The ride to his destination took all of five minutes. Upon closer examination, Duncan realized the fortress was a medieval castle built of yellow sandstone with a pink cast. A hexagon-shaped turret topped each corner of the structure. The turrets all had battlements but the crenels and merlons were narrower and taller than he saw in Scotland. Large stone studs, equidistant from each other, protruded from the walls of the four towers, giving the building an armored appearance. No windows graced the front of the structure, but he did see numerous carved arches. He assumed Moorish architecture influenced the builder. Its style, stark surroundings, and isolated location lent the building a sinister air.
The limousine drove through a lancet arch and parked in a courtyard. Before he could unfasten his seat belt, the spry driver had opened the door. Duncan emerged from the vehicle and shaded his eyes from the harsh sun. This furnace was a far cry from the cool temperatures of Edinburgh. He made out another staff member standing in front of tall carved doors and headed his way.
"Welcome, Mr. Dewar. Please follow me," the man directed.
He entered into a cool foyer. The lighting was dim and as his eyes adjusted, he made out dark stone floors, opulent tapestries, and a working fountain. He followed the servant through a large rounded doorway where he was announced, "Mr. Duncan Dewar." The man then disappeared through a side door. It seemed his name, along with splashes from the water feature, echoed through the cavernous area, bouncing off rock walls and wood beamed ceiling to the stone floors beneath. Grand scaled furnishings, arranged in only a few areas, made the space appear almost empty. A colonnade of arches lined each side of the grand hall. At the other end of the room stood several sizeable upholstered red chairs. The seats faced away from him towards a massive fireplace. Hidden from view until now, a woman emerged from one of these chairs. She beckoned Duncan to approach, even as she moved towards him.
So this was the chairwoman of the Tormes Foundation for the Arts. Sunny Bentwell Esperanza Carlyle Tormes, et cetera, moved towards him. Clad head to toe in Chanel, she carried herself with a fluidity he had never seen before. Nigel Carlyle, the foundation's president, had warned him about Sunny. Nigel had been subtle, but Duncan could read between the lines.
* * * * * *
He had been summoned to the Balmoral's business center last week. He hated to enter the old hotel. It hurt him to stand in the lobby where he had spent time with Caroline. Six months had done nothing to lessen the pain he felt, to heal his heart. He hurried to the hotel conference room, hoping no one recognized him as he blended with a group of tourists just arrived from the train station across the street.
Nigel Carlyle appeared to be in his mid to late fifties. He was handsome and trim, dressed in a bespoke dark navy Savile Row suit. His smile exuded warmth as he held out his hand to Duncan. Nigel's thick salt and pepper hair gave away his age. His face appeared young, in spite of the wrinkles furrowed there by long days spent in the sun during his youth, and his blue eyes twinkled giving the impression that he knew how to enjoy life.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance. May I call you Duncan?" asked Nigel, shaking hands.
His manner revealed a sophistication that money cannot buy.
"Yes, please, very happy to meet you, Mr. Carlyle," Duncan responded, taking note of the older man's firm handshake.
"Do call me Nigel," the president of the foundation said before gesturing for Duncan to have a seat.
Somehow, Duncan felt honored Nigel had invited him to use his Christian name.
He continued, "So glad you're willing to help. As I stated before, we want to keep this all quiet. The local police have investigated and ruled it an accident, but we'd like our own investigation to head off any rumors or unfavorable publicity. Also, our board members want assurances that nothing untoward went on. Our campus houses some of the top creative minds in the world. Cultivating an environment where their work can flourish, along with their privacy and safety, is our top aim. As a private foundation, we keep everything we do, well, private. That's also one of our main priorities. Needless to say, this tragedy shook some of our artists."
Nigel pushed an accordion folder across the conference table towards Duncan.
"Inside you will find a flash drive containing all the local police reports and a biography of our cook, poor lady. Heading the academy's kitchen would have been a brilliant career move for her." He added after a pause, "There's also a history of the academy you'll want to read and a copy of the wire for your retainer. The balance of your fee will be paid upon receipt, and review by our board, of your report."
The fee Nigel had promised Dewar and Associates was 50,000 pounds. Duncan could put off selling his London flat with these earnings. Maybe he could even hire the associates mentioned in his company's name.
He thumbed through the file and saw the wire receipt for 25,000 pounds. He tried to act nonchalant, but earning money again came as a huge relief. He took a breath and asked the question that had been on his mind since Nigel first contacted him.
"Thank you. May I ask why you considered Dewar and Associates for this case, instead of someone more local?"
The older man paused before answering. Duncan's instincts told him Nigel was weighing exactly what to say. Duncan was learning to trust his gut. Finally, Nigel Carlyle spoke.
"Our chairwoman insisted we use you. She's the driving force behind the foundation."
Nigel took a deep breath before continuing.
"Sunny is my ex-wife. She's generous to the extreme, but also shrewd. She'll want to meet you at some point, I'm guessing sooner rather than later."
A hotel employee entered the conference room with a tray of tea sandwiches and beverages. Nigel asked for a scotch, neat, while Duncan said he was fine with tea. Both men took some food and this break gave him time to think. After initial contact with Nigel, he had tried to find out about the Tormes Foundation for the Arts and its board. Not much was available on the internet and a chairwoman of the board was never mentioned.
"Would you mind sharing some background information regarding your ex-wife, the board, and the foundation? It might be helpful when I meet Sunny and as you must know, there isn't much to be had on the internet about the foundation or its board."
Duncan decided to take the direct approach with Nigel. He judged the president a straight shooter and hoped he would appreciate his own honest manner. Nigel allowed a faint smile to play across his face.
"I met Sunny after my accident at Le Mans. You're too young to remember, but I was an up and coming driver when I wiped out there, my first and last Le Mans." Nigel's face grew pensive and he sighed before continuing, "Sunny admired me. She was the first person at the hospital after my accident and saw that I got the best medical attention."
Nigel pointed to a scar on the left side of his face that Duncan had not noticed.
"I had some bad burns. She stuck by me. We married the day I left the hospital. The marriage only lasted two years, but we remain friends. She is generous and loyal. I included a short biography of Sunny and the rest of our board on the flash drive. You'll want to take a look at it before you meet her. As to the foundation, Sunny decided artists needed a place to create away from everything, in the right environment. She started the foundation for that purpose years ago, and our campus in Manchiego is our only facility. We grant artists a chance to stay and be pampered, free of charge, for as long as they like. We believe their talents flourish and reach new heights when the everyday concerns and distractions of the world are removed. They sign a confidentiality agreement, so we are not well known outside of artistic circles. But all aspects of the arts are represented. We have painters, poets, musicians, and sculptors there right now. It is a highly sought after honor to receive one of our grants."
Nigel stood, indicating their meeting was over.
"Please, study the information I have given you. Be ready to leave in two days. We will call when we are ready for you. It was a pleasure to meet you, Duncan. Good luck."
I hope you enjoyed this latest Duncan Dewar Mystery. The Scottish detective returns in The Cook's Comeuppance, available now on Amazon.
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Victoria Benchley lives with her husband of over twenty years and their two children on the West Coast of the United States. She grew up reading the classics and counts Dickens and the Bronte Sisters as her favorite authors. After a career in corporate America, spanning public accounting, cash management, and real estate investments, at national and international firms, she chose to become a stay-at-home mom and full time taxi cab driver for her children. She is a Christian and enjoys quilting, cooking, and traveling (road trips included!), as well as reading and writing.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders II: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 2) Page 19