The Grotto's Secret: A Historical Conspiracy Mystery Thriller (9 page)

28

Zelda shoved the loo door shut with her high-heels. Using her longest nail she plonked the loo seat lid down and squatted onto it.

She rummaged in her handbag and fished out her mobile phone. Pressing a number listed in her favourites, she waited. When someone on the other end answered, she whispered, ‘More news.’

‘Go ahead.’

She twirled a finger around her red, tong-straightened hair and pouted. ‘I want double. This is big-time info.’

‘Go ahead.’

She gawped at the phone and asked, ‘Are you
really
gonna give me double?’

‘If the info is worth double, Zelda, it’s yours.’

She tugged on her leopard spotted tights., ‘Okay, this couple came in today. Just after madam landed from Dublin. She was in some kind of temper, by the way. She gave me a grilling cos I didn’t answer the doorbell on first buzz. I’m not the feckin’ receptionist, you know. Why should everyone have to answer the door cos they’re passing? What was eating her buns? I don’t know.’

‘Get on with it, Zelda. Someone might hear you.’

‘How do you know where I am?’

‘I have eyes everywhere.’

‘Bullshit.
I
am your eyes!’

‘Who came into the office, Zelda?’ The man’s tone was clipped.

Even though she was trying his patience, she didn’t care. She was entitled to her opinion when madam got up her nose. Which was most of the time.

She stuck with the job because the pay was good. Besides, it was fun spying on people, and bonuses paid for more nips and tucks. Her boobs used to be like lemons but now they were well-stacked. It paid off — now she was noticed by every man on the street. But her bum still sagged and her saddlebags needed attention.

‘Zelda?’

She leapt out of her cosmetic to-do list and mumbled, ‘Some missie came in to pitch her business idea. Creamy skin I’d die for.’

There were a lot of things she’d die for.

29

Teresina coughed and struggled to breathe as the smell of burning tyre and melting tarmac caught in her throat. Another loud bang blasted into the car.

Beside her, Majella shunted forward, her body immediately thrashing back again as her safety belt kept her from hitting the dashboard. She screamed as her head bounced against the head rest and slammed into the window.

With one eye on the road and the other on her precious daughter, Teresina saw blood running into Majella’s eyes from a gash across her forehead. She battled to hold the steering wheel with one hand. ‘Majella! Are you okay? Majella! Answer me. Wake up.’ Teresina stamped on the brake and tried to steer the car to the edge of the road.

Instead of slowing, the Maserati spun out of control, zigzagging across the road. The metal rims scraping the tarmac shrieked around them, echoing across the valley. As the car hit a gully on the verge, its rims crunched on gravel.

Glancing again at her daughter’s head lolling on her neck with her chin rolling across her chest, Teresina clung to the steering wheel. Her beloved Maserati flew through the air, over another hairpin bend and crashed down a steep cliff on the other side.

Then, it slammed into a tree half way down. All sounds blackened out.

The last thing Teresina heard was the voice singing to her from earlier.

A familiar voice singing
I Will Survive.

30

As Zelda revealed her news, she smeared her lips with Dior’s latest red lipstick. When it came to make-up, nothing rivalled the power of red lips. A crimson pout could elevate any of her fake designer brands. More importantly, it upped her sexiness and made a statement in one red swipe.

‘Anyway, she was going on about some big farmer. Apparently, this fat slob is somehow going to change the world. They said it would cause a tsunami. Now, that’s what I call
big
news!’

The voice became alert and attentive, ‘Could it be Big Pharma?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Be careful, Zelda. Tell me exactly what she said.’

‘I always do!’

‘Not always.’ The voice sighed. ‘But this time I
am
sure you’re going to be precise with your information.’

Zelda wanted to spite him by insisting she wouldn’t tell him anything if he used that tone again. But she remembered the last time she had done that. It cost her a big bonus. And besides, a tummy tuck was more important than some cretin giving her the third degree.

‘The man who came with Miss Penn-ya said this stuff —’

‘Who was the man?’

‘I don’t know, but I heard Jimmy say he was a doctor.’

‘Go on, Zelda.’

‘He rattled on about some diary found in Madrid’s archives.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Well, if you’d wait a bit, and stop interrupting me you’d find out the real bomb, wouldn’t you?’

Silence on the other end of the phone.

‘Are you
really
gonna double me up?’

‘I keep my promises, Zelda.’

She flicked open a hand mirror and rubbed her lips together to ensure the red went from corner to corner.

‘Well …’

‘Oh, yes. They said their risotto would —’

‘Risotto?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said, didn’t I?’ Zelda started getting annoyed with him. Being his mole was one thing, but putting up with him doubting her ability was another.

‘Risotto is an Italian rice dish, Zelda. How can a rice dish do these things you’re talking about?’

‘Okay, maybe it wasn’t risotto. Maybe it was rizz-otter. Or riz-aydo. You know, rizz. Like rizla ciggies?’

‘You’ve earned the bonus Zelda, but I need the name of this product and these people.’

‘Okay, well, they said when you mix this potion with speed, it can heal anyone!’

Silence on the other end of the phone.

She loved the impact she had made and regretted not asking for a triple bonus. ‘How about that?’

Zelda heard the ladies’ room door open and she fell into her warning voice, ‘Listen, Mum, I’ll tell you more when I get home. See you later.’

Zelda cut the call and flushed the loo. She left the cubicle and washed the lipstick smears off her hands, giving her lips another once over. They looked great. Anyone would think she was a catwalk model.

As she left the ladies room she smiled to herself in the mirror and perked up her new boobs. One more bonus coming up. But first, she had to get the stupid product name. Jimmy couldn’t be bought; she knew that. The red pout didn’t do the trick either. That wouldn’t stop her from sneaking into his office and taking the information she needed. A tummy tuck was worth breaking and entering.

Besides, Barker had plenty of money to burn.

31

Back in her office, Kelby thought about the cryptic note on the plane, and how she had sensed the doctor had left it for her. She had known their paths had collided for a reason, and her body still tingled where he’d touched her.

Jimmy marched into her office and asked, ‘Should I put Mr Thompson through?’

Kelby nodded.

In her chair, she swung around, faced the river and filled her chest with a deep gulp of air. She needed it when she spoke to Jon Thompson. She knew his file off by heart.

Name: Jon Thompson.
Status: Millionaire Entrepreneur
Devil’s Grotto: Executive Producer

Something made Kelby mistrust Jon. There was a weird little red flag that flew at half-mast when he was around. What was it about him that made the hairs on her neck stand up? Anyway, right now she needed him. She pressed the green button on the handset and said in her breeziest voice, ‘Jon. Good morning. I need your help.’

Kelby spent the next five minutes telling Jon about the Twitter troll and how his threats were escalating. She finished by saying, ‘I had the cops over, but they’re too short on resources for surveillance. I don’t want any weirdo pulling anything funny on me.’

‘Don’t worry. We’ll get a security system plugged in.’

Kelby swung around in her chair. ‘When I bought the house it had a security unit installed but I’ve never used it.’

‘We can set that up for immediate protection.’

‘Will you get the show’s network security people to send someone to guard my house?’

‘Better than that, Kel. I have the perfect chap in mind.’

‘That’s a huge relief.’

‘Hawk recently left the army to start his own business. He’s a smaller outfit than the big boys. He may not have all the latest gadgets, but I trust him with my life. So I’d trust him with yours.’

‘Thank you Jon. I appreciate your help.’

‘No probs.’ He was silent for a moment, then he asked, ‘Any new pitches since the Dub Fest?’

It was things like that, that tossed the red flag back into the wind. ‘No new pitches, Jon. It’s only the usual old stuff.’

‘You sure? I know you can’t resist squeezing in as many as you can.’

Kelby’s gaze shot up and roved over the office. Lately, she’d had the feeling Jon knew everything that happened in her business. Surely none of her team would betray her? She scribbled a Post-It to Jimmy:

Suss out if there’s a rat snitching on the hunting pack.

Jon launched into his weekly update about the producer’s expectations. Unable to sit still while he droned on, Kelby opened a gold embossed envelope. An invitation to board Prince Al’Abbas Al-Bara’s yacht for a sea fest dropped onto her desk.

Kelby frowned. As executive producer alongside Jon, the Prince had lavished the show with extravagances. During filming there were pitches for the next series in exotic places, such as an ancient castle steeped in Irish history and inhabited by ghosts. She had agreed to do the Irish Fest because Jon promised Teresina would go on the yacht.

‘Jon?’

He stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Yes.’

‘I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you again. I am
not
going on this stupid cruise!’

‘Ah, so you got the invite.’

‘This is the third time you’ve sent it and the third time I’m declining.’

‘What’s up, Kel? Scared of a little water under your feet?’

Kelby’s jaw dropped. She’d never told Jon bloody Thompson or anyone else about her fear of water.

‘Face it, Kelby, you know what the Prince is like. Come hell or high water, he’ll get you there, he’ll find a way to ensure you board that boat.’

‘Over my dead body!’

32

Zelda peered at her computer screen. Luckily, she had been given the naff end of the office, so no-one could see her screen.

She often chatted on Facebook when she got bored, but with this new titbit from her mole-hole in the corner, she had more to toy with. She fired up Chrome and googled: riz-otto. As Barker thought, Italian recipes. So she tried searching for variations of ‘big farmer’. As Google spat out thousands of results, she squinted at her screen.

Shit! ‘Big Pharma’
was
used by the pharmaceutical blokes. She read a few pages, but soon got bored with reading about how a New York pharma company had sales of over forty billion dollars. Or the Pharmaceutical Executive Magazine’s annual ranking of the top fifty pharma companies.

She gave up and tried typing in ‘big pharma and risotto’. To her amazement, Google spat out thousands of search results. For ‘rizado’.

Another typo. She had to get her spelling under control. She sighed and started browsing through each link. After an hour of intense reading, her eyes throbbed.

Scanning through pages and pages about herbs, she spotted something about a Spanish witch who was burnt at the stake because she had written a book about herbal potions.

Zelda shuddered.

The thought of flames licking at her boots and burning her feet chilled her to the bone. Her old lady had four cats at home and the neighbour once said he’d burn them if they peed on his front door mat. Yikes, she didn’t want to snuff it in such a sick way. She blew at a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth. For now, she had what she needed.

If that gorgeous hunk pitching to Kelby had found the secret, it could be worth more than Barker’s piddly bonuses. Zelda rubbed the tip of her finger along her lips and pouted. Huh, now Barker would think she was an airhead after her remark about speed. This rizado looked cool.

As long as Barker didn’t cock up, this could be big. Huge! If she got her paws on Kelby’s contacts, she’d be able to bypass Barker and tell her spy stuff to the pharma blokes. Who and where that would be, she had no idea. One step at a time. First, the hunk’s contact details. Then she’d figure out if it was worth squeezing Barker for more money or if she should go over his head.

Zelda slumped back in her seat.

Bloody hell! This rizado must be one of the longest ongoing searches since the birth of the internet. That meant real money.

33

Barker languished on the pool steps, each big enough to hold a sun lounger. He sipped a cup of camomile tea and sent a message to Teresina. That would prove his alibi.

He stepped out of the pool, dried himself and ambled inside. A few minutes later, with another camomile tea and a magazine in his hands, he slipped into a wicker chair under a large parasol near the pool. At last, coercing Zelda in Kelby’s office had paid off.

A quick google had led him directly to the rizado. Pages and pages of speculation. One of the biggest players in the market was Mata Gordo International. His investment with them gave him a yearly globe-trotting income. One journalist had even tried to blow the whistle on the pharma giant for hiding their research. Strangely, the same idiot had managed
to get himself crushed in a skiing accident.

Barker’s heart raced as he thought about one of his first investments. Homerton Grange had started as a clinic for alternative medicine, but over the years it had become a centre for testing new drugs. Maybe it would come in handy when he got his hands on rizado and it
needed testing.

But first he had to find it. And he knew just where to start looking.

Barker lifted the magazine into his lap. Teresina’s big pull out quote said
: Facing my secrets in my forties has been a liberating experience.

‘What secrets are these, Teresina? Your secret was my fear. Remember our pledge? Some secrets are meant to die with us.’ Flames of resentment shot through his veins.

Kelby’s pull out quote countered her co-host’s:
Life’s too short to harbour secrets.

‘Never a truer word said, Kelby. If only you knew what’s coming your way.’ Barker’s hand locked into a fist.

No matter what, he had to find the rizado. And who better to spar with than Kelby? While new ideas gallivanted around his head like roving vagabonds, he finished his camomile tea. ‘Mmm… so far you’ve been a delight to toy with Kelby, but now the hunt begins.’

Barker released his locked fist and closed it over his groin’s impatient throb. That’s what he loved about Johnson, he always joined in the excitement. Any minute now he’d cream the pool.

This would have to be a fast one. He knew what would send his Johnson off the deep end. Barker closed the magazine and fanned the pages. He raised his finger and held it up for a moment and in one swift motion slid it along the edge of the glossy paper.

Ouch! He hated paper cuts. But painting faces with the blood, he loved.

In slow motion he drew a bloodied X over Kelby’s face.