“That’s insane. For how long?”
“Until I’m kicked out or until the end of the live show. I do get to add someone’s name to the list of guests coming to the live broadcast, and I’ll put your name on it. They’ll call you and ask if you want to come in to the event if I make it that far.”
Cristina flicked Isabel’s arm. “You bet I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss for anything.”
Isabel wiped her hands dry. “You just have to promise me you won’t tell Simon. He’s got a lot happening at the academy right now and I don’t want him to worry.”
“There’s something going on at the academy, isn’t there?”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you. I don’t even know everything that’s going on.” Simon was working on it and somehow she believed he’d figure it out. “Hopefully, it will all be solved soon.”
After Cristina left, Isabel put the leftovers in the refrigerator and washed the few dishes in the sink. She settled in bed with her favorite blanket and the new book she’d bought last week, but her mind was elsewhere.
Isabel had contacted Dr. Varela and explained she’d be involved in a project for a few days and might be out of reach. She gave him the competition publicist’s email address if he needed to get word of anything to her. And she’d assured him she’d be in Lisbon the whole time. Technically, it was Almada, on the bank across the river, but it was still part of the Greater Lisbon Area.
Her only regret was Elliot. She didn’t have the time to tell him all that was going on and she’d be unable to reply to his next email right away. But she planned to tell him about the cooking competition when it was all over. Maybe it was time to even tell him everything else. His last email had hinted he wanted to come to Lisbon for Christmas. Or had she misread it?
In the past few months, their correspondence had taken on a more intimate tone. They’d started sharing more details about what mattered to each one, asking questions and trying to guess what kind of jobs they had or what they thought about certain subjects. They’d even discussed past relationships.
Sometimes Isabel told herself it was just Elliot being polite and expressing a friendly interest. But other times she let herself think it was something more. It was Elliot wanting to know who she really was, what she did, and what she thought of him. She wanted the same thing. She wanted to know the real Elliot, the man behind the letters, the friend who knew so much about her, and yet not enough.
The old fear was still there, the one which had been holding her back from asking more of him, a fear Elliot probably shared. What if they met in person and he didn’t like her? Or she didn’t like him? Was she prepared to take the risk of losing her best friend? How would she go on without his letters?
And then there was Simon, who’d turned out to be the friend she never planned for. She’d never seen it coming, this friendship with him. What would he say when she told him she’d been corresponding with a guy for half her life? A guy who held such a special place in her heart. Did it even matter what Simon thought of Elliot? As much as she wanted to say it didn’t, more and more Simon’s opinion was important to her and the attachment between them was undeniable.
Isabel closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. The conflict within her was much too real. How did she even find herself in this confusing situation with such strong feelings for two different men?
One thing she knew: it was time. If Elliot wanted to come to Lisbon and meet her, she’d say yes.
CHAPTER TWENTY
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Elliot,
I’ll be away from a computer and cell phone for a few days. I’ll tell you everything when I return.
Always,
Amélie
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
On early Thursday morning, Simon got up from bed cold. The rain beat hard against the windows and he wiped the frost from the pane with the tip of his fingers. Half the city hid behind a curtain of fog, hanging low by the river and muting the colors of the buildings and the occasional red tiled roof peeking through. Lisbon was a wet, gray city, not so much unlike London on a day like this.
He pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders. He hadn’t quite gotten used to the lack of central heating in the apartment and he’d left the space heater in the living room. Maybe he should get another one.
It was the last day of classes before the Christmas holiday with class parties in the morning and an academy-wide assembly after lunch. Afterward, the upper classes ran a Santa workshop for the lower grade classes, which was always very popular, from what he’d heard. The marks for the first term would be posted tomorrow, the letters to the parents had been mailed, and the last updates on the online portal had gone up glitch-free.
If he could just get the digital trail to pan out, he’d clear the suspicion on Isabel and turn in the information about the criminal to Dr. Varela, who’d hopefully call the authorities on the real culprit.
Once he had everything behind him, he could meet Amélie for Christmas, if she’d have him.
Simon walked to the small kitchen table where he’d left his laptop the night before. He filled the kettle with water, put it on the stove, and grabbed a teabag of caffeine-free morning blend from the cupboard. He’d have to buy some of that lemon-balm herbal tea Isabel had made when he was sick. The taste had grown on him.
While he waited for the water to boil, he ran a finger across the touchpad. The screen came to life. He clicked on the small window with the tracker software and red trails filled the gaps.
Simon stilled, his eyes wide and fingers hovering over the small area below the keyboard. This was it, what he’d been waiting for weeks. A transaction had occurred in the early morning, and even though the perpetrator used Isabel’s card number to access the site and make the transfer, the card signature was different. Someone had made a copy of Isabel’s security card. Now he just had to find out who.
With a few clicks, he made a copy of the trail and recorded the ISP address. Then he made duplicates of the information and burned them to a flash drive, making three copies of that.
Simon couldn’t wipe the smile off his face while he sent a quick message to Dr. Varela, drank his cup of tea, and got dressed for the day. When he stepped outside, the temperature was colder than in the days before, the rain fell in sheets, and his umbrella had a bent spoke at an odd angle. He adjusted the lapels of his overcoat and grinned again.
It was a glorious day.
*
Simon stood in the center of the academy’s atrium as the students left.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Ackerley,” a first grade girl said as she hugged him around the legs. He’d gotten used to the gesture from the younger children in the past few weeks.
He placed a hand on her head. “Merry Christmas, Carlota. Have a good holiday.”
The day was almost done now. Who knew that such a busy day could go by so slowly? Dr. Varela was meeting with Simon after the students left, and Simon was anxious to share his findings.
He returned to his office and grabbed the laptop. Across the hallway, in front of Isabel’s closed office door, sat a pile of brightly colored presents and homemade cards. Children had come throughout the day and left them for their beloved director. They missed her.
He missed her, more than he thought possible in just three days. The last email he’d received from Amélie concerned him, but he couldn’t confront Isabel with something she hadn’t told him. Cristina knew something. She’d been avoiding him all week, and she’d never done that before. As soon as he met with Dr. Varela, he’d go and talk to her.
Dr. Varela crossed the atrium and Simon followed. The older man closed the door behind them.
“Have a seat, Mr. Ackerley. What have you been able to find out?”
Simon opened his laptop and navigated to the window with the electronic trail. “There was a transaction early this morning. I was able to pin the t
racker onto the user.”
“What does that mean?” Dr. Varela asked.
“Imagine someone coming into your office at night. You know they’re coming so you’ve left sticky black paint all over the floor, which they miss since they’re sneaking in and keeping the lights off.” He pointed at the screen. “It’s the same here, except electronically. I knew they were using Miss Antunes’ card number from the last tracking I did, so I left a trap for that purpose and I caught them sneaking in.”
Dr. Varela looked up from the screen. “But how is that possible? I told you I locked her card in the academy’s vault.”
Simon’s lips rose in a smile. “And that was the best thing to do, because it proved my suspicion that she was not the one using it for diverting the funds.”
“How did they do it then?” Dr. Varela’s expression furrowed.
“It was a clever move from the person behind this. I still haven’t figured out how he had the opportunity, but at some point he was able to make a 3D copy of Miss Antunes’ key. Then he used another academy card and transposed the magnetic strip to a copy of her card.” Simon hoped to find out if Isabel remembered leaving her card and key behind or unattended. She’d never even noticed it missing.
“A 3D copy?”
“Dr. Varela, do you know what the science lab has under the white cover sitting on the back counter?”
“The big box on the west wall?”
Simon nodded. “You didn’t even know that your academy owns a 3D printer, did you? A really nice model too.” As the fifth and sixth grade pranksters had proved.
Dr. Varela raised his eyebrows. “And a copy of the counterfeit card and key were enough?”
“The person behind this operation is savvy and probably has done this before,” Simon added. “He knew how to duplicate the information from Miss Antunes’ card onto the copy. That’s how I also knew that she couldn’t be involved. It’s not her area of expertise. I’m recommending new security cards and keys, by the way.” His full assessment report included more detailed recommendations.
“I agree,” said Dr. Varela. “Now tell me you know who did this.”
Simon handed him the flash drives with the information. “I have a copy of the tracker and the ISP address. When you call the authorities, they’ll be able to find out the identity of this person.” He paused. “But I can tell who I think it is, and I’ll be very surprised if I’m wrong about it.”
Dr. Varela leaned back in his chair. “Well, who is it?”
Simon held back a smile. “Dr. Varela, who has unchecked access to all the rooms on campus?” He didn’t wait for Dr. Varela’s reply. “You do, of course, and Miss Antunes. I’ve been given that responsibility and I’m sure the security company does too. And then the janitors do.”
Dr. Varela shook his head. “The janitors?”
“Think about it. It’s the perfect cover. They have access to all the rooms on campus, nobody ever questions what they do, and they can come and go at any time.” Simon turned to the laptop and navigated to the staff files. “I checked the employee records. Manuel Silva has been working at the academy since its opening. I confirmed he doesn’t speak English. But Filipe Macedo served in the army. I wouldn’t be surprised if his specialty was in electronics. He’s been working for three years at the academy and he lied about not speaking English, although he hides it well.”
“How do you know all this?”
Simon flicked the screen. “Some of it is here and some of it I deduced from observation. Like I said, this is just what I think. I only have the ISP and electronic tracker, but I’m most certain the police will be able to confirm my theories.”
Dr. Varela called the security company and it took them half an hour to arrive. Simon repeated his findings to them and they called the police. When two uniformed officers and a plain-clothes detective came, they conferred with Dr. Varela and the security officers for almost forty minutes and finally asked Simon to accompany them to the police station to take his statement and receive the flash drive with the evidence. The detective in charge of the case didn’t speak English well and by that time Dr. Varela had already left, forcing Simon to wait until the interpreter arrived. If he left and came back the next morning, they’d probably make him wait for another detective and interpreter, or maybe even both. So Simon stayed until he’d signed all the forms, both in English and Portuguese.
It was after eleven at night when Simon finally returned to the apartment. He unlocked the door and dropped onto the sofa in the living room. If he had a blanket within reach, he might just spend the night there. But the small apartment was too cold, with the blinds still up in all the windows after having the rain hitting the glass all day. After a few minutes, Simon got up to draw them, then turned on the space heater. Was he hungry enough to make something before he slipped into bed? His stomach rumbled, answering for him.
After he warmed up a can of soup on the stovetop and ate it directly from the small pot, Simon sat on the edge of the bed with his cell phone. He’d sent texts to Isabel throughout the day, but she hadn’t replied to him.
He had to see her.
Before he changed his mind, Simon called a taxi. He arrived at Isabel’s building and rang the bell to her apartment. After three rings, the door opened and he went in. Hope rose in his chest. She was in and he was going to see her.
The door was still locked when he got out of the elevator. Simon knocked on the metal surface.
“She left yesterday,” a voice said behind him.
He turned. It was the neighbor girl from the other apartment with the door half open, wearing a man’s shirt and nothing else. The top three buttons hung open and Simon cast his eyes to the wall beside her.
“Excuse me?” he said.
“You looking for Isabel, yes?” Her English was heavily accented, but good enough for him to understand.
A man’s voice sounded from inside the apartment. The girl turned her head and replied. Simon understood only two words, Americano and professora. American man and teacher lady. Him and Isabel.
The guy appeared at the door in his boxer shorts and hugged the girl to his chest. Frio and cama, he said to her. Simon’s neck heated and he looked away again. After almost four months in the country, his understanding of the Portuguese language was mediocre but good enough to let him know the guy was cold and asking his girlfriend to go back to bed. They were very uninhibited, for sure.
The girl brushed off the boyfriend and brought her hands up in front of her. “Isabel have—” She made the shape of a small rectangle close to the ground. “Box, like dees.”
“You mean a suitcase?” Simon kept his eyes on her face.
She nodded. “Yes, small suitcase. Yesterday.”
So Isabel had left somewhere with a small suitcase. That was not good. He thanked them and left.
Within twenty minutes, Simon rang the bell at Cristina’s apartment. He’d copied her cell number and address from the personnel files. He hadn’t planned to come this late, but this way he could look for Isabel first thing in the morning. Cristina buzzed him in and was waiting when he got out of the elevator.
“Simon, what are you doing there? You do know it’s close to midnight?” She was wrapped in a shawl and had pajama pants on.
“I know it’s late, I’m sorry.” He let out a breath. “I need to know where Isabel is.”
Cristina shook her head. “She asked me not to tell you.” She leaned on the door jamb and started closing the door on him.
Simon put a hand out in front of it. “Please. I really need to see her.”
Cristina paused. “She said you couldn’t be distracted from something you were doing at the academy.”
“I’m finished with it, that’s why I’m so late.” He shifted in place. “I’m worried about her. She said—” He stopped himself. It was Amélie who’d told him she’d be away from a computer, not Isabel. He blew out a long breath.
Cristina bit her bottom lip. “Do you have a TV?”<
br />
He frowned. “What? No, I don’t have a TV.”
“So you didn’t watch any TV this evening?” she asked.
“No, I was at the po—I was busy with something. What happened on TV?”
Cristina leaned against the door jamb. “But you have your laptop, right? Go home and look up the website for the PortugalHoje TV channel. They have several shows, but make sure you watch the one they had tonight at nine. Then tomorrow night you need to find a TV and set it to that same channel. Go to a café or something.” She paused. “Better yet, go to the Tivoli Resort and watch TV there. The seven o’clock show. At night.”
“The Tivoli Resort? Where is that?”
“It’s across the bridge, in Almada. Be there early because it will be busy and crowded. You might have to wait three hours or more, but I’ll text you where to go exactly when it’s done.”
“Cristina, what does all this have to do with Isabel?”
She tilted her head with a small smile. “Everything. If you like her half as much as I think you do, go and do as I told you.” She closed the door.
Simon stood on the threshold for a moment. A website for a TV channel. The nine pm show. And tomorrow night at the Tivoli Resort, on the other side of Lisbon. A smile tugged his lips.
There could only be one reason why Isabel was linked to a TV show.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Dear Amélie,
I haven’t heard from you. I’m worried. Can you please let me know you’re okay?
Yours,
Elliot
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Isabel passed a hand across her forehead and rolled her shoulders back. She glanced up at the digital clock display on the wall behind the cameras. Eleven minutes left in this round. She looked at her station, making a mental note of what she’d done already and what was left to do. Plating.
One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) Page 12