The Grotto's Secret: A Historical Conspiracy Mystery Thriller

by Paula Wynne

  He peered along the hallway. A blue haze emanated from a room at the end. He stalked towards it, treading lighter than a cat.

  Fat people with heavy footsteps, he hated. Slim people who walked with grace, he loved.

  At the door where the blue haze spilled onto the hallway rug, he stopped to listen. He slipped his nose through a crack in the door. One eye peered around the room, taking in everything.

  Kelby must have forgotten to switch the damn thing off when she left home that morning.

  Barker prodded the door open with his toe.

  Meow!

  He jumped back, expecting a cat at his heels. Peering into the darkened room, he could just make out the stupid fur-ball slumped on the top of the TV. He sidled towards the cat and stroked it. ‘Here, pussy. Here, pussy.’

  Being friends with the cat helped his next move.

  First, he had to find the rizado. Though she’d been promised a bonus big enough to pay for nips and tucks across every part of her, Zelda hadn’t managed to find contact details for the mysterious couple.

  For the next hour Barker went through Kelby’s home. Starting on the top floor, he searched through her bathroom cabinets and wardrobes. He slipped open her drawer of bras and smiled to himself. She had found his magazine message.

  Next, he combed her office, rummaging through her desk drawers and filing systems.

  Nothing.

  Not finding what he was hunting for, he hated.

  The cat. An idea struck him. One that would cause lots of pain and anguish.

  To both Kelby and her sick niece.

  64

  For the tenth time since Barker had left him, Gorden stood at his office window. His hands, behind his back, played the snaking game, squirming around each other, releasing and coiling again.

  He usually didn’t let such things bother him. There’d been enough practice over the years. So many stinkers had stuck their sharp noses into Mata’s business and he had to have them exterminated. If only he could do the same to Herman Schmidt. He had to find a way to blot him out, but right now he had other fish to fry.

  Gorden spun around and dug in his top drawer. His hands shied away from the mobile phone as though a viper was about to strike him. He hated the thing. So intrusive. So demanding. So impersonal. Yet the stupid device created privacy for certain phone calls.

  Finding Olaf’s number made his lips curl. He wanted nothing to do with that man, but he didn’t trust Barker any more than he trusted Jurgen.

  Olaf answered on first dial. ‘Ja, Gordie.’

  Gorden winced. Olaf had picked up the dratted nickname from the Jurgen bastard. Trying to ignore the rush of blood prickling the surface of his skin, he said in a calm voice. ‘Tag three.’

  The exterminator didn’t need it spelt out. He knew the priorities.

  Tag three. Observe.

  Tag two. Threaten.

  Tag one. Exterminate.

  Gorden gave him details of where Barker would be and cut the call. He tossed the mobile back into the drawer, slammed it shut and ambled to the window.

  Soon he’d know who Barker’s informant was. And he intended going directly to the source.

  65

  Back in Kelby’s kitchen, Barker glanced around. The pungent smell of burnt milk competed with the aromatic tang of coffee beans. He shook his head at the sink overflowing with coffee mugs and stained with sticky lumps of coffee granules.

  He’d filled his own kitchen with mod-cons with easy-clean surfaces and microwave meals for the odd days he ate at home. None of this airy-fairy warmth and homely malarkey. His step-mother had been childless until he came along, so she’d never cottoned on to baking fresh bread or pies.

  Barker scribbled something on the Post-It note lying on the counter and stepped back, smiling at his handiwork.

  What a lovely soft pussy you have.

  Maybe the cat’s disappearance would get her to reveal her secrets. She might even spill the beans on rizado. And where he could get more.

  But now he had other urgent tasks on the boil.

  Kelby’s car would pack up soon like Teresina’s had done. He’d better hurry into the studio for his producers meeting so his alibi was solid.

  Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy, these games he played with Kelby were intoxicating. Even Johnson stirred.

  An idea struck Barker. Perhaps a quick workout for Johnson. He glanced around. Where could he leave his mark? Spurt on her office desk? How about on her kitchen counter where she’d prepare her next meal? Or in her bed and pull back the covers without her knowing? Maybe even leave them open.

  Barker opened his fly and released Johnson.

  So many enticing options.

  66

  Kelby glanced at her rear-view mirror. The mist had thickened so she couldn’t see what she’d hit. Her hands trembled as the car shuddered through the steering wheel. It wobbled for a moment and suddenly the steering became heavy and difficult to control.

  A perforation sound, similar to that of Annie’s bicycle tyre puncturing, reverberated through her head.

  Thankfully, the road was empty. Any earlier or later and she’d have been caught up in the school run or mummy-coffee-morning traffic.

  Kelby hung onto the steering wheel as the car slewed to the left. Gripping tightly with both hands, she used all her strength and energy to keep the vehicle facing forward. It refused, pulling to one side, and drifting into the opposite lane. Kelby yanked the wheel to correct the steering. Her handbag flew off the passenger seat, spilling its contents, and her gym bag dropped into the foot-well. Kelby ignored them as she battled with the steering.

  A loud bang startled her.

  The noise was unlike anything she had ever heard. Kelby thought the car was exploding beneath her.

  Then came a whoosh. Flap. Flap. Flap. Flap.

  Black hailstones of rubber flew in every direction. Kelby’s scream rose above the metal rim grinding and scraping along the slippery tarmac. Without thinking, Kelby lifted her foot off the accelerator. Instead of slowing down, the car plummeted forward.

  She slammed on the brakes.

  For a split second, the car swung in imbalance. Kelby watched in horror as it swerved and fishtailed out of control. She screamed again as the car dived into a 360-degree spin.

  The BMW shot up the muddy left bank.

  Kelby held her breath in terror. The car nose-dived back onto the road. It shot across both carriageways and plummeted down the embankment. Its bonnet crashed through a farmer’s fence and its wing mirror shattered.

  The car slammed into a tree. Its impact shunted Kelby forward. The air bag hissed as it exploded out of the dashboard with a loud crunch of breaking plastic and snap of buckling dashboard.

  The huge stiff balloon struck Kelby’s head, slamming her mouth against her teeth. The sting felt as though someone had slapped her face with a large rubber band.

  With the putrid smell of fuel in her nostrils, Kelby blacked out.

  67

  As the full moon lit her path through the woods, María glided through the night. In her mind she created stories of a young girl being a goddess to wild animals.

  Like her new femella, her own ears were ripe for the sound of someone in need.

  Before the Inquisition had taken full force, Tío and his mishpacha had slipped away in the dead of night. She missed him and his wise acceptance of a woman’s importance to the village. One day he would get word to her. Of that she was sure; he kept his promises.

  When Tío had left and panic spread to their village, María had insisted on gathering the rizado at night to prevent strangers seeing her carrying bunches of smelly herbs. She wasn’t afraid of the dark; she was more afraid of what would happen if the Inquisition found out about Madre.


  Or her.

  María lived with a secret fear. The story about a woman healer who had created a secret potion that cured any ailment worried her. Every day María rose early to pray the journal had never made it to Barcelona. To compensate for her stupid errare she did her chores far quicker than she had ever done. Madre often gave her a suspicious frown and laughed it off as her daughter being overly protective.

  Before going to collect more rizado she had stewed another chicken. She learnt as a child to rub sage and rosemary into the meat to bring out its flavour.

  Ambling along the meadow towards her finca, María gazed around the moonlit farm with pride. Outbuildings sprawled around the cottage. Long shadows from the animal sheds reached out and moulded their distorted fingers onto the farm’s most revered outhouse — Padre’s workshop.

  After Padre had been trapped in a building collapse, Madre had refused to clear out his tools. She often sat amongst his things and talked to his spirit. Her mother even said that when she spoke to Padre, a turtle dove appeared nearby. Madre told her these birds only had one mate. Sometimes Madre said strange things.

  Candlelight inside the cottage twinkled at María through the shutters, welcoming her to a broad thatched home with smoke wafting through the louvre. Yet the overhanging thatch suddenly seemed to lean to one side and frown at her.

  The front door stood ajar.

  María’s pulse quickened. Madre always insisted on the door being shut to keep the fire’s heat inside. Then raucous laughter spilled from the cottage. María stopped dead in her tracks.

  Men.

  Only horrible men laughed that way. Loud and vulgar. The harsh tones disturbed the peace.

  These were not the sounds of amigos.

  Panic gripped her.

  Where was Mama?

  68

  Kelby came round to the sounds of voices. Disoriented for a few seconds, with a loud ringing in her ears, she struggled to breathe.

  An acrid smell hung in the air, suspended amidst dust that had blasted out of the air-bag. Kelby coughed and spluttered. The air-bag had deflated almost as fast as it had inflated and it now hung limp between her legs.

  Through slitted eyes, she glanced at the destruction. Her beamer’s bonnet was embedded in a tree, hissing and fizzing in the afternoon drizzle.

  A man and woman peered in at her. The woman asked, ‘Can you hear me?’

  Kelby nodded.

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’

  She nodded again, still groggy and trying to recall the details.

  ‘I’m Janet. I’m a first aider. Me and Brian are going to get you out of the car.’

  Kelby whispered, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Can you feel any pain?’

  ‘My head hurts.’

  Janet said, ‘Yes, hun, you’ve got a nasty bump on your forehead. Anything else?’

  Kelby shook her head, smelling fuel. ‘Petrol …’

  Brian opened her door and released her seat belt. ‘‘The crash may have jammed some metal into the fuel tank so we’ve got to get away from the car, just in case.’

  Janet said to Brian, ‘The smell does seem to be getting stronger.’

  He glanced at the bonnet. ‘The fuel line may be sheared.’

  ‘Will it explode?’

  ‘Not sure, but if a cut fuel line sprays fuel around on hot metal, it could be enough to start a fire.’ He lifted Kelby out of her seat. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  Kelby started trembling; even her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

  Janet clutched Kelby’s hands. ‘It’s okay, dear, you’re in shock. The ambulance will be here any minute.’

  ‘Here,’ Brian steadied her, ‘let me put my arm under yours.’

  Kelby’s legs buckled under her so Brian sat her back into her car seat.

  ‘Let me check your legs.’ Janet prodded her legs and lifted her arms. ‘No bleeding.’ She peered at her front and back clothing, asking, ‘Can I take a quick look?’

  Kelby nodded, closing her eyes as Janet lifted her shirt to examine her stomach and back. ‘A few bruises, but thankfully, no bleeding. When the paramedics get here, they’ll do a full check of those bruises to be sure there’s no internal bleeding.’

  Brian exhaled hard, ‘Phew. Let’s get you away from the car.’

  While Brian guided her, Kelby stepped gingerly away from the carcass of her car. Around her lay shattered glass. A shredded tyre. The bonnet concertinaed into the tree. The fence had scraped the doors and battered her wing mirrors into a pulp.

  Instinctively, Janet grabbed Kelby’s bags out of the passenger foot-well.

  Brian held his arm around her shoulders as she struggled to walk. ‘You sure there’s no pain?’

  ‘No. I just feel wobbly.’ Kelby stumbled away from her crashed car in a daze.

  Suddenly the air was sucked into a deep, hollow voomp. They spun around.

  Clouds of black smoke hovered over the car. A cacophony of sounds came from under the bonnet. Clanging and popping where nuts and bolts in the engine burst. Whistles of hot air searing pipes. Bangs and booms from hot metal expanding as a few rogue flames licked at the bonnet. Glass shattered and clattered to the ground.

  Brian shoved them forward, ‘Come on! Quick!’

  As they scrambled away, flames shot out, engulfing the vehicle in a mist of thick black smoke and bright orange flames.

  Kelby glanced over her shoulder. The text threats flashed through her mind. The magazine graffiti. The news of Teresina’s accident. At first, the stalker seemed to be toying with her, as Fat Cat would slap around a wounded rat in her garden. Yet, like a slow burn, he had ramped up

  the heat.

  Now he intended to kill her.

  69

  Olaf flexed his biceps and studied his tattoos. The red dragon was by far the best. It brightened his bulging muscle, bringing attention to it everywhere he went.

  He glanced at Barker’s mansion. No movement for the past hour.

  He had only been watching Barker for a day, but already interesting cockroaches had come out of the woodwork. Barker, the cat and a devil. Interesting.

  Settling down for the night in his new Lexus, Olaf thought about his former life. Being a bouncer had its benefits. Busty tramps in tight mini-skirts desperate to get into an exclusive club would do just about anything. A quickie around the corner in the dark alley would buy their night’s entrance. A joust up the aars bought them a month’s free ride. But he’d left that life.

  Being a pharma rat exterminator paid higher bonuses. This job paid twice. First, Gorden gave him a pile of cash, then, when he took the same information to Jurgen, the old bastard paid as well. Luckily, he had sussed neither trusted the other.

  Now he didn’t have to take any old clubbing slut up the back.

  Picky. He loved that English word. He’d become picky. Money could get anything. If he wanted to admire a red dragon while he bent over some slut, he ordered it. The escort agency had a long list of tarts with dragons tattooed on their backs.

  But being an exterminator had its downsides. No gambling with the other bouncers to see which slut wanted a month’s club entry. No quickie around the corner to spike up his night.

  Glancing at his Rolex, Olaf sighed. It was going to be a boring night.

  Yet his animaal instincts were calling.

  70

  Kelby’s eyes fluttered open. The constant flurry of activity had woken her. Machines beeped. A medicine trolley rattled past. Patients coughed, their families offering them soft whispers of reassurance. Somewhere along the corridor a baby cried. As a machine alarm went off, a nurse’s feet shuffled with her shoes squeaking on the floor.

  From the bed alongside hers, a persistent rush of air tunnelled into someone
’s chest every few seconds. It was followed by a subtle sucking sound and a long gurgle. Kelby grimaced, imagining blood and pus being sucked out. She wanted to roll onto her side, away from the sounds, but her body ached too much to move.

  Everything was a blur. A nightmare where she couldn’t escape. She began to recall the accident, the two people helping her get away from her car, being brought to the Surrey County hospital by ambulance.

  A reek of vomit mingled with detergent and body odour wafted around her. The air hissed as a nurse sprayed sanitiser to remove the smell of misery and sickness and despair.

  Kelby closed her eyes again; it was easier to keep them closed.

  ‘What are the baseline obs please, Karen?’

  ‘Pulse 80 and regular, BP 120 over 70, O2 sats 98% on air, resp rate 14 and GCS 15.’

  Kelby’s eyes shot open to find Doctor Robson leaning over her.

  ‘You again!’

  ‘I get around.’

  She smiled at his wriggling eyebrows. ‘You’ve left St Adelaide’s?’

  ‘No. I consult privately there. My NHS practice is here.’ He glanced at his watch, ‘In fact, I was leaving when I saw you lying here. Thought you might be relieved to see a familiar face.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Karen glanced between the two of them, fiddled with the knobs on a machine beside her bed and showed him some notes.

  After he had finished taking her pulse and scrutinising the bump on her forehead, he asked, ‘Can we call your husband to help you home?’

  ‘Why do I need a husband?’

  ‘Okay. So, no husband. Anyone else?’ His eyebrows moved up and down his forehead.

  Those eyebrows again! She wanted to reach out and hold them still. ‘I don’t need anyone to chaperone me. I’m perfectly capable —’

  ‘If you stop chattering, and listen for a moment, I will explain.’ He waited, watching her face.