When in Bruges (Humorous Romantic Mystery) (12 page)

T
here was
a good deal of awkwardness as introductions were made at the Perch. Franklin and Lauren were well acquainted, obviously, but Kirt was an unknown quantity to the stodgy accountant, and so was Chris. Throughout, Franklin seemed to be trying to get his head around whom, exactly, this Chris Van Damme was and how Kate knew him so intimately.

And since neither Kate nor Chris were willing to talk about their mutual past, and Lauren and Kirt, for obvious reasons, kept equally mum, Franklin was at a loss what was going on exactly.

Chris actually felt bad for the guy. Kate had obviously failed to tell him the story—and nor could he blame her—so there was nothing left for him to do but lie. “We were both hired this morning by our respective dads,” he told Franklin, after the latter had once again tried to get to the bottom of what made Chris tick, and what role he played in his fiancée’s life. “But since the threat clearly stems from the same source, they both felt—”

“
They
both felt?” said Franklin eagerly.

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Chris smoothly. “I never met Kate before. But when dad told me she had come to the same conclusion I had, he immediately got in touch with Jacques Van Damme, and that’s how the ball got rolling.”

“You never met before,” Franklin said with relish. “Never met before,” he repeated for good measure. Kate merely smiled uncertainly, and sipped from her beer.

“Nope. Never met until this morning.”

“So what happened in the park…” Franklin whispered.

“Oh, that!” said Chris with a mock astonishment. “Kate had something in her eye. I was merely trying to pry it loose.”

“What?”

“Come again?”

“What was it? The thing in her eye?” said Franklin unblinkingly. He clearly had an accountant’s knack for the telling detail.

“A fly,” said Chris decidedly. “Very small but painful nonetheless. You know how it is.”

“Ah, yes,” said Franklin, bobbing his head like one who does. “I’ve had it happen to me on occasion. A fly in your eye can be extremely painful indeed.” He turned to Kate, who was blushing prettily. “All better now, honey? Your eye, I mean?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” said Kate with a quick smile. “All better.”

Franklin put his hand on Chris’s arm, and said, a little breathlessly, “Thank you so much, Mr. Van Damme.”

“No worries, buddy,” said Chris, awkwardly patting Franklin’s hand. “That’s what partners are for, eh? And please call me Chris.”

“Thanks, Chris. Thanks ever so much,” Franklin said with newfound jollity. It appeared as if a great weight had rolled off his shoulders.

“My pleasure. Now shall we discuss the case?” Chris said, addressing the rest of the company.

From the look on Kirt’s face, his friend had trouble choking down a guffaw at the little scene he’d just witnessed, and Lauren wasn’t fairing much better. For the past five minutes, they’d both been staring before them, red-faced and from time to time releasing low whimpers. At the mention of the case, they both visibly relaxed.

“How much do you know, Franklin?” said Chris.

And since Franklin said he knew absolutely nothing, Kate proceeded to explain to her fiancé the state of affairs. To his credit, he grasped the salient points pretty quickly, and for his astuteness was rewarded with a kiss from his fiancée.

Chris arched an eyebrow at this and felt a pang of jealousy. Of course he knew she was engaged, and living together with this man, but there’s a difference between intellectually being aware of something and seeing it with your own two eyes. In the park just now, he’d felt so close to Kate, and for a moment he’d been tempted to kiss her, perhaps even confess to her that he still loved her.

But then Franklin had arrived on the scene and the moment had passed. And now here she was, kissing her fiancé instead of him. Inwardly, he died a little, especially after she threw him a pointed glance. It was clear that she really wasn’t interested in him. She’d moved on with her life and she wanted him to realize that whatever had happened between them before, now lay in the past. The very dead past.

“Ahm, yes,” he said, as he took Kate’s cue. “So we paid a little visit to Alfonso just now.”

In a few words, he explained to the others how far they got with Gnat and Closet.

“The Twelve,” said Lauren pensively. “Sounds like some sort of organization.”

“Consisting of twelve people,” added Kirt intelligently.

“Twelve people want our dads dead?” said Kate. “But why?”

“You know, I had my doubts about this,” said Lauren. “I mean, it’s not because someone takes a bunch of pictures that they necessarily have some murder plan in place. But with this new information…”

“Yeah, it looks like there’s some sort of master plan behind all this,” agreed Kirt. “Someone is really out to cause harm to the two candidates.”

“That’s the reason this all seems so unreal,” said Kate. “I could understand someone holding a grudge against either Piet or Jacques, but both of them? It just seems so unlikely.”

“Unless,” said Chris, “this has nothing to do with the candidates themselves but is more an attack against what they represent.”

“Which is?” said Kirt.

Chris shook his head. “I haven’t given this a great deal of thought yet, but… What do Jacques Van Damme and Piet Peeters have in common? They’ve both been mayor of Bruges.”

“And that’s probably the only thing they
have
in common,” said Kate.

“Well, they’ve both been seeing Jeanie Geyser,” said Kirt.

“So we know they have lousy taste,” added Lauren.

Franklin, who had been quiet throughout, now spoke up. “Perhaps it’s someone from their past. Someone who knows both men and holds a grudge.”

“I think we need to talk to them,” said Kate. “Put them in a room together and really thresh this thing out.”

“That’ll never happen,” said Chris. “Each time they get together they’re each other’s throats.”

“Are you sure?” said Kirt, and inclined his head toward the door where the two candidates had just entered, a TV crew in their wake, and their smiles set at full-wattage.

S
eeing
Piet and Chris’s dad waltz into the Perch, practically holding hands, was a big surprise to Kate. Their politicians’ smiles fixed firmly in place, they briefly toured the room, shaking hands with everyone and anyone, urging them to vote for the right candidate.

When they arrived at their table, they were quite surprised.

“Honey!” cried Piet, grasping her hand warmly. When he saw Franklin and Chris sitting side by side, a puzzled expression appeared on his face, and Kate quickly introduced Franklin as her fiancé.

She could see Piet’s mind working, trying to decide which of the two men would make the better son-in-law. He knew from that morning’s scene in front of the radio station that she and Chris had had a thing, and, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, Chris was the obvious choice. Looking as sturdy and handsome as usual, he was just the kind of son-in-law any dad would welcome into the family with open arms. On the other hand, he was Jacques Van Damme’s son, a clear disadvantage.

And then there was Franklin, who looked as much like an accountant as any accountant has ever looked. But then again, he wasn’t Jacques Van Damme’s son.

Piet’s hand, wavering for a moment between Chris and Franklin, finally picked a winner: making a beehive for Franklin, he displayed his widest smile, grasped Franklin’s paw, and pumped it vigorously.

“Franklin, my boy!” he exclaimed, using his other hand to clap Kate’s betrothed on the back. “Congratulations and welcome to the family!”

“Thanks, Sir,” stuttered Franklin.

To Jacques, Piet added, “This handsome devil here is my future son-in-law!”

Van Damme gazed down at Franklin critically, and grunted, “Good luck with that.”

Piet’s expression hardened. “So when is
your
boy getting married?”

Father and son shared a quick look of embarrassment. “My son will get married when he’s good and ready,” snarled Van Damme finally.

“Which is when?” insisted Piet.

The two candidates stood toe to toe next to the table. Kate would have said face to face, but Van Damme was easily a full head shorter than her dad, so that statement didn’t hold water.

“That’s none of your business, Peeters,” bit Van Damme, his eyebrows making some very complicated movements.

“I think it is,” said Piet. “Anything your son does, reflects on you as a family man.”

“It does, does it?”

“It certainly does. Take, for instance, your stance on drugs. You take a hard line on drugs.”

“You damn right I do.”

“Now imagine for a moment that your son Chris here was a drug addict. Don’t you think the public would have a right to know?”

“How dare you, Peeters? Chris is not a drug addict!”

“I’m not saying he is. I’m just trying to make a point here. Anything your family does, reflects on you.”

Only now Kate saw that the TV crew was filming every word of this small altercation. Oh, hell. Tonight, everyone would know about her engagement to Franklin. Then again, what was wrong with that? It wasn’t as if it was a great, big secret. Still, she felt awkwardly uncomfortable about the world knowing about her personal affairs. And judging from the expression on Chris’s face, he felt just the same.

She sidled up to him, as his dad and hers kept going at each other’s throats.

“So when
are
you getting married, Chris?”

“Don’t go there,” he growled.

“It’s very important for your father’s campaign. Haven’t you heard?”

Suddenly, he whirled around and faced her. “There’s only girl I’d ever marry, Kate, you know that.”

She swallowed as she stared into those piercing blues of his, and became acutely aware of a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Is that so?” she squeaked. “Do you I know the lucky lady?”

“Intimately,” he grunted. “You see her every morning when you look in the mirror.”

For a moment, she was lost in his gaze, and thought back to the moment they’d had in the park earlier. Suddenly, she longed more than anything to be alone with Chris. If none of these people were around, she’d probably throw herself into his arms, to hell with the consequences. Then she became aware of Franklin sitting beside her, and overhearing a big part of the conversation.

“I, erm, you seem to forget I’m engaged,” she whispered.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he whispered back. “How can I?”

She was so hot now that she urgently needed some fresh air, so she quickly rose to her feet, pushing her chair back. As she looked up, she saw her father gulp down what looked like an orange juice. The moment he’d tipped the contents of the glass down the hatch, he stared down at it with an expression of dismay.

“What’s this?” he said. He smacked his palate for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Who put alcohol in my drink?”

Van Damme grinned. “What’s wrong, Peeters? Fall off the wagon?”

Piet turned on him with a growl. “You ordered me this drink! I told you I wanted orange juice!”

Van Damme shrugged, a smug expression on his face. “And that’s what I got you. It’s not my fault you decided to spike your drink with your private stash of liquor.” He wagged his finger in Piet’s face, his eyebrows wiggling. “This kind of behavior reflects badly on your campaign, Peeters, don’t you see that?”

For a moment it looked like Piet was going to wring Van Damme’s neck, but then he became aware of the three dozen occupants of the bar and the TV crew watching his every move, and he forced a wry smile onto his face. “That was not a nice thing to do, Van Damme.”

“I didn’t do anything,” said Van Damme innocently, and tipped his own orange juice back.

Kate shook her head, and made her way to the bar. If this was the new spirit of bipartisanship, it didn’t look promising for Bruges’s future. Reaching the bar, she was glad to find the elderly bartender greet her with a kind smile and a, “Hello, Kate,” even though she’d never met the man. Only one day in Bruges, and already everybody knew her name.

Just then, a man approached the bar, looking as if he just walked off the catwalk or the cover of a fashion magazine.

“Hey, Kip,” said the bartender.

“Aldo,” said the fashion model.

Kate noticed Kip’s eyes were riveted to the two candidates. “I didn’t know you were such a political buff, Kip?” Aldo said.

“I’m not,” he said. “But I do like it when they play rough.”

Aldo sighed. “Not me. Why can’t they just get along? All this fighting and bickering…”

“Watch this,” Kip said, pointing at Van Damme. The tubby little man’s face suddenly turned a bright scarlet, and he seemed to shrink a little. Staring from his drink to Piet, he mumbled something, and broke into a run.

“There he goes,” grinned Kip, leaning back comfortably against the bar.

Making a beeline for the lavatory, Van Damme ran as fast as his stubby legs could carry him, accidentally punching an elderly man out of the way before disappearing inside the men’s room.

“What happened?” Aldo said, watching with interest as the old man picked himself up from the floor, dusted himself off, scowled in the direction of the toilet where his attacker had disappeared, and took a seat next to Genaro Rowlock.

“Well, all I know is that I got an urgent message from the mayor, wanting me to bring him the strongest laxative I had in store. Said it was an emergency. Told me to meet him here. So that’s what I did.” Kip chuckled. “Those politicians. Always the life and soul of the party, aren’t they?”

“Piet put a laxative in Jacques’s drink?” Aldo said, aghast.

“Well, considering Jacques put alcohol in Piet’s drink, I’d say they’re even now.”

“Jeezes,” muttered Kate.

“Yup,” Kip said, turning to her with an appreciative gaze. “That’s what they call hardball.”

“I’m Kate, by the way,” said Kate. “Piet’s daughter.”

“Nice to meet you, Kate. Kip Beaumonde. Pharmacist.”

Just then, Jeanie Geyser breezed into the bar, her eyes scanning the place while instantly attracting all attention. The moment she spotted Piet, she rose to the tips of her toes, craned her neck and shouted, “Yoo-hoo! Darling, I’m here!”

Piet, who was still talking to Franklin, seemed extremely pleased to see her, for he waved back, and moments later she had joined her unusual lover.

Just then, Jacques Van Damme reemerged from the toilet, looking haggard and extremely unhappy.

“Uh-oh,” said Kip. “More trouble under way.”

“Oh, no,” Kate said.

Van Damme, seeing Jeanie kiss his nemesis on both cheeks, narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Then he lowered his head, hunched his shoulders, and set a collision course for Piet, not unlike a bull thundering toward a matador.

“We should do something!” Kate cried.

“Why?” said Kip. “Just sit back and enjoy the show.”

“This I gotta see,” said Aldo with glittering eyes.

Then, just when a berserk Van Damme was about to hit Piet amidships, Chris stepped into the fray, and expertly diverted his dad’s course, steering him away from Piet and—driven forward by the momentum—into Franklin instead!

Both Van Damme and Franklin went down in a heap of flailing legs and arms, table and chairs, with Chris doing his darndest to extricate the pair.

Meanwhile, the television crew got an excellent shot of Jacques Van Damme, looking like a madman, doing the horizontal mambo with Kate’s fiancé! Both men looked so incredibly ridiculous, Kate had to laugh in spite of herself.

“Great show!” said Kip next to her.

She couldn’t help stare at Chris, helplessly presiding over the melée. For a moment, the thought crossed her mind that he’d done it on purpose, but then she dismissed it. Across the room, their eyes met, and he mouthed, “I’m sorry!”

She held up her hands and shrugged. Then she joined Kip and Aldo and the rest of the bar as they all laughed at the sight of two men scrambling across the floor, trying to find their footing. Kate knew she shouldn’t have laughed. That was her fiancé down there! But she couldn’t help it. Franklin looked so funny as he lay there, Van Damme’s foot firmly wedged against his neck, his glasses askew across his face. Seeing her, Chris laughed too, their eyes locked across the room.

In that moment, she realized she didn’t really love Franklin. He was a nice man, a decent man, but he wasn’t really the man she loved. That man was standing there, helpless, laughing and trying to make the best of a bad situation. That man was Chris Van Damme, and now she knew she’d loved him from the day they’d met.