The Grotto's Secret: A Historical Conspiracy Mystery Thriller

by Paula Wynne

  ‘Emma.’

  ‘Yes, tell her to send her press release and do follow up calls.’

  ‘Right you are.’

  Kelby slipped her phone into her coat pocket, dumped her luggage into the first black cab in the queue and jumped in beside it. A smell of wet socks and unwashed bodies lingered on the seats.

  As they pulled off for the trip into London, she wondered what the note meant, but her mind soon returned to work.

  When the cabbie pulled up at the first set of traffic lights on the way out of the airport, Kelby caught sight of the Pewter Fox in the cab beside her. From the corner of her eye she spied him tapping his phone.

  Immediately, her phone beeped with yet another message:

  @kelbywade Devil waiting 4 u @ office. U will open wider 4 me 2nite

  The hair on the nape of her neck lifted and a tingle radiated down her arms. Her heartbeat boomed in her ears. What did he mean, he’d open her up wider?

  Another thought struck her, and she glanced at the cab pulling off. The Pewter Fox was still engrossed in his phone. Could he have sent the message? She shook off the thought. A stranger from the plane? This was getting silly.

  After a long moment, Kelby realised her fingers were going numb from clutching her phone so tightly.

  She would not let these messages wear her down. Kelby slipped out her iPad and scrolled through her to do list. Within seconds her mind wandered to the envelope and the new meeting.

  Were they connected?

  If so, she’d soon find out who’d left the note.

  4

  An hour later, Kelby stared at a blood-spattered magazine. The parcel had been delivered in a recycled cardboard box tied with blood-red twine. Another strand stuck out of the middle to ensure she went straight to the centre spread.

  At first she thought the editor had sent her yet another copy of her recent Devil’s Grotto photo shoot with the two women mentors. But that was out of the question. The editor wouldn’t mutilate her own magazine with such horrific graffiti.

  No, it had to be the Twitter bully.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she examined the red slash drawn across each woman’s face. Kelby stared at the image, not knowing what to do. After a long moment, she lifted her reading glasses and bedded her knuckles into her eye sockets. Once she could focus again, she stole another glance at the grotesque graphics. The editor had entitled the article ‘Drop Dead Devils’. Kelby slithered her fingers over the smooth-as-ice magazine centre spread, touching both women’s faces. As her fingertip snagged a glitch on the lustrous paper, her eyes narrowed. She squinted at it.

  Oh my God. Real blood!

  She studied the red slashes across the women’s necks, the vibrancy of the blood marring their creamy skin. As Jimmy entered and kicked the door shut, Kelby slapped the magazine face down on the desk.

  ‘What does yours say?’

  ‘You got one, too?’

  Jimmy reached to open her copy, but she slammed her fist on it. She couldn’t bear to look again. He yanked his hand away and tutted, ‘That bad, huh?’ The magazine rustled as Jimmy lifted his hand, waved his copy and opened it across his chest.

  Kelby flinched at the words smeared in black gunk across her face: How can you work for this devil?

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ Kelby swept her copy of the magazine into the waste paper basket. ‘I’m sick of them.’ She bit back some of her brother’s army language that would have made her mother ashamed of her.

  ‘He needs a good belt.’

  ‘That’s your answer to anyone who doesn’t toe the line.’ She jumped up and stomped to the window of her sky-high barely affordable London office. Only the thought of competing against Teresina Piccoli with Jon Thompson watching from the side lines kept her paying the extortionate rent.

  Her voice became hollow. ‘Will they ever stop feasting on me?’

  ‘Not while you’re on one of the most popular shows on TV.’ He ambled between their offices, sorting out the morning’s post.

  Kelby glanced at the Thames, at the boats chugging around the wide bends with tourists strolling alongside the river. The distant hum of a bustling London morning rose to their floor.

  She pressed her hands into her chest. A deep longing filled her. She’d give anything to be strolling along, clinging onto a little hand while heading nowhere in particular. Kelby flung the thought away and marched back to her desk, her squat heels clomping on the wooden floorboards. No time for silliness.

  Jimmy dumped a pile of post in her letter tray as Kelby lifted her bag and pulled out a child’s picture. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ She handed it to Jimmy. Behind her, in one corner of her office, hung a gallery of children’s framed drawings.

  Taking the picture from her, Jimmy said, ‘Ah, another masterpiece.’

  Kelby smiled with pride. ‘This one is of Annie’s new friend’s swimming pool.’

  They looked at the pencil drawing of a waterfall cascading from the top right of the picture. Sprays of blue pencil plunged into a pool below. Around the pool, large rocks were covered in green pencilled moss.

  ‘More friends?’ Jimmy’s eyes widened.

  Kelby wagged her finger in the air to prevent mockery spilling from Jimmy’s mouth. ‘Imaginary friends are healthy for children. Annie relies on them as her buddies and superheroes.’

  ‘I thought most kids outgrew their imaginary friends by her age. What is she now? Nine? Ten?’

  Kelby straightened. ‘Never deprive a child of hopeful friends, Jim, it may be all they have.’

  Jimmy said, ‘True. Maybe her head’s still dealing with the stress.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Kelby swallowed a lump. Even after all these years the gaping hole of losing her own parents as a teenager had never left.

  Jimmy ambled out of her office. For the hundredth time she glanced at her mobile phone, hoping to see a message about Annie. Kelby tapped it and propped her glasses on her head while her thumb stroked the mobile’s smooth screen. Again she rang to see how Annie was doing. As before, the number rang and rang.

  ‘Damn!’ Kelby dropped her phone and scraped her teeth on

  her thumbnail.

  The phone beeped again. If it hadn’t been for Annie, she’d have thrown the bloody thing away. For a split second she squeezed her eyes tight, unwilling to see another threat.

  The phone beeped again. She sagged over her office chair like Annie’s rag doll.

  Kelby dropped her glasses onto her nose. A shiver clawed its way up her spine and her stomach tied itself in knots.

  God help me. Not him again.

  5

  Serramonacesca, Italy

  Barker enjoyed this killing malarkey. Although he’d never done it before, he had a gift for it. Thankfully his task in the Abruzzi Mountains was almost over; he only needed to do a few tweaks to ensure the cogs fell into place.

  Job done.

  He pressed send on his phone and tucked the device into his pocket.

  Yes, he enjoyed playing with the she-devils. And neither of them had the foggiest that he was their cyber stalker.

  Planning Teresina’s death had been easy. As one of the show’s producers the craziest ideas were pitched at him. Using them for his own means, he loved.

  Both she-devils knew everyone on the show was testing this new device from one of the entrepreneurs.

  As he touched the sun-warmed metal hood of the gleaming French-navy Maserati, he ran through his plans one more time. Some things he hated about this job, including sticking his hands up the wheel shaft. On the other hand, touching this graceful racer he loved.

  He stood back to enjoy the sun glinting on the bonnet. The Maserati thrilled every petrol-head as it tore through the Italian countryside. Now it rested in silence on the paved
drive. Beside the gleaming bonnet, twinned sculptured cypress trees guarded the Palazzo’s baroque entrance.

  Today was special.

  Today Teresina would die.

  A voice bellowed from the window, disturbing the countryside’s peace. ‘Majella! Did you hear me?’

  Her yell bounced around inside the Italian palazzo before emerging from the ornate-stone arched windows on the mountain’s breeze.

  Rude or moody most days, Teresina Piccoli, heiress of the Piccoli Palazzo and one of the Devil’s Grotto game show mentors, had something extra gnawing away at her today. A package had arrived that morning,

  gift wrapped in blood-red twine. The she-devil had received his anonymous threat.

  Barker chuckled. She had no idea she would soon be pushing up daisies. He knelt and peered inside the wheel chassis. Then he pulled a device out of his pocket, dropped it into his palm and pressed a yellow button. The screen lit up. Next, he pressed the red and yellow buttons simultaneously, held them for a few seconds and waited for the zero to stop blinking.

  His fingers slid along the inside of the alloy rim, found the best spot and snapped on the gadget. Tighter. And tighter still. He wriggled it one last time. Tight enough to do the job. He grinned and tapped the device, whispering, ‘Do your thing, buddy, and do it at the right moment.’

  During tests the device had failed high speed cornering when the load was greatest on the tyre. Teresina loved speed. The countryside was renowned for its winding mountainous roads so the device would do the trick.

  The engine oil’s sharp odour stuck in the back of Barker’s throat, making him gag. Stretching back up, he filled his lungs with fresh air.

  The tyre tread monitor settled to a steady blue haze at 0.0.

  Primed. Ready to explode.

  6

  Kelby didn’t bother to read her latest phone message and ignored the insistent beep. There were too many idiots using social media nowadays.

  Jimmy took her phone and read the message, then dumped it on her desk in disgust.

  Without looking up she said, ‘That bad?’

  ‘It’s not only you. Teresina has been taken to the cleaners. I’ve learnt a whole bevy of new words from this fella. Horse-teeth. Dentist-done smile. Devil’s breath. Viper. But mostly Teresina’s called a man-eater.’

  She muttered, ‘I’d give anything for her ironing board tummy!’

  ‘Nah, yer grand, you don’t wanna be that skinny.’

  ‘I do!’ She looked at Jimmy askance. She envied the way Teresina attracted people to her like butterflies to a new spring flower.

  ‘Maybe it’s because she runs through Hyde Park in the mornings and doesn’t stick her nose into her laptop as soon as she wakes up.’

  ‘You’ve made your point.’

  ‘I keep trying, but it doesn’t seem to be getting through. Go spend your money. Live your life.’

  ‘And who’ll run this place?’

  ‘Me. I’m overdue for a promotion, anyways.’

  She gave him a ha-ha look. Turning her back on Jimmy, Kelby scribbled reminders about the week’s targets on the whiteboard. Her thumb sneaked into her mouth and she slid her nail back and forth across her bottom teeth. Not biting, filing, she often convinced herself. It helped her to think of the perfect solution to whatever problem plagued her.

  ‘Wish she would stop mouthin’ in the papers about your latest bust up.’

  Kelby spun around to face him. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Where you called her “Mafia money”.’

  Kelby groaned. She wasn’t proud of her temper. That one had been captured on air.

  ‘If you keep on at the cow, it’ll make it worse.’

  ‘I don’t care! I won’t have Teresina stomping all over me.’

  He continued his telling off. ‘It sends you more tormentors.’ He tapped the magazine. ‘Like this graffiti fella.’

  ‘Don’t rub it in.’ Kelby sunk into her chair. ‘Please print off Jason’s new business plan. I’m also waiting for the NDA from the Beach Hut. Their application for home working pods looks exciting, but I can’t go any further without signatures.’

  She rubbed a lens cloth over a smudge on her glasses. ‘And diarise a day with the producers. They keep changing things on set. I’m going to put them straight.’

  ‘I’m on it. By the way, Miss Gappy called.’

  Jimmy loved to give her mentees nicknames. The group was labelled the ‘hunting pack’. She frowned at him, trying to put the nickname to a face. ‘Miss Gappy?’

  ‘Joanne, the gap-tooth. The marketing campaign you suggested is going gang busters.’

  ‘I’d hate to know what nickname you have for me behind my back.’

  Jimmy shuffled to the door. ‘I see you’re on that again, so I’ll get outta your face.’

  As he opened it, a myriad of chattering voices in the main office flowed through the door. The sound of an intercom squawking in the reception frayed Kelby’s nerves. She darted to the door, leaned out to face a bunch of people and bellowed, ‘Will someone get that?’ They turned to gawp at her.

  At that moment an office assistant dressed in spotted leopard tights and high-heeled boots scrambled out of the kitchen and headed to the squawking intercom. ‘I’ll get it!’

  ‘Thanks, Zelda,’ Kelby called out, relieved the squawking had stopped. She closed her door.

  Beside her, Jimmy whispered, ‘Those red smeared lips remind me of a leopard licking its blood tainted mouth after gorging on a carcass.’

  ‘Oh, she’s harmless.’ Kelby strode back to her desk and plonked herself down at her laptop.

  ‘Maybe, but she’s not the brightest button.’

  ‘Give her a chance. I have a feeling she’ll show her true colours and prove herself.’

  He shrugged. ‘Not sure how long we can wait. Besides, I know you felt sorry for her when her mother told you how she had struggled to get a job after she dropped out of uni.’

  Despite Zelda’s questionable dress sense, Kelby liked her. Within days, she had settled herself into the office, overtly attentive at all times.

  ‘But then, that’s you all over, Kelby. Hardened honeycomb on the outside and gooey caramel on the inside. A real softie.’

  Ignoring his summary of her, Kelby muttered, ‘Don’t you go spreading such terrible rumours.’

  ‘Hah! That secret’s in the can.’ Jimmy chuckled. ‘Hey, I have an idea. Maybe you can ask one of the girls to talk to Zelda about her clothes.’

  Suddenly Kelby slammed her hand on her desk making Jimmy jump. ‘Hang on! I have a great idea. You know I told you I wanted to get rid of those designer frocks I’ve been given for the show?’

  He nodded suspiciously.

  ‘Well, Zelda is the perfect person to find them a new home.’

  ‘If you think so.’

  ‘Done deal. I’ll tell her about it later.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Jimmy asked as if he had nothing to do all day.

  She slid an envelope across the table.

  Jimmy lifted it and opened it. His eyes widened as he pulled out an air ticket. ‘What’s this?’

  She shrugged. ‘‘You’ve been piling on the hours so I thought you might want a long weekend to see your mum.’

  ‘But I can’t take time off now, it’s so busy.’

  ‘Now look who’s talking! Listen, Jimmy, you deserve a break. It’s only a long weekend.’

  He slapped the ticket at his palm and said in a soft voice. ‘Thanks Kelby.’ He scampered across the room, chuckling, ‘Jaysus, when I turn up on her doorstep, my ol’ mam will die of a heart attack!’ As he grabbed the door handle, he spun around. ‘By the way…’

  Kelby looked at him.

  ‘Barker is coming to fit the tyre tre
ad monitor to your car tomorrow.’

  7

  Right now, Barker needed to ensure the device clinging to the Maserati would send Teresina off in style. Such a pity that majestic beast would soon end up as a twisted metal carcass at the bottom of a hairpin bend.

  He whistled a tune she’d loved; Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive. Quite apt with today’s events unfolding.

  Teresina had a private family event this morning. She was always late, so she’d be in a spin and race around the mountain.

  Talk of the devil… Madame Millions belted out more demands. ‘Majella! Are you ready?’

  Barker heard a muffled reply wafting through one of the Palazzo’s upstairs bedrooms. He smiled, knowing the ten-year-old would be preening in front of her full size mirror in her girlie bedroom.

  ‘Merde! Carino… did you hear me?’

  This time Majella yelled as loudly as her mother, ‘I said, yes, Mamma. I’m tying up my hair as you insisted.’

  ‘Bene! I need to make a quick call and then we’re off. Nonna is waiting.’

  ‘And so is Rome.’

  Barker chuckled at Majella’s response. Imagine naming your daughter after the mountain under whose shadows you were born and raised. Although that wasn’t as bad as some names he’d heard. Kids today were named after superheroes, towns and even fruit, for God’s sake.

  He’d name his kid with elegance and beauty, a name that would prove his breeding beat that of any Italian aristocrat. A name like Grace or Kelby’s little Annie. He’d always liked that name. And Annie was a cute kid. Thank goodness his mother hadn’t been so tacky. He would’ve ended up called ‘Tango’ or ‘Rioja’.

  All told, Majella was a pretty decent kid. Anyone would think she’d be a spoilt brat with that old Italian money floating around, and a mamma who doted on her kid when she wasn’t prowling for prey. Kids, he liked. Spoilt brats, he hated.