Peridale Cafe Mystery 20 - Cocktails and Cowardice

by Agatha Frost

  “Very.”

  “Good.” Julia looked around the plaza, her stomach turning. “Then from this moment on, I’m hiring you as a private investigator. Something is going on here. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “I feel it too.” He wrapped his hand around hers. “C’mon, let’s get back to the hotel. We need to talk to Minnie about the seriousness of her money troubles.”

  8

  DOT

  Dot fanned herself with her playing cards. Percy could have seen her hand if he’d looked over, but he didn’t. The pitiful amount of air did very little to cool her, but she continued anyway.

  “I’ll never complain about the British summer again,” she said, wiping away more sweat as it dribbled from her hairline. “Couldn’t they have chosen to hold us captive somewhere with air conditioning?”

  “That would have been ideal, Dorothy.” Percy’s tongue poked out the corner of his mouth as he stared at his cards. He tugged at his left ear lobe. “I think I’m all in for this one. What about you?”

  “All in.” Dot pushed her remaining toothpicks into the pile without a second thought. “You don’t suppose we’ve just been left here, do you?”

  Percy glanced up at her, but his gaze didn’t linger.

  “It had crossed my mind.” Percy turned over his cards to reveal his hand. “Now, how did I do?”

  Dot slapped her cards onto the table and claimed the pile of toothpicks for the fourth time that morning.

  “I was sure I had it that time,” he said, scratching the side of his head. “Ah, well! Maybe next time? Fancy another game while we wait for our breakfast to turn up?”

  “I can’t play another game of cards.” She let out an exasperated sigh and folded her arms. “I feel like they’ve left us to cook to death in this heat! And according to my watch, it’s already noon! He said he’d be here for breakfast.”

  “Right you are, my dear.” He scratched the side of his head. “It’s just . . . are you sure it’s noon? It doesn’t quite feel that late.”

  “Noon!” She bent her wrist to show her watch. “Couple of minutes to, but noon all the same.”

  “Did you change the time on your watch?” Percy asked as he gathered the cards. “We’re two hours ahead here, remember.”

  “I know that.” Dot pursed her lips, but she couldn’t remember changing the time. Under the table, she twisted the dial back two hours. “Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say it’s only ten in the morning. If we were at home, we’d have eaten by now.”

  “But we’re not home, are we?” Percy reached across to pet her hand. “Now, how about I make us another nice cup of tea while you see if you can get any of these windows open to let some fresh air in?”

  Dot nodded, once again grateful her husband had awoken in a better mood than she. She’d fallen asleep with the resolve that she’d stay as positive as she could until they knew what was going on, but in practice, it hadn’t been so easy. She’d always enjoyed firm mattresses, but according to the dull ache across her entire back, there was such a thing as too firm.

  Even with the rock-solid bed, she might have slept if not for the heat. Minnie’s air conditioning had done an excellent job of masking just how hot things could get. The blatant lack of so much of a piece of paper to waft the air about meant she endured a restless night of tossing and turning.

  Percy, on the other hand, slept all the way through, going as far as to remark on how well-rested he felt when he sprang out of bed that morning.

  As much as Dot didn’t want to do anything other than sit around and not think about how boiling hot she was, no doubt the relief of a little fresh air would take the edge off.

  While Percy got to work making tea with the box of teabags they’d found in the cupboard while searching for food, she walked into the sitting room part of the villa. She flicked on the television and it landed on what she imagined must be a Spanish soap opera, based on the dramatic costumes. Without subtitles, she had no idea what was going on. She considered switching to another channel, but if last night had taught her anything, she’d be in the same boat no matter what channel she chose.

  The glamorous actors on the screen swanned about in a large manor house that vaguely reminded her of Peridale Manor back in the village, which was enough to keep it on.

  Home had never felt so far away.

  She knelt on the sofa to try opening the biggest window in the room. While she fiddled with the latch through the bars, she looked out at the clearing in front of the house. The van that had brought them was gone, and aside from the birds flitting around, there were no other signs of life.

  Across the clearing, nestled on the edge of the trees, was a small white outbuilding with a single window and door. Was their captor in there? Were they being watched? Or had they really been left to die up in the mountains?

  “It’s painted shut,” she said, giving the window a whack for good measure. “They thought of everything.”

  “Don’t give up, dear.”

  Dot had never so distinctly wanted to give up. She plonked herself in the middle of the sofa and stared at the television. The quickly moving pictures kept her attention, and it only took her a couple of minutes to feel like she was following along with the gist of things. A lady with bouncy, blow-dried curls slapped a tall, handsome man. He grabbed her, and seconds later, they were kissing in a fashion Dot found most dramatic, especially since their lips were barely touching.

  “Anything good on?” Percy set the tea on the coffee table in front of them.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Dot replied, already reaching for her tea, eyes still on the screen. “I think that lady in the white top is having an affair with the man in the blue top, but he’s married to the one with the large mole on her chin. Oh, and the gardener is involved, but don’t ask how because I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

  “Maybe we’ll come out of this learning Spanish.”

  “Maybe.”

  Percy chuckled. “They do talk rather quickly.”

  Dot blew on the hot surface of her tea before taking a sip. The beverage didn’t calm her like it usually would, merely adding to her overheated state. She put it back on the table. The soap opera cut to the advertisement break, which was just as confusing and fast-paced as the programme.

  As she gazed away from the telly, disinterested, movement through the open bedroom door caught her attention. A bird flew back and forth across the window a couple of times before darting into the trees, holding Dot’s gaze long enough for her to notice something.

  “Won’t be a second,” she said, using Percy’s knee and the armrest to push herself upright. “Keep my seat . . . I was going to say ‘warm’, but I won’t ask for more of that.”

  She walked through the open door and up to the bedroom window. The trees blocked out most of the natural light, casting the whole room in dim shadow. Despite the lack of direct daylight, her eyes hadn’t mistaken her.

  “I think it’s coming back on,” Percy called.

  “Two seconds.”

  Dot perched on the bed and stared at the window. She hadn’t noticed last night, but the bedroom window was different from the others.

  There were bars on the inside.

  There were no bars on the outside.

  Dot tugged at the metal, and to her delight, the screws attaching it to the wall pulled back slightly, bringing out brick dust with them.

  “Dorothy!” Percy cried. “Dorothy, come quick!”

  Dot gave the bars another tug, and the screws came out even further. The bottom left-hand corner screw fell out onto the tiles in a shower of more brick dust. She grinned from ear to ear.

  “Dorothy!”

  “I’m not that invested in the programme, dear!”

  “It cut to the news first,” he called, beckoning her. “C’mon, dear! Don’t dilly-dally.”

  Dot exhaled and crammed the screw back into the wall. She reluctantly left the bedroom, but she didn’t quite make it to the sofa. A c
ar pulling into the clearing outside caught her eye through the sealed-shut window.

  “There’s a car out there,” she said. “Come look!”

  “You come look!” Percy tugged her down onto the sofa. “We’re on the news!”

  Dot’s eyes immediately snapped onto the television, just in time to see a recent picture of them, taken while out on a family picnic in Peridale only a couple of weeks ago, flash onto the screen. Dot hadn’t seen the picture before, but she had a vague recollection of it being taken.

  “We’re on television, Dorothy!” Percy exclaimed. “This is almost exciting, don’t you think?”

  Dot attempted to purse her lips, but she couldn’t help but smile a little. As a girl, she’d dreamed of being a famous actress, and aside from a brief turn in the Peridale Amateur Dramatics Society’s annual Christmas nativity two years earlier, this was the closest she’d ever been to fame.

  “They could have chosen a more flattering picture,” Dot said, pushing up her deflated curls. “You can’t tell how slender I am slouched down in the grass like that. I look like a bridge troll.”

  “You could never.”

  “What do you suppose she’s saying?”

  “I have no idea.” Percy tapped her knee excitedly. “I’m certain Julia took that picture on her mobile telephone, so they must be looking for us!”

  Dot’s excitement vanished. The thought of her granddaughter tracking her down didn’t fill her with joy like it should have.

  “Dorothy?” Percy ducked to meet her eye line. “What is it?”

  “It’s nothing,” she lied, pushing forward a smile.

  “This is good news!”

  “I know.”

  “It would be worse if they hadn’t noticed.”

  “I know,” she repeated. “It’s just . . . it’s Julia.”

  “What about her, dear?”

  “She’s good at this.”

  “Exactly!” Percy clapped his hands together. “I’ve seen her brilliance up close. She’s a super sleuth, and I don’t think the girl gives herself enough credit for it. She’d give any detective a run for their money with that mind of hers.”

  “Which is why I’m worried about her.” Dot stood up and took two steps, her hand on her forehead and her back to Percy. “She’s probably already halfway to tracking us down, and I don’t know if you recall, my love, but she’s twenty-one weeks pregnant with my third great-grandchild.”

  “Ah, yes. That does complicate things, rather.”

  Dot turned and looked through the window again. There were now three men on the opposite side of the clearing. Two wore garish clothes similar to the ones in the untouched plastic bag by the door, but the third wore jeans, a white t-shirt, and silver aviator glasses. Even from this distance, Dot recognised the man who’d chased them through the market and who’d promised to bring them breakfast.

  “You saw the man’s gun last night, I assume?” Dot asked.

  “I did.” Percy gulped. “Didn’t want to bring it up in case you hadn’t. Didn’t want to scare you, my dear.”

  “That’s very sweet of you,” she said, pausing to smile, “but I’ve been terrified this entire time.”

  “Then you do a great job of hiding it,” he said, tapping the sofa next to him. “Now sit down and tell me your plan. You have that look in your eyes.”

  “What look?” Dot shot back, quite sure her poker face was too good to show any kind of ‘look’.

  “It’s the ‘I think I have a plan’ look,” Percy replied with a soft smile. “Some people call it the ‘Julia look’, but to me, it’s the ‘Dorothy look’. Julia might be brilliant, but where do you think she got her brains from?”

  “Certainly not from her father.”

  “Precisely.” Percy winked. “She got them from her gran. Her brilliance is your brilliance. So, tell me your plan.”

  Dot was continuously surprised, surprised and truly touched, by how highly Percy thought of her. People had often remarked on her unshakeable confidence. While she had a steelier determination than most, she had never thought of herself as a ‘brilliant’ woman. But to look in Percy’s eyes at that moment, she knew he must have been looking at someone special – or, at the very least, special in his eyes. That single look cleared away the last vestiges of her earlier melancholy and near-defeat.

  “I could tell you,” she started, nodding at the bedroom door, “or I could show you.”

  Keys jangled on the other side of the front door, and they froze. Lock by lock shifted and clicked until the deadbolt finally slid back and the door opened. They watched silently as the young man in the aviators walked in with another tray and a plastic bag. While the soap opera’s dramatic music swelled in the background, he dumped the bag by the door and put the food on the kitchen table.

  He looked as though he meant to head straight through the door again, but Dot stepped forward and smiled, hands clasped in front of her.

  “Excuse me,” she began, her voice as soft as she could muster. “I was wondering if you had any updates about our business here?”

  “I told you.” He stopped in his tracks and sighed, one hand on the door handle. “It is better to ask no questions.”

  “I have money,” she said, remembering the stash of euros she’d taken from her bra and put in the bedside drawer; ironic, since she’d been so keen on protecting in only a day earlier. “Five hundred euros, give or take. You can have it all.”

  “I do not want your money,” he replied flatly. “Eat breakfast. Later, I will bring dinner.”

  “Thank you,” she said, scrambling for something. “What about requests?”

  He sighed, let go of the handle, and waved to one of the men outside, giving the impression he had been instructed to drop off the food and nothing more. Blocking the exit, he pulled off his sunglasses and turned to Dot. His gaze darted uneasily around the room before finally landing on Dot’s shoes.

  “Requests?” he echoed, nodding for her to speak.

  “Medication,” Dot said, her sharper edges still intentionally softened. “You’ve probably noticed we’re not the youngest, and between us, we take enough pills to keep a small pharmacy in business. Without them, I’m afraid we won’t last much longer.”

  Dot saw the worry flash across his face as clear as day, so she fluttered her eyelids and rested her hand on her forehead, as though she could faint at any moment. It wasn’t her finest work, but he seemed to buy it.

  “Medication?” he repeated, looking between the two of them. “What kinds of this medication?”

  Dot tapped her head and let her finger flutter away. “Brain isn’t what it was. I think I’d be more confident writing them down. Names come easier that way. Uses a different part of the brain, you see. Have you got a pen and paper?”

  The man patted down his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. He tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to Dot. It appeared to be a digital checklist, or even a shopping list, blank and waiting to be filled in. She’d never actually used a mobile phone in this way. She had a tablet for the few internet activities (shopping, watching old movies, and listening to old music) she could handle, so it wasn’t completely foreign to her.

  After spending an embarrassingly long time staring at the screen, she realised the squashed-up letters and numbers at the bottom were a condensed version of the wider keyboard she was more used to. Taking a seat at the table and remembering what Jessie had told her about ‘tapping not pressing’, she started writing down the names of all the medications her limited medical knowledge could provide. After writing down something she was sure was used as a stool softener, she froze. Her hands started shaking when she realised what she held.

  “You done?” he called, his tone desperate. “Hurry.”

  “Old fingers,” she replied, continuing her tapping. “Won’t be a moment.”

  The urge to somehow use the phone to call for help left her mind as quickly as it entered. She had no idea how to use the thing b
eyond what she could see in front of her, and had no concrete idea who to call even if she did. She didn’t even know the Spanish number for the police.

  “Thank you so much,” Dot said as she handed the phone back. “I think I got them all.”

  “Okay.” He checked the list before pushing the phone into his pocket. “At dinner I will come—”

  “One more thing,” Dot called, another idea springing to mind. “It’s hot in here. Very hot.”

  As though only just noticing the sweltering heat in the villa, he reached up to his bronzed forehead and wiped away beads of sweat with the back of his hand.

  “A fan?” Dot suggested, smiling and nodding. “Please?”

  The man looked between them and sighed. He slid his glasses on again and left, locking them in. She checked the new bag, which contained towels and toiletries.

  “Now then, Dorothy,” Percy called from the sofa, one brow arched, “what was all that about?”

  “A test.” She walked back to the window and watched as the two men, definitely older, chastised the sunglasses-wearer. “I wanted to find out two things.”

  “The first?”

  One of the men in garish clothes slapped Aviator Sunglasses around the head. He flinched before the hand even struck, but he didn’t duck. He was used to the abuse, Dot could tell that much. Once again, she was taken aback by his youth. Though he was working a man’s job, those eyes belonged to a boy.

  “I wanted to see how easily he would bend.” Dot frowned as the young man retreated to the outbuilding while the two men sat in the plastic deck chairs in the shade. “I think you saw for yourself how that went.”

  “Young lad seemed to be quite compliant,” Percy agreed. “How did you know he would be?”

  “A feeling.” Dot sighed and sat back next to Percy on the sofa. “You get to our age, and people assume you get simple and slow. Nobody wants to say no when a sweet old lady asks something of them, gun on his hip or not.”

  “And the second thing you wanted to find out?”

  “That’s not as trivial,” she said, pausing to gulp. “The suggestion that we might die without our medication seemed to scare him so much that he handed over his mobile phone.”