When in Bruges (Humorous Romantic Mystery) (7 page)

K
ate sat on the couch
, sipping a cup of hot chamomile-and-ginger tea. In spite of her misgivings about Queenie, she now appreciated the foresight the woman had had by putting a thermos of the steamy brew in both her and Lauren’s room. How she knew that they’d be in dire need of the soothing steaming beverage, she didn’t know, but finding it upon arrival with a little note—written in Queenie’s tiny hand on a flower card—had done much to lift her spirits.

Hearing from Lauren how she’d just done the craziest thing in her life—kissing a practically total stranger in the middle of the street—the notion that she was a happily engaged woman had somehow lost much of its initial power to stave off a twinge of jealousy. She should have been happy for Lauren, and giggle along with her in girlish delight. Instead, she felt a deepening sense of gloom at the thought of returning home to Franklin in one week, and spending the rest of her life tethered to his side.

Again and again, the unexpected meeting with Chris kept playing through her mind, and no matter how hard she tried to dispel these thoughts, they simply kept popping up. It infuriated her.

She took another sip of Queenie’s brew, and stabbed angrily at her laptop, positioned next to her on the couch, to open the next file folder on Alfonso Gnat’s USB stick. She had fully expected to be embarrassed by a series of lurid snaps of her dad with Miss Geyser, and the Gnat files hadn’t disappointed her in that expectation.

Before reviewing the retrieved materials, she had vowed only to give them a quick once-over to ascertain their genuineness before erasing the images from her mind forever. For no daughter likes to see her father—even if he only recently reentered her life—wrapped up in the arms of some sultry seductress.

The USB stick she’d found in the bubble mailer contained several file folders, the first of which had indeed prominently featured Miss Geyser in a starring role. Being the diligent girl she was, she’d methodically opened folder after folder until she’d arrived at the present one.

It took her a while to realize what was wrong with it.

At first, she thought whoever Gnat had hired to take these shots, had simply made a mistake. Further investigation, however, taught her that far from being a mistake, the pictures were an indication something else was going on here. Something else entirely.

Picture after picture, her father was featured throughout his day-to-day activities. There were pictures of him mowing the lawn, washing his car, shopping at the supermarket… Even a picture of him heading a council meeting. These snaps hadn’t been taken by some random blackmailer eager to catch her dad in a compromising position. They were part of some campaign to document his daily habits. And the only people she could think of who’d be interested in something like that were people who had very bad intentions indeed.

And then there were the pictures that bothered her even more. They were pictures of the exact itinerary of the reelection campaign trail. She had no idea how they’d managed to get a hold of it, but there it was. Piet’s schedule for the next fortnight. All the dates and activities his campaign team had minutely prepared.

Her heart beating in her throat, she took the laptop, and hurried over to the door that connected her room to Lauren’s. Without even bothering to knock, she barged in, and found her friend stretched out on the bed, talking into her cell, a coy expression on her face.

“Lauren!” she said, plunking herself and the laptop down on the bed. “You need to see this!”

“Kirt, honey? I gotta go now. Something’s come up.” Listening for a spell, Lauren giggled, then pressed an audible kiss onto the phone, and disconnected. A dreamy expression on her face, she said, “Isn’t he simply wonderful?”

“He is. Now look at this,” said Kate curtly. She’d awarded young love all the attention she could muster, but now there were more important matters to discuss.

Lauren stared at the pictures for a spell, then looked up, her face expressionless. “That’s your dad,” she said, quite correctly.

“I know,” said Kate, impatiently. “But look what he’s doing.”

Her gaze drifting back to the laptop, Lauren took a closer look, then shrugged. “Nothing much, as far as I can tell. I thought these pics were supposed to be saucy?”

“Forget about the saucy. There’s plenty of sauce in the other pictures. It’s this one that worries me.” She showed the picture of Piet’s campaign itinerary and leaned back, her expression grim.

Lauren stared at it for a moment, then slowly returned her gaze to Kate. “Sorry, honey. I really don’t see it. Why is this so important?”

Pointing at the screen, Kate said, “Someone is keeping tabs on Piet. Probably the same person who took the Geyser shots. And as far as I can tell, there’s only reason someone would go to all that trouble.”

When Lauren gave her a blank stare, she continued, flapping her arms, “Someone is planning an attack!”

Lauren wrinkled her nose in an expression of dubiousness. “You really think so?”

“What else could it be?”

“I can think of a lot of things,” said Lauren. “Off the top of my head, um, perhaps your dad’s political opponent wants to know what Piet’s plans are. Or it could be some disgruntled citizen who wants to prove his tax dollars are being wasted by frivolous spending. Or simply a reporter wanting the scoop of knowing where your dad is going to be for the next couple of weeks so he can follow him around.” She held up her hands. “I can think of a couple more if you want.”

Kate had to admit her friend had a point. Seeing the pictures, she’d instantly jumped to the conclusion that someone wanted to harm Piet, but then again, this was Bruges, not the States. And her dad was running for mayor, not for president. “Perhaps you’re right,” she finally said.

“Or someone
could
be planning an attack,” said Lauren. “Though I really don’t think so, hon. I mean, who would want to kill the mayor of Bruges?”

Kate sighed, and felt some of the tension that’d been building up inside dissipate. She suddenly felt bone-tired and flopped down onto her belly, cupping her head in her hands. “You know what?” she said. “I’ll just give this to my dad tomorrow. Let him decide what’s going on. I mean, if someone’s out to hurt him, he must have received threats, right?”

“Of course,” said Lauren, plopping down onto her back next to her friend.

“This thing can’t just come out of the blue,” continued Kate, now yawning cavernously.

“Some things do,” said Lauren. “Come out of the blue, I mean.”

“Like Kirt?” said Kate, feeling more relaxed now that the sensation of imminent dread had been dispelled by Lauren’s common-sense approach.

Staring up at the ceiling, Lauren said, “You know, I always thought that when I’d fall in love, it would be with some scrawny little fellow. Cause I’m so tall, see, so I figured that since opposites attract, I’d fall for a small guy.”

“Kirt doesn’t really fit that description,” said Kate, her eyes drooping closed.

“He’s a bear,” laughed Lauren, then looked over at her friend. “What about Chris? Did I understand you to say you had a moment?”

“We had a moment all right,” said Kate drowsily. “And then he saw my ring and the moment passed.”

“So next time remove your ring, silly,” said Lauren with a kittenish titter.

“Can’t do that,” groaned Kate.

“Why not? I won’t tell.”

“Chris is bad news. I don’t want to have anything to do with him ever again.”

After that, Kate had the impression Lauren spoke a lot more on the subject of Chris, but her words were now like a babbling brook, on the banks of which she drifted off into a well-deserved slumber.

Her dreams, though if asked the next morning, she would have vehemently denied this, prominently featured Chris. This time, though, instead of fiddling with some inconsequential safe, he used his gentle hands and deft touch on something a lot more interesting than cold metal: her own yearning body.

T
he next morning
, Chris checked his watch and promptly picked up the pace. Ten to nine. He was going to have to hurry. His dad’s campaign headquarters were conveniently situated on the ground floor of City Hall, where the major opposition party had its offices. He’d told his dad to clear his schedule for an extremely important meeting, and to his surprise, the old man had instantly agreed.

Of course, by now the newspapers were all leading with the nocturnal ‘attack’ on the Bruges Chronicle newsroom, and police were busy investigating what was either a ‘burglary gone wrong’, a ‘terrorist attack on the free press’ or ‘some nut with a grudge’, depending on the source.

Chris grinned when he thought back to last night. Whatever his feelings for Kate, he couldn’t deny she made one hell of a partner. And even if he never saw her again, part of the resentment he’d carried in his heart since their ill-fated romance, had mysteriously melted away following their brief cooperation.

Of course, if he wanted to, he could get in touch with her any time he liked. He only had to ask Kirt, and he would have her phone number in seconds. But then he remembered the engagement ring, and he dismissed the inclination. No matter how much he wanted to—and he was surprised to discover how strong the urge was to see her again—nothing could come of it.

She’d made her choice when she opted not to get in touch with him after what to her obviously was merely a brief fling. A one-night stand. He had to respect her wish and not make a nuisance of himself.

Out of curiosity, he passed through Gazet Street, and was surprised to find the hole in the wall of Alfonso’s office already bricked up, the damage repaired. The tree where the safe had been resting against was now completely devoid of safes of any description, and apart from some splintered wood and a bored-looking policeman standing guard in front of the building, nothing indicated this was the scene of one of Bruges’s most heinous and baffling crimes.

Avoiding the policeman’s gaze, Chris practically broke into a run when he realized he was going to be late for his meeting with the old man. Passing by the imposing Belfry bell tower, he took Breydel Street to the Burg, the administrative heart of Bruges, and had just placed his hand on the sturdy oak doors of City Hall, when a familiar figure placed her hand next to his.

He recognized her perfume before he knew it was her: apple blossom with a hint of lavender. He swiveled his head round and found himself gazing into the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen.

“Kate!” he cried.

“Chris?” she said, and she looked just as surprised as he was.

“I was just on my way to see my dad,” he explained, as he drank her in. Unlike the previous night, when darkness had obscured much of her form, he now got the full effect of the beauty that was Kate Harper. On this bright and sunny spring morning, she’d opted for a floral print dress, the maroon accentuating the color of her glorious red hair, flecks of liquid gold shimmering in her emerald eyes.

Chris swallowed away a lump in his throat. Oh, God. She was absolutely gorgeous.

“Me, too,” she said, a smile trembling on her lips. She gave him a once-over, and he thought he detected in her eyes a glint of approval.

Lost for words, they both just stood there for a moment, eyes locked. Kate was the first to break the spell. “I have to be going now. Don’t wanna be late for the meeting.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said a little lamely, and pushed open the heavy door to let her in. As she strode away from him, he sighed inwardly. So many things he wanted to say. None of them appropriate.

“Um, see you,” he said after her disappearing form. Without turning, she held up her hand, acknowledging him.

Then a door opened to his left, and the bespectacled face of a middle-aged woman appeared, scowling at him.

“Chris?” she said. “Step in here, please. We were just about to start the meeting.”

She spoke in the clipped tones of a professional organizer and held out her hand as he approached.

“Coleen Budget,” she said. “I’m your father’s campaign manager.”

For a moment, Chris was transported back in time, to his elementary school days when principal Colpaert, a woman who could have been Coleen Budget’s double, inspired fear and loathing in the hearts of everyone who ever brought a stink bomb to school, such as there were, Chris Van Damme and Kirt Raisin.

Like Coleen, Principal Colpaert had worn her graying hair in a tight bun, and her penciled eyebrows, two squiggly lines that could instantly switch from mere contempt to seething anger, had given him nightmares for years.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, taking Coleen’s hand. She gave his a vigorous shake, then stepped aside to bid him entrance.

He found his father alone in the office. The moment he entered, the rotund little man rose to his feet, and walked around the desk to meet him, an anxious expression on his face. “And? How’d it go?”

“I’ve got them,” he said, then threw an inquisitive glance at Coleen, who’d taken a seat at the head of a conference table set up near the window.

His father waved his hand dismissively. “You can talk before Coleen. She knows all about this sordid little affair.” He clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. “So you did it, eh? That’s my boy! Coleen? You hear this? Gnat is out of the picture!”

“Good news,” said Coleen, impatiently tapping the table with a pencil. “So was that the reason you called this meeting, Chris?”

“No,” said Chris, expelling a deep breath and taking a seat next to Coleen. “Dad? There’s something I want you to see.”

Jacques’s expressive eyebrows, which had wiggled with joy one moment ago, now knitted together in a frown at these ominous words. He joined them, and sank into a chair like a man expecting heaven to cave in on his head. “Well? What is it? Out with it, son. Out with it.”

“May I?” Chris said, indicating the laptop, connected to a beamer.

Coleen nodded, and Chris quickly inserted Gnat’s stick, tapped a key, and brought up the pictures that had ruined his sleep last night.

On the big screen, the same type of pictures appeared that Kate had showed to Lauren: someone had painstakingly tracked Jacques Van Damme’s every move for the past couple of weeks, and had somehow managed to get a good look at his campaign timetable up until election day.

“Gnat had that?” said Coleen, taken aback.

Chris nodded. “Someone’s been following you, dad.”

He jumped when Jacques’s fist pounded the table. “It’s that bastard Peeters! The rat!”

“I don’t think so, dad,” said Chris, and he proceeded to explain that while burgling Gnat’s safe, he’d run into Piet Peeters’s daughter Kate, out on a similar mission. “So you see, Gnat’s been blackmailing the both of you. Whoever took these pictures must have been following Peeters as well.”

Jacques made a sound like an elephant pulling its foot out of a swamp, then grumbled, “I don’t believe a word of this. Only Peeters could sink so low.” Then something seemed to occur to him, and his scowl deepened. “Do you mean to tell me that Piet Peeters is involved with Jeanie?
My
Jeanie?”

“That’s what it looks like, dad,” Chris said, leaning back in his chair. “That Jeanie of yours turns out to be a real cheerleader for bipartisanship.”

There was a momentary silence as Jacques mulled this over. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “Jeanie would never fall for that idiot. She’s above dating petty politicians like Peeters.”

“Nevertheless,” interrupted Coleen, “I think Chris has a point. We clearly have a breach in our security if someone has managed to lay their hands upon our campaign script.” She turned to Chris. “Do you know if Gnat had the same intel on Peeters?”

“I, erm, no. I’m not sure. But I can find out if you want.”

“Do that,” she said. “We need to be sure we can exclude Peeters, though I’m inclined to do so.”

“Me, too,” Chris said. “I don’t think it’s Peeters you need to worry about here. I think there’s a third party involved. And whatever their intentions, they’re not good. There’s a definite threat here.”

“Indeed,” said Coleen, tapping her teeth with the pencil. She looked from Chris to Jacques and back to Chris. “Your father tells me you’re a security expert?”

“Well, yes,” said Chris. “I’ve just gone into business for myself.”

“Chris here is the genuine product,” said Jacques proudly. “He made a great cop, and now a fine PI.”

“Right,” said Coleen pensively. Then she seemed to make up her mind. “Chris, how would you feel if we hired you to shore up security during the campaign? Clearly there’s a need here for a professional. And judging both from your past experience and your family ties, I think you’re the best man for the job. Jacques?”

Jacques nodded. “As usual you’re right on the money, Coleen.”

“Chris?”

“I, erm… work for my dad, you mean?”

“You’ve got a problem with that?” said Coleen, cocking her head.

“No. No, of course not. It’s just that…”

“It’s just what?”

Two pairs of eyes stared at him critically, and since he couldn’t think of any objections apart from the obvious—working for his father might prove quite a challenge—he merely inclined his head. “Sure I’ll do it. Of course. Be glad to help.”

Jacques clapped his hands and Coleen pursed her lips. “Excellent,” she said. “Welcome to the team, Chris.”

“Glad to be here,” said Chris, though maybe not as exuberant as might be expected from a loving son. On the other hand, though perhaps not quite as enjoyable as he might have wished—even when sober, his dad was not an easy man to please—at least it was work.