Words Can Kill (Ghostwriter Mystery 5)

by C. A. Larmer

  He pointed to the right of his shop, to a set of stone stairs that led up to a deep green wooden door. This in turn led into a three-story building right in the heart of the village.

  “You wait-eh, over there.” His head nodded towards a café across the road called The Marina, a strange name considering there were no boats or even water in sight.

  They thanked the man profusely and Caroline tugged at her suitcase and began to make her way to the café when Roxy said, “You really feel like coffee? At this hour?” It was almost 6:00 p.m.

  “God no. I feel like a stiff drink, and they have free Wi-Fi here with purchase.” She pointed at a sign near the front window.

  “I knew there was a reason I brought you along.”

  Caroline scoffed. “I thought I was bringing you along.”

  “Whatever.”

  The women dumped their bags beside a cushioned sofa at a table outside and were promptly served by a tall, blue-eyed waitress. She looked Swedish and spoke almost no English but they managed to order drinks, a red wine for Roxy, a gin and tonic for Caroline, then asked for the Wi-Fi password. She had no trouble understanding that and as she went to fetch it, Roxy pulled out her smartphone and brought up the photo of Max. His all-encompassing smile gripped at her heart again. When the waitress returned, Roxy showed her the picture and asked if she had seen him, but the woman just looked confused.

  “Cute,” she said.

  “Yes, but have you seen him?” Roxy tapped her eyes then waved a hand around the café. “Here?”

  “Oh, no.”

  Roxy thanked her then took a very large swig of her wine. She normally preferred a good Merlot, but all they had was a cheap local Shiraz that could peel the paint off a wall, so it would have to do. She needed to settle her nerves. It had been a demanding drive along impossibly narrow, meandering roads and Roxy was not sure how she had managed to get them through in one piece. All that kept her going was the thought that with every passing kilometre they were edging closer to Max.

  “Do you think he’s here?” Caroline said, flitting her eyes around the still bustling streets.

  Roxy shrugged. “God I hope so. I’m over this.”

  “Me too.” Caroline keyed the password into her Wi-Fi settings. After scrolling through her e-mail in-box, Facebook and Twitter accounts, she exhaled heavily. “No word.” They both visibly slumped. “I’ve got an e-mail from Mum, just a sec.”

  She began reading it, scrolling down the page with one manicured finger, before looking back at Roxy. “Mum says Dad’s finally woken up to himself and has been in touch with the Australian consulate in Berlin. They’ve promised to look into flights in and out of Germany and Brazil.”

  Roxy scoffed. “Too little, too late.”

  “Yes, well, might as well let them. Just cross that one off for good.”

  Roxy knew it was a waste of time. Max had to be here, he must have meant Riomaggiore, not Rio de Janeiro, when he spoke to his mother. It was the only thing that made sense. This new woman in his life had gone missing close to its sister town Manarola. For whatever reason, he must have followed her to the Italian Riviera.

  A distant chopping sound caught their attention and they both looked skywards as it grew louder, a helicopter whooshing into view, sending a gust of air through the street and squeals of delight from smaller children queuing for gelato.

  “What’s going on?” Roxy asked and the waitress waited until the helicopter moved away and the noise subsided.

  “Tourist missing. Look for lady.”

  “Must be Candy,” Caroline said and Roxy nodded, turning back to the waitress.

  “No luck yet?”

  “They no find.” She said it as though it were the only possible outcome.

  “She must’ve slipped, the poor darlin’,” came a lazy, southern American drawl behind them and Roxy looked around to find a very large, very sweaty couple staring at them from another table. The woman looked a lot like Rosie O’Donnell, her chubby face dimpled by a warm smile and bright, vivacious eyes. Beside her, the man looked rather glum, his fat lips pursed shut, his eyes sad behind steel spectacles. He was dabbing at his dripping face with a serviette.

  She glanced back at the woman. “Are you talking about Candy Marlow?”

  “Yes, I am. You heard about that, then?”

  “Just a little. What happened? Do you know?”

  She nodded her head, her chin wobbling like loose dough. “Oooh yes, dear. The poor love, she went on that walk, you know, the five-hour hike between here and the other four towns. I says to Vern, I says, ‘Those walks are dangerous. No way we’re doin’ that walk.’ Nobody should be. One slip and you’re a goner.” She shook her double chin again. “Poor darlin’. Hubby’s distraught of course. Now he was sensible.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh yes, he didn’t go with her. Says he told her not to do it. But she wouldn’t listen. Determined, he said. He used that word, didn’t he, Vern? Determined.” She tutt-tutted. “And now ... well, as I say, he’s distraught.”

  “Is he still around?” Roxy tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

  “I guess so, I mean he’s gotta hang around ’til they find the poor soul, now don’t he? Poor pumpkin was sittin’ around dazed and confused this mornin’, weren’t he, Vern?” She slapped a hand at her husband’s shoulder but he didn’t so much as twitch, and so she rattled on. “The search party has been lookin’ for days and days, that chopper’s been goin’ back and forth, and the poor man just sits around, waitin’ for news, like it’s gonna land in his lap. I mean, that’s gotta be bad for the soul, now don’t it? Anyways, I ain’t seen him lately so ...” She paused. “Maybe he got his news.”

  She gave Roxy a pointed look.

  “You think they found Candy?” Caroline asked now and the American woman shrugged.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” said a thin, dapper-looking man who was just stepping into the café and overheard their conversation. “Polizia say still no find. But they did-eh find her shoe.”

  “Shoe?”

  “Nike shoe.” Like that was some kind of proof in itself.

  “Was it hers?” asked Roxy and he gave her a look that indicated he, for one, thought it had to be.

  She was about to question him further when someone called out to them from across the street. It was their white-haired guardian angel. He was smiling and pointing up the road towards another elderly man, this one with receding grey hair and stooped shoulders, who was hobbling towards him. It had to be Hugo, the one who owned the holiday rental.

  The women drained their drinks and pulled out their purses to pay.

  “So Monty Tedesco strikes again,” the American woman said, shrugging her head towards their Santa-like saviour.

  “You know him?” Roxy asked.

  “Oh, everybody knows Monty. He’s always at his hat perch, helpin’ everyone, a real gentleman that one. Although, I have to say, when I did actually need him the other day, he was nowhere to be found, isn’t that right, Vern? I got burnt somethin’ terrible that day. My delicate skin ain’t used to these harsh climes, although I can see at least one of you will have no problem with that.”

  She gave Caroline another pointed look and the Australian woman couldn’t decide if she was being complimented or criticised. They paid for their drinks then fetched their bags and made their way towards Monty who was watching Hugo. He had stopped to talk to the man behind the gelato stand.

  “Ahh, Hugo,” Monty said, chuckling. “He take-eh his time, no?”

  “That’s okay,” Roxy replied. “We’re not in a hurry. So, Hugo owns this place and just rents it out for holidays?”

  Monty nodded. “He has five apartment.”

  “Five, that’s a lot.”

  “Yes, a lot-eh. I t’ink life is easy for Hugo. He just rent-eh the room, then he go and sleep all day.” He chuckled again just as Hugo approached. They shook hands like old mates then Hugo turned to the women.

  “Benvenuto!�
�� he said. “You want a room?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to lead them up the stone stairs and towards the green door just beside the hat shop.

  Hugo was not just stooped, he had a distinctive hunchback but it didn’t seem to slow him down as he took the stairs swiftly, two at a time. His craggy face and knobbly limbs suggested old age but he had the energy of a young mountain goat.

  “Lock-eh broken,” he said unapologetically when he reached the front door and he pushed it open to reveal an extremely narrow, extremely steep staircase leading upwards. He located a light on the wall, showed the women where it was and continued bounding up the stairs. At the first level he stopped and pulled out a clump of keys. He chose one and plunged it into the door, taking some time to unlock it. When he did, he chuckled, and then pushed the door wide open.

  The room was basic but clean, with homely furnishings and a small kitchenette. There were several windows facing the street, covered by green shutters, and he threw these open to let in the last of the day’s light. Hugo then took them on a quick tour, showing them the double bed in one room—“Bags this one!” Caroline declared—and the single bed in the other, and Roxy noticed a small crucifix above each one. The bathroom was relatively modern, it must have been renovated recently, but the rest of the apartment looked like it hadn’t been touched since the 1970s, and that was fine by Roxy. She wasn’t going to fight Caroline for the best bed, either. All she needed was a place to rest her head and start her search for Max.

  As Hugo handed over the spare key and prepared to leave, Roxy decided to try her luck again and showed him the photograph. Like the waitress before him, however, he simply looked confused and shrugged blankly at her before bounding back down the stairs.

  Roxy closed the door behind him then slumped onto the cushioned sofa beside Caroline who was squeezing at her temples, her eyes shut, her brow crinkled painfully.

  “You okay?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a killer headache, Rox. Those long drives have been exhausting.”

  Roxy stared at her. She hadn’t done any of the actual driving but she resisted the urge to point out that little fact, and pulled herself back up. “How about I go find us some food and you stay here, get some well-earned rest.”

  “Oh you’re a darling,” Caroline said, not catching her friend’s sarcasm as she stifled a yawn and nestled further into the couch.

  By the time Roxy had used the bathroom and pulled her denim jacket from her suitcase, Caroline was out for the count, her long body sprawled across the entire length of the sofa, her lips drooping open as she softly snored.

  Roxy stared at her for a moment, awestruck. While Caroline’s carefree attitude with its blatant narcissism was beginning to grate, she couldn’t help admiring it at the same time and wishing she had just smidgin of it herself. Maybe then her nerves wouldn’t be in such a tangle, her heart wouldn’t feel so strung out. She sighed then closed the shutters to reduce the cooling breeze, switched a soft lamp on, and headed outdoors again, down the steep staircase to the street.

  A slight movement caught Roxy’s eye and she glanced around. Monty was pulling some caps off a high ledge just outside his shop, and as she watched him it occurred to her that if the American woman was right, this was the man to ask about Max. She stepped across to him.

  “Thank you so much for your help,” she said, pointing up towards the apartment.

  “You welcome,” he replied, beaming. “Where you from in Australia?”

  “Sydney. I’m Roxy.” She held a hand out to shake his.

  “Monty,” he said, shaking back. “I have family in Australia, they live Mel-borne. You know Mel-borne?”

  “Yes, it’s really beautiful.”

  He agreed. “I meet-eh lots of Australia this time of year.”

  That’s what she was counting on. She pulled out her smartphone and presented the picture of Max. “What about this man. He’s Australian. Did you meet him?”

  Monty looked at the picture, giving it some thought. Eventually he said, “Oh yes-eh, I t’ink maybe I see this man.”

  His tone was casual but Roxy thought her heart would explode. “Really?!”

  “Sure.”

  She took a deep breath trying to calm down. “Where did you see him? When?”

  He shrugged lazily, no idea of the impact his words were having on her. “Two-eh, maybe three days ago.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes-eh here. I t’ink he stay at Ola’s place.”

  “Ola?”

  He pointed down the hill, towards the coastline. “Near boat ramp, no? You go past-eh train station, down-eh steps to the left. Ola’s Villas. You see.”

  Roxy wanted to grab the man and hug him to death but she decided on a less confronting smile instead.

  “He boyfriend of you?”

  Her smile faltered. “No, no, no. Just a friend.”

  Monty grinned like he did not believe a word of it but she was too excited to care. She thanked him again and tried not to run like a mad woman down towards the boat ramp.

  Could it be this easy? she wondered. Could Max be just metres away?

  Chapter 15

  As Roxy found her way through the underground tunnel that led past the train station and towards the bay, her first instinct was to pull her hair out of its tight ponytail and adjust the strands around her face, brushing her black fringe down in the process. She wished now that she’d popped on a little lip gloss and maybe a fresh shirt before she’d set out. She was exhilarated by the thought that she might soon be face to face with the man she loved, and terrified at the same time.

  What would he say?

  How would he react?

  Roxy’s steps began to slow down. A sinking feeling settled in her stomach and she wondered if she was about to make a complete fool of herself. Perhaps she would find Max relaxing in his hotel and he would be both shocked and appalled by her presence, by the way that she and Caroline had reacted to his disappearance.

  Suddenly all the doubts she felt up at Mt Pilatus came rushing back and she wondered now if they had jumped the gun. Maybe Caroline had been right all along. Maybe Max’s mobile devices had simply run out of battery power and he had no idea his loved ones were frantically searching for him.

  Would he laugh at her for that? Or be furious and disappointed?

  She shook her head. So why, then, did he send her that text message? SOS.

  As she strode through the underpass, riddled with doubt, something caught Roxy’s eye and she stopped. It was a familiar face, staring out at her from the arched tunnel wall and she stepped towards it to take a closer look. A crudely designed Missing Poster showed Candy Marlow smiling widely above the line, “Help! Tourist missing!” There were a few lines urging people to contact the police if they had seen her and a phone number provided at the bottom. There was a similar poster beside it, this one in Italian with phone numbers at the bottom that you could tear off to call. Not one had been taken.

  Roxy stared at the posters for a few minutes and didn’t care suddenly whether she had overreacted or not. Two people Max had befriended in Europe were dead or missing. He hadn’t returned any of their calls or e-mails in five days. Who wouldn’t assume the worst?

  Feeling emboldened, she turned away and continued quickly through the tunnel and up towards the jetty. There were a dozen brightly coloured wooden fishing boats piled on top of each other on the ramp, others secured by ropes and red buoys, bobbing about in the small bay which was now glistening gold from nearby lights. Two fishermen were enjoying a smoke on the side of one vessel while a small boy played in another, a toy gun pointing at an invisible enemy.

  Nightfall had descended but the area was well illuminated thanks to the twinkling lights from several surrounding restaurants and bars, and the crowds were swelling again as they settled in for drinks and dinner. Bursts of laughter came from groups sitting at outdoor tables and there was the salty smell of fresh seafood in the air and a cool breeze that
was not unwelcome. Roxy felt that pang of regret, of missed opportunity again.

  She looked around but couldn’t see any signs for Ola’s Villas so stepped towards a trattoria called Ted’s where an oily haired waiter in a brown velvet vest and multiple gold chains was ogling the crowd, and asked for directions. He squinted his dark eyes at her and offered her a leering smile.

  “You want-eh table first?”

  “No, thank you, I just need to know where Ola’s Villas are.”

  “Why, you no hungry? I make-eh you hungry tonight, yes?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I just want to find Ola’s Villas.”

  He thought about this. “Okay, I tell you then you come back and eat-eh with me, maybe yes?”

  She glared at him. “Maybe no.”

  He gave a half shrug that seemed to indicate a guy’s got to try, and pointed her towards a narrow, darkened side street, which appeared to lead away from the jetty and into the rock face.

  “Through there?”

  “Si. Just keep-eh going, you find.”

  Roxy did as suggested and followed a labyrinth-like pathway, past several closed doors and shutters and up a steep, winding set of stone stairs until she found herself in front of a crumbling stone building with a freshly painted, lit-up sign that read: “Ola’s Villas: No vacancy”.

  That’s what she was hoping for.

  Crossing her fingers, she knocked on the front door. There was no sound. She knocked again, then again. Feeling frustrated, she stepped back, peered up towards the closed windows and yelled out, “Maaaax!”

  Her voice echoed up and down the street, a dog barked in response, but no one answered. She sighed and then stepped back towards the door about to start knocking again when a high window in a building directly across the path lurched open.

  An elderly woman looked out. “You want Ola?!”

  Roxy swung around, relieved, and yelled back, “Yes!”