Two Scoops of Murder (Felicity Bell Book 2)

by Nic Saint

  “I really hope this wasn’t a bad idea,” said Kate, for the first time feeling jittery about the meet.

  “Everything’s gonna be fine,” said Lauren, the eternal optimist of the pair. She easily stood a full head taller than her friend and was on the curvy side, something she celebrated rather than regretted. Along with her long, auburn hair, she exuded an air of buxom wholesomeness that had weakened the knees of strong men and brought more than one boyfriend to his knees when she’d walked out on them.

  “I just hope he likes me,” said Kate quietly.

  “Who cares what he thinks. Let’s hope you like him,” said Lauren.

  Kate flashed a quick smile. “I’m bound to like him, aren’t I? After all, I’ve been dreaming of this moment my entire life.”

  “Show me the pictures again?”

  Kate brought out her phone and flipped through pictures of a tall, distinguished-looking man, complete with patrician nose, earnest expression and hair graying at the temples. She’d downloaded them from a Belgian news site. Piet Peeters wasn’t just any Joe Blow. He was the mayor of Bruges and as such an important man in his community. The college student her mom had married thirty years ago, had turned into a handsome politician.

  “Though personally I’m not into older men, I can’t deny he’s quite a catch,” said Lauren. “I bet he’s a real ladies’ man, too.”

  “Until she tragically died last year, he was married to the same woman for twenty-eight years,” said Kate, also studying the picture. “So cool it with the ladies’ man stuff, all right?”

  “Doesn’t mean he isn’t,” argued Lauren. “A man can be married and have a gaggle of girlfriends on the side.”

  “Not my dad,” said Kate adamantly. Gazing into the eyes of the man in the picture, she sighed. “He’s perfect.”

  “Oh, look!” said Lauren, rolling down the taxi window. “We’re in Bruges!”

  And indeed they were. While they were examining pictures of Piet, the highway had turned into a state road, which had led them to the Kruispoort, a genuine medieval gate consisting of two heavy towers and a narrow passage into town. The taxi zoomed underneath, and suddenly they were in a different world, transported back in time about 500 years.

  Narrow cobblestone streets were lined with small houses displaying the typical step-gable style facade that Bruges, the most perfectly preserved medieval city in Europe, was rightly famous for.

  “Dang. I didn’t know we were visiting Disneyland,” said Lauren, feasting her eyes on a small fountain.

  “I can’t believe people actually live in these houses,” said Kate, watching in fascination as the taxi hobbled along at a snail’s pace, giving both its fare and its meter ample opportunity to enjoy the ride.

  They entered a short cul-de-sac that gave way to a picturesque courtyard, at the heart of which stood an Inn that looked as much like a medieval Inn as any Inn Kate had ever seen. Its ivied red-brick walls and small stained-glass windows with wood shutters, lent it an age-old flavor, as did the sturdy oak door crowned with a stonework archway. An intricately ornate cast iron sign indicated that this was, indeed, their destination: the ‘Bouquets & Nosegays’.

  The taxi driver, one of those strong, silent types, for he hadn’t uttered a single word throughout the entire drive, got out, popped the trunk, and started unloading his customers’ suitcases, enveloped in a moody silence. After collecting his pay, he mumbled a curt, “Merci,” eased into his car and drove off without deigning them another look.

  Entering the Inn, Kate and Lauren found themselves in a small but cozily furnished lobby, replete with a cheerful abundance of chrysanthemums, red and yellow roses, daylilies and coneflowers, lending it an ambiance of welcome and the scent of a spring morning.

  “Such beautiful flowers!” exclaimed Lauren, plunking down her suitcases on the stone floor.

  “Hello there,” a voice sounded, and when they turned to face the desk, they were greeted by a smallish woman of middle age, her hair white and her face adorned with so many wrinkles, she could have either been sixty or a hundred years old. She had a kind face, and two twinkling eyes that shone with intelligence. She was smiling up at them, and Kate, instantly feeling at home, automatically smiled back.

  “You must be Kate and Lauren,” said the little woman.

  “That’s right,” said Kate, pleasantly surprised.

  “I’m Queenie,” said their hostess. “Queenie Pitt. Welcome to the Bouquets & Nosegays, my dears. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

  Chapter Two

  As Queenie took care of the registration—passport and credit card—she kept up a lively conversation.

  “Is this your first time in Bruges?” she said.

  “Yes,” said Kate, then reconsidered. “Well, actually, no.” Then reconsidered again. “Although, in fact, yes.”

  Queenie appeared unperturbed. “Life does have a tendency to get complicated sometimes, doesn’t it?” she said with a sweet and knowing smile.

  “It does,” said Kate, feeling silly. “The thing is, my mother lived in Bruges when she became pregnant with me. But then just after I was born, she and my dad divorced, and she returned to America. So you see, technically I have been here, but of course I don’t remember a thing.” She really had no idea why she was telling all this to a perfect stranger, but somehow Queenie made her feel perfectly at ease.

  “And now you’re visiting your father?” said Queenie.

  “Yes, he’s the mayor of Bruges,” said Kate, still incapable of stopping her babble. “Perhaps you know him?”

  “Of course I know Mayor Peeters,” said Queenie. “A very nice man. He’s lucky to have such a lovely daughter.”

  “Thanks,” said Kate, charmed.

  “Now, since this is your first time in Bruges,” said Queenie, her eyes sparkling, “I just know you both are in for a real treat. For one reason or another, I practically only have Americans staying at the Inn, and they’re always raving about our little town.”

  “Yes, we heard it’s quite remarkable,” said Lauren. “Is it true that everything still looks the same as in the middle ages?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” said Queenie. “I may look old to you, honey, but I’m not that old.” Her face wrinkled up into a radiant smile. “I’m sorry. I do have my little jokes.”

  Carefully writing down Kate’s address in a neat and practiced hand, she continued, “But you’re quite right, of course. The city council takes every effort to keep the place looking as nice as it always has. For one thing, did you know it’s not allowed to change the facade of your house, even if you own the place?”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Lauren.

  “It’s true. And because cars and their exhaust fumes cause so much damage to the brickwork, they’ve made certain streets car free, with plans to ban cars from the entire historic center. Isn’t that something?”

  “It is,” Kate said. “If anyone tried that back home, they’d have a riot on their hands.”

  “And where is home, honey?” said Queenie. Then she realized she’d just written down the address and laughed. “Oh, my. I am getting old!” Squinting at the card, she read, “Pitsburg, Ohio.” Her face cleared up. “I know about Pitsburg! Andrew Carnegie, right? The gospel of wealth?”

  “That’s Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania,” said Kate. “Double T, ends with an H? I’m from Pitsburg, Ohio.”

  “Oh, there’s more than one?” said Queenie with a confused frown.

  “About two dozen I think,” said Kate.

  “Oh my. America really is a big country, isn’t it?”

  “Compared to Belgium, it sure is.”

  “But we don’t have a Bruges,” said Lauren, leaning in. “So there’s that.”

  Queenie smiled, and a thousand wrinkles creased her kind face. “That’s true, dear. Now, keys. I’m sorry to say we’re still old-fashioned around here. No computers and no key cards.”

  And with a deft flourish, she proceeded
to hand the two friends matching sets of brass key rings depicting flowers. Tapping hers, Queenie told Kate, “You’re in the Rose Room, sweetie.”

  Kate checked, and indeed, her key ring depicted the bloom of a rose.

  “And you, my dear, are in the Tulip Room,” continued Queenie to Lauren. Then, clasping her hands together, she said, “May these rooms bring you lots of luck and… love.”

  “Love?” Kate said skeptically.

  “Oh, I don’t mind a little love,” said Lauren with a grin.

  “Well, I don’t need love, Mrs. Pitt,” Kate said. “I’m getting married next month so I’m good.”

  “Just call me Queenie, honey,” their hostess said. She wagged a finger in Kate’s face and instead of congratulating her on the upcoming nuptials as is customary, said, “Love is what I’m wishing you, Kate Harper, and love is what you’ll get. Mark my words.”

  “Thanks, um, Queenie,” Kate said dubiously, and thought that this probably was the nosiest innkeeper she’d ever met.

  Arriving upstairs, Lauren and Kate quickly found their rooms, which were not only adjacent, but shared a connecting door.

  The moment Kate stepped inside her room, the door next to the bathroom swung open and Lauren came rushing in.

  “Connecting rooms!” said Lauren. “How great is that? I see a slumber party coming up!”

  “I see a good night’s rest in my immediate future,” said Kate, who was exhausted from both the trip and the nervous expectation she felt about meeting her real father.

  Flinging herself onto Kate’s bed, Lauren spread her arms wide.

  “So what did you think about Miss Q. Pitt?” she said, comically waggling her eyebrows. “Quite a character, huh?” Mimicking the old lady’s purring voice, she said, “May these rooms bring you luck and… love!” She cackled. “I sure hope they do!”

  “Well, I for one thought she was pretty forward,” said Kate. “I mean, my love life is nobody’s business but my own.”

  Lauren sighed. “I’m still hoping you’ll change your mind about marrying the wimp.”

  Kate, quickly and efficiently unpacking her trunk and depositing her clothes and underwear in neat piles in the closet, frowned at her friend’s remark. Why was it that all her friends seemed to think she was marrying the wrong guy? True, Franklin was no Mr. Universe, or even Mr. Pitsburg, but he was loyal, dependable and kind. All qualities highly estimable in a life partner.

  “Well, I won’t change my mind,” she said stiffly. “So it’s no use harping on the subject. This time next month I’ll be Mrs. Franklin Drub and that’s the end of it.”

  “But he’s so boring!” cried Lauren.

  “He’s dependable,” countered Kate. “There’s a difference.”

  She carefully placed a picture frame of her mom and real dad on her nightstand, next to one of her pug Pookie, not only the ugliest dog in the world, but also the sweetest.

  “You know what would be great?” said Lauren, suddenly sitting up. “That we would meet Chris. I mean, Belgium is about the size of Maryland, right? So how difficult can it be to run into Chris? Didn’t he say he was from around these parts?”

  Kate pursed her lips and felt her cheeks flush. “Maryland’s pretty big, Lauren. I doubt if we will run into that man. Besides, if I never see Chris again, it will be too soon.”

  Lauren guffawed. “Now you sound just like your mom!”

  “I do not!” cried Kate, appalled.

  Lauren sat upright and gave her a long, level look. “You’re actually telling me that you don’t want to see him again?”

  “Not after what he did to me,” said Kate. “And can we please change the subject? I’m with Franklin now. Chris is ancient history and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Oh, have it your own way,” muttered Lauren, and plunked her head down onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

  Instantly, Kate felt remorse for her outburst. She had a quick temper and was prone to sudden mood swings. She flung herself onto the bed next to her friend and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “Forgive me?” she said softly.

  Lauren grinned and slung her arms around Kate’s neck. “Of course,” she said. “Promise me you won’t mention Franklin anymore, and I’ll promise not to mention Chris. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Kate said.

  Chris, a fellow police officer Kate had met during an international police conference in New York, was still a sensitive topic for Kate. They’d instantly hit it off together, and had enjoyed something of a whirlwind romance that had even ended in bed. When Kate awoke the next morning, Chris was gone without a trace. And even though they’d only known each other for three days, she’d taken his sudden departure much harder than she could have ever imagined. Somewhere in those 72 hours, she’d fallen madly in love with him, and his dumping her had broken her heart.

  She knew his name, of course, and that he hailed from Belgium, but her pride had kept her from getting in touch. If he didn’t want to be with her, she wasn’t going to run after him. And since it was obvious all he’d ever wanted was to get her into bed, she wanted nothing more to do with him.

  Much had happened since that weekend. She’d met Franklin at yet another convention, and after five quiet and respectful dates, she’d taken him home to meet her mother, and soon after that, he’d proposed. If she was absolutely honest with herself, she would have admitted she didn’t feel the kind of passion for Franklin she had felt for Chris. But who wants passion when you can have a perfectly happy life with a man who adores you and worships the ground you walk on? Perhaps she didn’t love Franklin as much as he loved her, but love can grow, and she fully expected to be very happy as Mrs. Franklin Drub. Very happy indeed.

  Chapter Three

  After she’d finished unpacking, Kate decided to have a quick lie down. For some reason it was always hard for her to sleep on a plane, and while Lauren had been snoring away like a full-featured chainsaw, she’d been wide awake throughout the flight, going over the wedding preparations, and more importantly, playing out every possible scenario of her first meeting with dad.

  It was safe to say she was more than a little nervous about what would happen when they finally did meet. Would they get along? Would he treat her like a long-lost daughter or a total stranger? She really had no idea, though the initial contact had been favorable. She’d suggested they Skype, but apparently he’d never heard of the technology. Fortunately, he did know how to email, so at least there was that. He even had a Facebook page and Twitter account, though Kate was quite sure he wasn’t personally involved. Probably an assistant took care of the social media angle.

  Her head had just hit the pillow when a loud banging sound had her groaning in despair. Checking the bedside clock, she saw to her surprise she’d slept at least twenty minutes. The banging continued, and she sat up, feeling grumpy and moody.

  “What the hell?” she murmured, rubbing her eyes.

  The door flew open and Lauren entered, looking equally dismayed and flustered. She had bed wrinkles on her left cheek, her eyes were half-lidded, and her hair was plastered to her face on the wrinkly side. She’d clearly been fast asleep, just like Kate.

  “What’s with the noise!” Lauren cried. Then, searching Kate’s room with the one eye that was open as she made valiant attempts to open the other one, she finally deduced the banging wasn’t coming from here.

  “Next door,” Kate mumbled, and they both stumbled to the door like two zombies in search of brains—something that had always surprised Kate: why are zombies hungry for brains? Why not roast chicken or a nice parmesan salad?

  Out in the hallway, they both pricked up their ears, trying to pinpoint the exact source of the infuriating racket. It appeared to be coming from the room next to Kate’s, which would explain the sensation she’d had of being knocked upside the head.

  The door to the room—according to the sign called the Orchid Room—was closed, and without bothering to knock—whoever was doing this ha
dn’t asked their permission either—they simply barged in.

  “Could you please keep this infernal noise down?” Kate exclaimed, then suddenly recognized the occupant of the room, and her face fell.

  A man was standing on a stepladder, hammer in hand, and was about to give a nail he’d been driving into the wall another good wallop when he saw Kate, and his eyes widened considerably. He was a handsome man; all thick, curly hair, blue eyes, square jaw and a body to die for. But more than that, he was the man who broke her heart six months ago in the Royal Metropolitan hotel in New York, when he’d walked out on her after giving her the best night of her life.

  “Chris!” she exclaimed, feeling her legs give way beneath her.

  For a moment, something flashed in Chris’s eyes, and his lips curled up into a spontaneous smile, but then he regained his composure and gave her a curt nod.

  “Kate,” he said rather formally. “Nice to see you again.”

  Whereas a moment before, he’d seemed glad to see her, now he appeared cold and distant, and the small sprinkling of hope that had awakened in Kate’s heart, died out and was replaced by the dull ache she’d been feeling for months. He wasn’t the least bit happy to see her again, that much was clear, and who could blame him? No man likes to be reacquainted with a one night stand. Especially when she suddenly turns up on his own turf.

  “I didn’t know you lived around here,” she said softly.

  “Born and bred in Bruges,” he said.

  “I, erm, I’m on vacation here,” she offered, even though he hadn’t asked.

  “That’s nice,” he said in that same awkwardly flat tone.

  They both looked away, not knowing what to say.

  “Aren’t you gonna introduce me?” another voice rang out, and when Kate looked up, she saw that Chris hadn’t been alone in the room. This new addition was a bear of a man. A full head shorter than Chris but easily twice his size, with jet black hair and warm, brown eyes. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, but he had a goofy smile that lent him a certain charm.