeks warmed. I’d never been good at accepting compliments.

  In the lobby, Laura gave me a hug goodbye before hurrying off to join a group of my architect workmates who loitered at the door, buttoning up coats and knotting scarves in preparation for their dash to the pub through the wind and rain. The forecast was for rain all weekend. Of course.

  I hurried through the commuter crowds and ran on to a train just before the doors slid shut, but it was almost seven by the time I emerged from the Tube station in Blackfriars. The ride had brought back thoughts of the young man I’d seen that morning. His aura made me sad, but there was nothing I could do.

  The downpour had dwindled to a cold drizzle, and a stiff breeze blew long strands of dark brown hair into my eyes. I tucked as much of it as possible inside the collar of my cream-colored raincoat before wrapping my scarf twice around my neck. The coat had been a splurge and worth every penny, considering how often I wore it.

  I watched out for puddles as I hurried to Ethan’s office. Just as I approached the steps that led up to the old red brick building, I caught sight of a man waving down a taxi a few meters further along the street. He had his back to me, but I thought it was Ethan. His thick, fair hair was hard to miss, despite the fading light.

  Even harder to miss was the aura that rippled above his head, like wavy air over hot desert sand. I stared, momentarily shocked into inertia by the sight of it. Then I took off towards him, pushing past a group of young men in suits.

  “Ethan!” I called, as he bent to climb into a cab that had pulled up beside him. He didn’t look around and made no sign that he’d heard me. I shouted again, but he slammed the door and the taxi merged into traffic.

  I ran to the curb, arm outstretched. At once, a black cab sidled towards the curb a short distance up the street. The taxi gods were on my side for once. But, as I hurried towards it, a man in a black raincoat ran down the steps from Ethan’s office building, pushed in front of me and jumped in. Before I could say anything, he’d slammed the door closed. The taxi shot away. So much for divine intervention, I thought, waving my arm frantically when another taxi made an appearance. This time, it pulled up right next to me and I got in.

  “Can you follow that cab?” I said, pointing to Ethan’s car, which had stopped at a traffic light fifty meters ahead.

  Without a word, the driver accelerated away, but the James Bond-like thrill faded quickly when we braked to a halt at the light. Ethan’s taxi made it through and disappeared into a cluster of more black London taxis. Within seconds, I couldn’t tell which was his.

  While the driver tried for a couple o
f minutes to catch up and identify the cab, I texted Ethan, but got no response.

  “What now, miss?” my driver asked.

  I didn’t know what to do. “Can you give me a minute?”

  In the rearview mirror, I saw his eyes rest on me, brows raised under his tweed cap. But he didn’t say anything as he edged out of traffic to park at the side of the road. I stared through the rain-slicked windscreen at blurred lights flashing red and green. Maybe it wasn’t Ethan I’d seen after all. Plenty of Londoners had fair hair, and the man getting into the taxi had paid no attention when I yelled his name. Ethan wouldn’t have ignored me. Suddenly, I felt like an idiot. I’d gone chasing off after a complete stranger, and Ethan was probably waiting impatiently at his office.

  “Can you take me back to College Street, please, where you picked me up?”

  I settled back into my seat, loosening my scarf, feeling the damp collar of my raincoat pressing on the back of my neck like a wet eel. The hems of my black wool trousers lay drenched and clammy against my ankles, proof that I must have failed to circumnavigate a puddle somewhere. Hot air began to blow through the cab as we started driving again, and I relaxed, relieved that I hadn’t seen Ethan, because that meant he didn’t have an aura.

  Still, it was unnerving to see two auras in one day, even over the heads of strangers. I saw those haloes of circling air when death loomed close, a few days away, or a week or two at the most. Inevitably, I fell into my usual dark cycle of wondering what the threat to those two young men could be. Bad health perhaps, a car crash or a Tube derailment, a whole smorgasbord of ways to die. Fortunately, I didn’t have much time to brood about auras and mortality, because we were soon back at the Adams Institute.

  It was almost dark when I got out of the taxi, sunset brought early by the dense metal-grey clouds that had settled over the city like a menacing swarm of alien spaceships. The building entrance was shadowy, lit only by a nearby streetlamp, and wind swept along the narrow road, carrying with it the threat of heavier rain. I ran up the steps into the lobby, past a few businessmen who were straggling out, briefcases in hand.

  I’d been here many times and knew my way to Ethan’s office, but usually the building was bright and busy. This evening, silence coated it like a layer of dust. My heart thudded as I headed along a gloomy hallway lined with closed office doors. The old oak floor squeaked with every step.

  I tapped on Ethan’s door and pushed it open. The room was empty, but the overhead lights blazed. The window was raised a few centimeters, letting in rain that puddled on the sill and dripped down the wall. When I rushed over to close it, wondering why Ethan had left it open, I noticed a wide crack across the bottom pane, which I couldn’t recall being there before. I peered out into the darkness, hearing the distant roar of traffic on the main road before I secured the window latch. The room fell quiet, the hush disturbed only by the hum of Ethan’s computer. His screensaver showed images of Egyptian pyramids.

  When I noticed his briefcase open on the credenza, I breathed a little more easily. He must still be in the building. I dumped my shoulder bag on the floor while I twirled in Ethan’s swivel chair, looking at the framed photos on his desk. One featured Ethan as best man at my brother’s wedding. With unkempt hair and stylish glasses, Ethan stood six inches shorter than Leo— but then my brother was taller than most people, including me. They both grinned at the camera, handsome in morning coats and ties. They’d been best friends since they were kids. We’d all stayed in touch over the years so when Ethan moved back to London after a long stay in New York, he and I regularly met up for dinner or drinks.

  The other frame held a photo of Ethan’s dad, who’d died in a car crash six weeks earlier. It had been a terrible shock. I was anxious to see Ethan this evening, to see how he was doing.

  After another twirl in the chair, I checked my watch, wondering where he could be. I retrieved my phone from my bag and texted him again, but the message showed as Undelivered. That must mean he’d turned off his mobile. Or, knowing Ethan, he’d forgotten to charge it. He always complained about running out of power, as though a dead battery was an indignity imposed on him by some higher force. I took a quick look around the office, but couldn’t see his phone, so he must have it with him. I tried calling, but his voicemail clicked on. I left a message.

  “Ethan, it’s Kate. Have you forgotten we’re having dinner this evening? Call me. Text me. I’m starving.”

  A sudden gust of wind shook the window. A door slammed somewhere, making me jump. I was tired of waiting. When another squall rocked the old building I picked up my bag and headed for the door. Ben, Ethan’s assistant, might still be working, and he’d know where Ethan was. I walked a few steps along the hallway and stopped at Ben’s door, which hung ajar. Ben wasn’t inside, but the office lights were on, and so was his computer. Perhaps he and Ethan were in a meeting somewhere.

  I’d check the conference room upstairs, I decided, and the kitchen. If I didn’t find Ethan in either place, I’d leave him a note and go to the pub to join Laura and the others. It was a short walk to the kitchen, which I found unlit and deserted. I retraced my steps to the front lobby, passing the men’s toilet on the way. On a whim, I pushed the door open and yelled Ethan’s name. There was no answer, only the sound of water dripping from a tap or cistern.

  I tromped along the corridor, my irritation mounting with each step. It was almost seven thirty, the time of our dinner reservation. I’d been late, but now Ethan was even later. And he still wasn’t answering his phone. All my doubts came flooding back. Had that been Ethan getting into the taxi? And if it were, had I seen an aura over his head or just imagined it? The dusky light and drizzly rain had reduced visibility, and I’d been some distance away. On the other hand, I’d never once imagined an aura that wasn’t actually there. In fact, I often pretended they weren’t present when they were. My life ran so much more easily when I ignored them.

  In the lobby I pressed the button for the lift. Then I changed my mind. It was irrational, but I hated using lifts in empty buildings. What if it broke down? I might have to spend the night in a dark, enclosed space. Instead, I took the stairs up three flights to the top floor. There, the hallway was still lit but the office doors were open to dark rooms. Rain rattled on a skylight and wind whistled through the eaves. When I reached the conference room, it was deserted. In the gloom, empty chairs circled a barren black table. The room felt abandoned, as though no one had visited it for years.

  I’d had enough. Clutching my bag to my side, I moved back down the stairs as fast as I could without breaking into a run. On the second flight down, I heard the rumble of a vacuum cleaner, a surprisingly soothing sound. When I reached the lobby, a middle-aged man in overalls was pushing a cleaner around. He didn’t hear me walk past, but I felt better for seeing him. His presence relieved the tomb-like feeling of the deserted building.

  On the front steps I paused, looking up and down the street. Was it Ethan I’d seen getting into the taxi? It must have been, as he didn’t appear to be in the building. But then I thought back to his empty office, with the lights still on, the open window, and his briefcase open on the credenza. None of it made any sense.

  Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. At last it was a message from Ethan. But it only added to the mystery. I didn’t understand it.

  “Safe in library, bring contents to restaurant.”

  2

  I quickly typed a message back to Ethan. “Where are you?”

  After waiting for what seemed like a long time, I sent it again, but there was no answer. I reread Ethan’s odd text several times. He said to bring something to the restaurant, Le Papillon, where we had a reservation. The first part of the message, however, was a puzzle. “Safe in library…” Did he mean he was safe in a library? What library and where?

  The only person who might know what to make of this was my brother, Ethan’s best friend. I went back inside and crossed the lobby to sit on the bottom tread of the staircas
e. The janitor had moved on, whirring his way up the ground floor corridor.

  Leo picked up as soon as his phone rang.

  “It’s Kate,” I said. “Are you busy? I need your help with something.”

  “No, just marking papers,” he said. “Which is a bit grim for a Friday evening, but it has to be done.” Leo taught mathematics at Oxford University and seemed to work the same crazy hours as his students.

  “That’s no fun,” I said.

  “Yeah well, Olivia’s taken the boys to see a superhero film that I really couldn’t face. What do you need help with?”

  “I’m worried about Ethan. He missed our date, he isn’t in his office, and he sent me a weird text. I don’t know what it means.”

  I didn’t mention the aura. Leo knew about my bizarre ability to see them. He’d taken a while to acclimatize to the idea, and I knew he hoped my ‘gift’ would go away as suddenly as it had arrived. For now, there was no point in complicating the story.

  “What was the message?” Leo asked.

  I read it out. “Safe in library. Take contents to restaurant.”

  “What restaurant?” Leo asked.

  “Le Papillon, the French restaurant where we were planning to eat this evening. That part I get. But who is safe in a library? And where?”

  I waited impatiently as Leo hummed Stairway to Heaven. He always hummed seventies tunes when he was thinking something through.

  “I have an idea,” he said. “Ethan told me recently that his company is overhauling all its security systems, their computers mostly, but also adding physical protection on site. I suppose they work with a lot of confidential political and financial information. Anyway, Ethan said the company had installed a safe at work to store his important papers and research materials. It’s in the book cupboard.”