When in Bruges (Humorous Romantic Mystery)

by Nic Saint

  Wallace had always been a short fellow with a gaunt face, a sallow complexion and a hump, but now he appeared even more sallow-faced and hunched over than before.

  “Are you all right, Wallace?” Chris said.

  The secretary flashed a grimace, and said, “Can’t complain, Chris. Old rheumatism acting up again is all.”

  “That’s too bad,” Chris said, concerned. “Are you seeing a doctor about that?”

  Wallace patted his back. “Wait till you get to be my age, young man. You’ll see that there’s certain ailments no doctor is able to cure.”

  “So what do you do?” Chris said.

  “You just suffer in silence,” Wallace said a little dramatically. Then he pulled a face. “Oh, don’t listen to an old fart like me, Chris. I’m feeling cranky today.”

  “We all have our days,” said Coleen, staring pointedly at Hock. The latter merely huffed and looked away.

  “Now, if you want coffee, just give us a holler,” said Wallace.

  “Thanks, Wallace,” Chris said. “I hope you feel better soon.”

  “Thanks, Chris. Thanks a lot,” the old man said with genuine warmth.

  Once he’d left, Chris said, “Nice guy. Isn’t he married to some actress?”

  “Left ages ago,” said Hock. “When her theater closed because of budget cuts, she joined one in Ghent and apparently fell in love with its main star.”

  “Divorce, huh?” Chris said, and tsk-tsked a little. “Disease of our time.”

  “Some men just aren’t worth the sacrifice,” said Coleen huffily.

  “Pshah,” said Hock.

  “Don’t tell me,” Chris said, laughing. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

  “Nothing of the kind!” said Coleen, as if stung. “We just don’t see eye to eye in regards to the campaign, that’s all.”

  “Oh? What seems to be the trouble?”

  Hock sat up a little straighter. “Hear this. You know how your dad and Peeters are both avid smokers?”

  “Filthy habit,” Chris said.

  “That’s what I said!” exclaimed Coleen.

  Ignoring them both, Hock pressed on. “And how they both like to smoke pipe? Well, why don’t we organize a pipe smoking event?” When neither Coleen nor Chris spoke, he slammed his fist down on the table. “Oh, come on! Peace pipe? Bipartisanship? Get it?”

  “Oh, I see,” Chris said. “Ha, ha, of course. I see what you did there. Peace pipe!”

  Coleen folded her arms across her chest and looked away. “I think it’s a lousy idea. It will set a truly horrible example for the kids.”

  “It’s just symbolism, Coleen,” said Hock.

  The matter would have to remain unresolved for a moment longer, for at that moment Kate arrived, the two candidates in her wake.

  She gave Chris a dazzling smile, and he instantly sprang up, bouquet of flowers held out.

  “For me?” she squeaked, surprised.

  “For you,” he said, and would have kissed her, were it not for the two elephants and two campaign managers in the room.

  “I told Franklin,” she whispered, putting her hand on Chris’s arm.

  “You did?” he said, surprised. The day just kept getting better and better. “How did he take it?”

  “Well, actually he was the one who brought it up. Apparently his hotelier had seen us at the cinema.”

  “Ouch,” Chris said. “That must have been awkward.”

  “It was. We talked it through, though. We’re fine. We promised each other to remain friends.”

  “Great,” Chris said, and gave her a modest peck on the cheek.

  “If you two lovebirds are all done,” said Coleen, a little severely, “perhaps we can start the meeting?”

  Just then, the door blew open and Jeanie Geyser stormed in. “Am I too late?” she said.

  “No, honey,” sang Jacques, before Peeters added jubilantly, “You’re just in time.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Kate couldn’t help glaring at Jeanie all through the meeting. This woman had some gall! First, she almost killed both candidates by dunking them into the lake, then she went on dates with the guy responsible for the blackmail pictures, and now she sat there, taking center stage, acting as if she were the most important person in the whole campaign!

  Silly idea after silly idea, she just kept spewing inane suggestions, while the two candidates lapped it all up as if it were pure nectar rolling from her tongue. Something had to be done. Someone had to expose this woman and make her confess that she was the one behind this whole plot. Or at least connected to the mysterious ‘Twelve’, whoever or whatever they were.

  “You have to appeal to my generation,” Jeanie was saying. “So why don’t you remove that silly statue of those two plug-uglies on the Market Square, and put up a video wall for the kids? That way, they can watch MTV all day long, and still get to hang out with their friends! Wouldn’t that be the coolest thing ever?”

  “Exceedingly cool!” squealed Piet.

  “Love it!” said Jacques.

  “The statue of Jan Breydel and Pieter de Coninck happens to be a landmark,” said Coleen icily. “Part of our cultural heritage.”

  “Oh, who cares about heritage?” sneered Jeanie, studying her nails. “What we need to do is look to the future, not dwell on the dead past.”

  “Very well put, darling,” said Jacques.

  “I couldn’t have said it better,” vociferated Piet.

  “Oh, enough of this!” cried Kate, getting up. “Could you please explain to us why you were out last night with Gabriel Closet?”

  Jeanie looked up as if struck with a wet towel.

  “What?” said Coleen.

  “Who’s Gabriel Closet?” said Piet, confused.

  Jeanie gave Kate one of her signature dirty looks. “He’s a dear, dear friend,” she said. “And what’s the idea of spying on me?”

  “I wasn’t spying on you,” Kate said, giving her a dirty look of her own. Turning to her father, she added, “Gabriel Closet is the scumbag who took those blackmailing pictures.”

  “He’s not a scumbag!” said Jeanie. “He’s a very talented photographer and I’m doing a shoot with him.”

  “Talented, my ass,” Kate said.

  “Kate,” said Piet, shocked. “Language, please.”

  “She’s lying!” Kate said, pointing at the drama queen. “She’s working with this Closet guy, I’m sure of it. First she pushed you into the lake, and now she’s making nice with a known sleazeball? I say we hand her over to the cops. I’m sure the truth will come out in no time.”

  Jeanie rose to her feet, appalled. “Are you accusing me?”

  “Yes, I am,” Kate said.

  “Jacques!” she cried. “She’s harassing me!”

  “Peeters,” said Van Damme menacingly. “You tell your daughter she’s out of line.”

  “Now, honey,” said Piet soothingly, “I don’t think you should go and hurl baseless accusations around. Miss Geyser here is a very good friend of mine and—”

  “She’s a crook!” Kate said. “She’s a lowlife piece of bad news!”

  “And you’re jealous,” said Jeanie. “You just can’t stand to see how successful a girl can be so you want to tear me down.” She raised her eyes dramatically. “Oh, it has happened to me before. The toll of success, they said. Trolls lie in wait wherever you go, they said. Jeanie, do be careful for the petty minds and small-minded people, they said. How right they were!”

  “Who are you calling a troll?” Kate grunted, now really warming up.

  “Oh, do shut up, you little person,” Jeanie said, and threw her sharpie at Kate. It was a silly thing to do, and reminded Kate of high school. The tip of the sharpie was aimed directly at her face. The shock of being pelted with a permanent marker had her respond automatically. She deflected the sharpie with one hand, flinging it aside, where it hit Jacques Van Damme in the face instead.

  Vaulting up on the table, she reached Jeanie with a single b
ound, and as the flat of her hand connected with Jeanie’s face, the sound of the slap reverberated around the room. The reality star staggered back, her expression one of priceless astonishment that someone had dared to hit her!

  It all happened so fast that later on, when Kate recounted what happened to Lauren, she had a hard time getting the sequence of events right. First, Jeanie picked up an empty coffee cup and threw it at her. Kate ducked, and the cup hit her father smack dab on the nose. Then Kate took the flowers Chris had given her, and started thrashing Jeanie with the bouquet. Of course, flowers don’t really make for a great weapon, so she didn’t inflict actual bodily harm, though she did manage to smear Jeanie’s make-up.

  Next thing she knew, Jeanie had taken a firm grip on her long tresses, and given them a nasty yank. Ouch! That hurt! That’s when Kate really got mad. She balled her fingers into a fist, and proceeded to deal her attacker a single punch to the jaw. This time, Jeanie went down and didn’t come up.

  It was then that Kate noticed that Chris hadn’t joined the tussle. All this time, he’d just sat there, without intervening. It made her even madder. Not that she was the kind of girl who expects her guy to come riding up on his white horse and be all chivalry and gallantry and protect her from the odd evildoer, but at least he could have stood by her side when all this was going down.

  “Why don’t you say something!” she screamed at him. At this point, she was going a little berserk. Chris’s lower jaw drooped, then hitched up, and then she slapped him across the face. Because that’s the kind of girl she was: once she got going, it was kinda hard for her to stop.

  Then Hock grabbed her by the arms and wrestled her to the door and out of the room. The last thing she saw was Chris, nursing his cheek, the two candidates staring daggers at her, Coleen looking pissed and Jeanie, well, unconscious on the floor, which was the one bright side to the whole affair.

  Hock informed her that from that moment onward, she was no longer welcome at City Hall, or the campaign, and then she was effectively kicked out. Well, not literally, of course, but still. She was out.

  The thing that bothered her most? That throughout, Chris hadn’t said a word in her defense. He’d just sat there like Jeanie’s or his father’s sock puppet, and let her do all the work. While he knew she was right.

  She sat on the steps of City Hall for a long time, considering her future, or lack thereof, and then slowly made her way to the Bouquets & Nosegays.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  For the umpteenth time, Chris tried to get in touch with Kate, but she simply refused to respond. Of course, after the resounding slap she’d given him, he more or less figured she was mad. He couldn’t blame her. Looking back on the recent events, he could see that he should have stood by her from the first. It’s just that things had progressed so quickly.

  One moment, Kate was accusing Jeanie of this and that, and then suddenly the scene erupted into the sort of bar room brawl Piet and Jacques were experts in. And he was just admiring Kate’s formidable right hook, when she turned all that anger against him.

  He couldn’t deny that part of him wished she had handled things with a touch more subtlety. A full-frontal attack on Jeanie, while she still had both candidates wrapped around her little finger, was not the wisest move at this stage of the proceedings. The only thing she’d achieved was that she was now out of the campaign, and the Jeanie angle permanently closed.

  They’d have to come up with some pretty damaging evidence now to convince Piet and Jacques that their beloved Miss Geyser represented an actual clear and present danger. Evidence they didn’t have. And in the meantime, Jeanie was free to do as she pleased, and to plot whatever nasty fate she had in mind for ‘her’ men.

  Nevertheless, though Kate was somewhat lacking on the strategic side of the equation, she definitely was fearless when it came to confronting the bad guys. Or gals. Thinking back to that formidable punch she’d thrown, Chris couldn’t help but sigh in stunned admiration. What a woman. What. A. Woman.

  “What a woman!” Kirt sighed as he nursed his drink.

  Once again, the two friends were holed up at the Perch, nursing their bruised souls.

  “Still no wedding bells?” Chris said.

  “Considering the fact that Lauren broke up with me, I should say not.”

  “She broke up with you?”

  “Yep.”

  “So you didn’t promise to quit your job and move to the States?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s too bad, buddy.”

  “Yep.”

  They both sat staring before them, moodily thinking about what could have been.

  “I think I’ll stay away from women from now on,” Kirt said. “They’re only trouble, if you ask me.”

  “But what fine trouble,” Chris said, touching his cheek where Kate had slapped him for the second time in two days. He wondered what tomorrow would bring. A roundhouse punch? He couldn’t wait.

  “You know what your trouble is?” Kirt said, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “You’re a masochist. You like pain.”

  “Well, I don’t think so,” Chris said, wondering if he was right.

  “Yes, you do. Admit it. You love it when she hits you.”

  He’d been giving that aspect of the matter some considerable thought. “I don’t think it’s the hitting part so much as the fact that it’s Kate doing the hitting,” he said.

  Kirt raised both brows. “Come again?”

  “You know I’ve been hit plenty of times in my life.”

  “Oh, sure.” He snickered. “Remember that time I hit you?”

  “I try to forget,” Chris said. “The thing is, when Kate hits me, I feel the love, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know. She hits you and you feel the love? What’s wrong with you, man?”

  Chris shrugged. “I guess I’m in love.”

  “That’s what I mean. You’re a masochist and you won’t even admit it. A couple more slaps and she’ll have you barking at her feet like a lapdog.”

  Chris had to admit that the thought of being Kate’s lapdog did hold a certain appeal.

  Just then, the door of the Perch flew open, and a woman stormed in, her face a thundercloud, nostrils flaring, eyes shooting fire. It was Lauren.

  “Uh-oh,” Chris said, nudging Kirt. “Looks like it’s your turn to get hit.”

  Kirt looked up, and when he saw Lauren approaching like a nuclear missile homing in on its target, he stoically watched her approach.

  “If this is my last moment on this earth,” he said softly, “it’s been a pleasure knowing you, my friend.”

  “Ditto,” Chris said, watching Lauren descend upon his friend with interest.

  “Kirt Raisin!” she yelled as she reached her destination. The bar went completely quiet, all eyes riveted on their table.

  “That’s me,” said Kirt calmly.

  “I’m quitting my job and moving to Belgium!” she cried, and flung herself on top of Kirt. Both Kirt and the chair he’d been sitting on were slung backward, and even before they hit the floor, Lauren was kissing him passionately. Kirt’s arms flailed about for just a moment, but then he got with the program, clasped Lauren to his bosom, and kissed her right back.

  “No, you won’t,” he said when he momentarily freed his lips.

  She arched up, surprised. “I won’t?”

  “Nope. Because I’m quitting my job and moving to the States!”

  “Oh, Kirt,” she cried, and flung himself on top of him again.

  A loud cheer rang out among the Perch patrons, and even Genaro Rowlock’s lips curled up into a rare smile as he saluted the young couple by raising his mug of beer.

  Even Chris applauded, though he couldn’t deny experiencing a pang of jealousy at the tender scene at his feet. He just wished that instead of slapping him around each time they met, Kate would take a page from Lauren’s book and ease up on the slapping and ratchet up the kissing.

  “Oh,” said Lauren, looking up
briefly, “Kate says she hates you and never wants to see you again.” She gave Chris a commiserating look, then added, “Sorry, Chris,” and picked up where she left off by heading straight into another round of deep kissing with his best friend.

  Never wanted to see him again, huh? Well, he wanted to see about that. Now that he’d seen from Lauren how to go about resolving these little contrivances, he had a good mind to go up to Kate’s room at the Inn and plant a big, juicy one on her himself.

  Lauren looked up a second time, and said, “Oh, and she asked me to tell you that she’s going to marry Franklin and that you’re not invited to the wedding. Sorry!”

  Well, that pretty much rendered his kissing plans null and void. He glowered at the pint of beer in front of him. Still. No way was he going to leave things like this. He loved Kate and she loved him and he’d be damned if she was going to cast him aside like a worn-out glove. Perhaps Kirt was right, and he had a masochistic streak, but one thing was for sure: he was not going down without a fight.

  Chapter Forty

  Kate was packing up her meager belongings with a heavy heart, when a discrete knock sounded. Looking up, she saw it was Queenie. Feeling quite miserable, talking to someone—anyone—was about the last thing Kate wanted, so she didn’t really jump with joy at the sight of her hostess.

  “Sorry about this, Queenie. But I’m sure you’ll find someone else for the room soon enough. It being the high season and all…”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” said Queenie, an uncharacteristic frown marring her usually cheerful face. “It was wonderful to have you, Kate, and I do hope you’ll be back soon.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Kate, as she transferred her underwear from the closet to her trunk. “I’ve seen about all of Belgium I can stand.”

  “Things didn’t work out the way you planned?” said Queenie, taking a seat on the bed.

  “Not exactly.”