by Nic Saint
Kate’s dad had arranged for their first meeting to take place at a place called Henrique. It was a small café located on the fabled Bruges Market Square. It only took the two women five minutes to reach it. The weather was perfect for sitting outside, and all the cafés had brought out the tables and chairs.
Like most of the other cafés, the Henrique, with its gabled facade, had once been the home of one of the many medieval guilds that flourished in the erstwhile successful merchant town, but now served a more touristic purpose.
It appeared quite the popular place, for the terrace was absolutely overflowing with patrons. Searching the crowd, Kate suddenly noticed a friendly face peering out at her, and a tall man gave them a jolly wave. He was sitting at a corner table, a cup of coffee in front of him, and smoking a cigar. Dressed impeccably in a suit, he stood out against the colorful tourist crowd surrounding him.
“There he is,” she said to Lauren, and threaded her way through the throng to join her father.
He stood as she approached, smiling widely, and when they were face to face, he took her in a firm embrace that did much to allay her trepidation.
“Hello, um, Mr. Peeters,” she said awkwardly, as the three of them took a seat.
“Piet, please,” said the man she’d never met before. He eyed her appraisingly. “You look even lovelier than in the pictures your mother sent.”
“Thanks, Piet,” she said, not being able to take her eyes of the man. He was taller than she’d imagined. Then his words registered. “Wait, what? My mother sent you pictures of me?”
“Oh, sure,” he said, leaning back comfortably and taking a drag from his cigar, careful to blow the smoke away from them. “Every year on your birthday. It was the condition I set when she asked for a divorce. That and the opportunity to visit you from time to time. But once she was in America, she bluntly refused. Until now.” He gave her a wide smile. “Finally.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly ask her permission,” said Kate.
A delicate cough reminded her they weren’t alone. “Hi,” said Lauren. “I’m Lauren. Kate’s friend.”
“So nice to meet you, Lauren. I’m Piet. You’re one of Kate’s… colleagues?”
“Yes, I am,” said Lauren, clearly glad to be included in the conversation. “I’m a cop, just like Kate. Well, at least before she met Franklin and quit her job.”
The fact that Kate had decided to turn her back on her career was still a point of contention between the two friends.
“I still can’t get over the fact that you came all the way to Belgium!” said Piet, tapping the table smartly. “Not once, but many times, I invited your mother over for a visit, but she said you both hated flying. And since she refused to let me visit her—and you—we kinda lost touch.”
“Mom never told me you invited us,” said Kate, unpleasantly surprised. Wait till she got her mom on the phone.
“Oh, yes, of course. I was curious to see my little girl,” said Piet. “And now here you are!”
“Here I am,” said Kate blithely.
“I do hope you can stay until after the elections,” said Piet.
“Elections?”
“This time next week, I’ll know if the good citizens of Bruges have decided to grant me another six years as their mayor, or if they’ve opted for the other guy.”
“So you’ll be pretty busy these next couple of days?” said Kate, wishing she’d known about this. If her dad was going to have his hands full with his campaign, perhaps she should have picked another time to visit.
“Extremely,” he said. “We’re neck and neck at the moment.” His face darkened for a moment, and Kate could detect the telltale signs of a man who’s been working too hard and not getting enough rest. Red-rimmed eyes and a certain gauntness told her that her father had a lot on his mind.
Chapter Six
“Anything we can do to help?” she said, concerned.
“Hey, that’s a great idea,” said Lauren. “We could help spread the word or something. Organize a rally or paper the neighborhood with fliers or whatever it is you politicians do.”
“Oh, no,” said Piet, dismissing the offer with a gentle wave of the hand. “I couldn’t possibly drag you into that particular quagmire. Politics has become quite brutal these last few years. My opponent…” Once again his face darkened. “Well, let’s just say the man doesn’t play fair and square.” His voice dropped an octave as his eyes scanned the terrace. “Not fair and square at all.”
“He’s a hardliner, is he?” said Lauren. “We have quite some experience with that, haven’t we, Kate?”
“One of my stepdads briefly went into politics,” explained Kate. “But he couldn’t hack it. His opponent launched a smear campaign against him, and in spite of the fact they were all lies, it worked like a charm and he lost the election. Tough business, politics.”
“You have no idea,” said Piet, taking a sip from his coffee. Then, seeming to feel he was among friends and family, he loosened up. “My opponent doesn’t eschew the meanest tricks in the book. You know what he’s gone and done now? He’s blackmailing me. A new low, even for him.”
“What? No way!” said Kate, appalled.
Piet shook his head gravely. “It’s quite true. He took some pictures of me that are, um, of an exceedingly private nature, and is threatening to have them published if I don’t award him a substantial sum of money. Which I’m sure will go straight into his campaign fund. These elections eat up money, as you probably well know.”
“But that’s illegal!” said Lauren. “You should go to the cops.”
Piet coughed and stubbed out his cigar. “Well, the thing is that these pictures are extremely personal. If the police got involved…” He shifted in his seat. “Bruges is a very small town and rumors spread faster than lice on mice. If word got out, I would most certainly lose the elections.”
“You have to let us help you,” said Kate. “I mean, Lauren and I, we’re both cops. At least, I used to be one before I retired. Maybe there’s a way to get our hands on these pictures somehow?”
Piet regarded them both with a twinkle in his eye. “You mean, steal them?”
Kate nodded. “Why not? These men are criminals. Stealing from a thief isn’t really stealing in my book.”
“That’s a great idea, Kate,” said Lauren enthusiastically. “Let’s nail the bastards.”
“I don’t know,” said Piet, fingering his chin dubiously. “Much as I appreciate your offer, these men are dangerous, and this could land you both in a heap of trouble.” Reflecting further, he added, “Not to mention the trouble the campaign would be in if word got out that I asked my own daughter to break the law on my behest.”
“This wouldn’t get back to you, no way,” said Kate, getting more and more excited about her plan. “Nobody knows that I’m your daughter. Heck, we don’t even share the same last name. If we got caught—”
“And we wouldn’t, because we’re so damn good,” interjected Lauren.
“Exactly,” said Kate. “But supposing we do get caught, we’re just two tourists who lost their way and ended up in the wrong house by mistake.”
“Right!” said Lauren. “We just pull the dumb tourist card. Should work like a charm.”
Piet, still skeptical, appeared to be warming to the idea. “It could work,” he admitted. But then he shook his head wearily. “I really can’t ask you to do this, Kate. You came here all the way from the United States to get to know your father and to invite me to your wedding. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
“But—”
“Don’t give the matter another thought,” he said, cheerily dismissing the plan. “Forget I ever mentioned my little trouble, and please, please, please don’t let it spoil your vacation.”
Kate shrugged. “All right. Just out of curiosity, though, who’s the blackmailer? Someone you know?”
“I know him all too well,” said Piet, once again eyeing the other patrons wearily
. “Alfonso Gnat, editor-in-chief of the Bruges Chronicle, and occasional blackmailer when he’s in need of funds. And now let’s forget all about this sordid affair and have a drink, all right?”
While Kate’s dad gestured for the waiter to put in an appearance at their table, Kate and Lauren shared a look of understanding. Alfonso Gnat, that look said, was about to have a very rough night indeed.
The rest of the time the mayor of Bruges had allotted to his American daughter and her friend, were spent getting to know each other a little better. The older man was especially interested to learn about Kate’s childhood, and was gratified to discover it had been a happy one. On another note, he was also curious about Kate’s mother. Though he’d eventually remarried, and unfortunately lost his second wife to cancer, he said he’d always considered Kate’s mother the love of his life, and had regretted having not fought harder to save their marriage.
“Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said. “Too bad I let her get away.”
Wondering for a brief moment how any man could consider her mother the love of his life, Kate said she felt exactly the same way, and for the first time, father and daughter shared a smile.
Finally, when the time came for Piet to head back to City Hall and resume his duties as first citizen of Bruges, he suggested the three of them get together for dinner that night. And when it turned out the mayor habitually ate out in restaurants anyway—he was an exceedingly social man and since becoming a widower hated to dine at home—Kate suggested they eat at the Inn.
“You’re staying at Queenie’s?” said Piet with a smile.
“We do,” said Kate. “The Bouquets & Nosegays came highly recommended by the Lonely Planet, the Rough Guide and all the other travel guides I could find.”
“Well, yes, it does,” said Piet, still smiling. “It’s just that if you stay at Queenie’s, chances are you’re going to get hitched.”
“Hitched?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know how she does it, but practically everybody who’s ever spent the night under Queenie’s roof has eventually fallen in love and gotten married. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I already found love,” said Kate stoically. “So I’m good, thank you.” Why the topic of falling in love kept cropping up, she didn’t know, but it really started to annoy her already.
Chapter Seven
Dinner at the Bouquets & Nosegays was quite a small affair. Though the Inn was fully booked, many of its guests liked to dine out in one of the many restaurants Bruges sported. Still others had opted to spend the day in other tourist hotspots like Brussels, Antwerp or Ghent, and wouldn’t get back until quite late, enjoying the fine cuisine these cities had to offer.
The dining room, which was located directly opposite the reception desk, looked out onto a terraced garden with so many flowers, many guests brought along their cameras to capture the diversity and beauty. Kate and Lauren, too, had opted to enjoy the balmy evening outside, listening to the soft babble of a fountain and enjoying the delicate fragrance of the floral feast.
The moment their guest arrived, a hush went through the set of diners, for the mayor of Bruges was a well-known figure, even among the tourists. The moment the distinguished burgomaster appeared, he was greeted from all sides, and it took him a little while to join his daughter and Lauren at their table.
“Well, here we are at last,” he said as he sank into a whicker chair. “Had a fine day, I trust?”
“Wonderful,” said Kate.
After the bad turn her morning had taken, what with meeting Chris and all, she and Lauren had done the grand tour of Bruges, boat trip along the canals included, and her mood had completely perked up.
“It’s such a lovely town,” she gushed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Nor have I,” said Lauren. “I mean, it’s old, but in a nice way, if you know what I mean.”
“Just like a fairy tale,” added Kate.
“I’m glad you like it,” said Piet graciously. “We aim to please.”
He glanced at the menu while Lauren checked the wine card. Just then, Queenie appeared by their side.
“Mr. mayor!” she exclaimed. “Such an honor to have you among us.” She beamed at Kate. “And you have such a lovely daughter.”
“Yes, I have,” said Piet, swelling with pride.
“And I hear she’s getting married soon? You must be so proud.”
“I am. I haven’t met the lucky young man yet, but I will soon.”
“When is the happy occasion? Next month? Wonderful, wonderful. Then you’ll finally meet dear Jacqueline again. Kate really is her spitting image, isn’t she?”
“Oh, she most certainly is,” agreed Kate’s dad.
“Mom?” said Kate, frowning. “How do you—”
“Your mother stayed at the Inn when she was in Bruges all those years ago,” explained Piet. “In fact it was here that we first met, wasn’t it, Queenie?”
“It certainly was,” said Queenie. “I remember like it was yesterday. She was backpacking through Europe and you were helping out in the kitchen, weren’t you?”
“Student job,” said Piet, smiling at the memory. “I was busing tables the day your mom arrived, and accidentally spilled tomato sauce all over her shirt.”
“Love at first sight,” said Queenie, clasping her hands together. “Such a pity it didn’t last.”
“Well, at least something good came of the whole episode,” said Piet, and he warmly pressed his hand atop Kate’s.
Suddenly Queenie uttered a soft squeal of delight. “I just had the most wonderful idea! Why don’t you get married in Bruges? That way your mother can stay here. I’m sure it will bring back the fondest memories.”
Piet laughed and wagged his finger. “Now, now, Queenie. I see what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. Jacqueline and I have been happily divorced for many years now.”
Queenie seemed taken aback. “I certainly didn’t mean to interfere, Piet.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” said her former busboy, fondly giving her arm a squeeze. “You can work your magic all you want, Queenie, but there’s one thing you can’t guarantee: that the couples that come together, stay together. Inevitably some of us won’t make it.”
“Too true,” said Queenie with a dramatic sigh. “I really don’t know what it is about this modern fondness of the divorce procedure. In my day, once you got married, you stayed married. And if you ran into trouble, you worked at it until you found a mutually agreeable solution.”
“Well, fortunately we left the middle ages far behind us,” said Kate. She was really starting to resent Queenie’s meddling ways and old-fashioned notions about marriage and divorce. If a couple didn’t get along, what was the point in dragging out the agony?
“The trick is,” said Queenie, not the least bit disturbed by Kate’s retort, “to pick the right partner from the start. It’s when you marry without love, like some people do…” She directed a pointed look at Kate. “… that you’re bound to run into trouble.”
“I’m marrying for love,” said Kate, as if stung. “Franklin and I couldn’t be more in love if we were characters in a Shakespearian play.”
“Well, it’s not too late yet,” said Queenie, more to herself than to anyone in particular, and after a wistful smile, she turned and walked away.
“What a lovely old lady,” said Lauren.
“What a meddlesome biddy,” said Kate under her breath, afraid to insult her father, in case Queenie was a great personal friend of his.
“Queenie has a big heart,” said Piet. “All she ever wants is for everybody around her to be perfectly happy. And if they aren’t?”
“She beats them into submission?” said Kate with a wry smile.
“Something like that,” admitted Piet.
“I like her,” said Lauren.
“I don’t,” said Kate. “And I particularly don’t like her suggestion to hold the wedding here. Who does she th
ink she is? My mother?”
“Queenie is everybody’s mother,” said the mayor softly, and the same wistfulness that had marked Queenie’s departure now marked him for her own. Could he be pining for his ex-wife, Kate wondered? But then she shook off the sentiment. Of course not. Queenie was making everybody sick with sentimental notions about love and marriage, that was all. She was sure that Piet Peeters, even though now a widower, was perfectly happy.
Chapter Eight
While Kate and Lauren enjoyed dinner with Kate’s dad, Chris Van Damme, CEO of Van Damme Security & Co, sat behind his desk, his feet up, arms folded behind his head, gazing before him with unseeing eyes while trying very hard to focus on the business of running a business.
Unfortunately, all he could think about was how lovely Kate had looked that morning, and wondering what she’d done to her hair that made it look so shiny, and pondering his chances at meeting her again.
What he should have been thinking about, of course, was how long a detective agency can survive without having a single case on its docket. The answer was: not very long.
When setting up his new agency, temporarily located in the bedroom of his studio apartment located just off Bruges’s Steen Street and overlooking a chocolate shop, he hadn’t expected his business to go gangbusters from the first. But neither had he expected things to be this slow. It was almost as if Bruges had turned into the one crime-free zone in the whole of Belgium.
True, crime was rare in his hometown, but still, it did occur from time to time, didn’t it? Only last week old Mrs. Moon’s purse had been snatched while she was out shopping. The snatcher, who turned out to be the teenage son of Vernon Gravy, the butcher, had been caught in no time, thanks to the vigilance of Kip Beaumonde, the local pharmacist, who had managed to catch the young scoundrel with a flying tackle, reminiscent of his high school soccer days, when Kip had been the pride of Bruges’s soccer club youth division.