“What on earth?” he mumbled.

  “It’s a storm, my love. Nothing to worry about. I’m going to make some tea.”

  “A storm? Damn shame I didn’t mow the lawn. Grass will be wet tomorrow.” He rolled over and went back to sleep.

  Beatrice sat there for several seconds as his snores deepened, puzzling over his remark. The cold air crept up her ankles and she put his nonsense down to a liminal state of consciousness. Raindrops pelted against the window as if something tiny and angry was trying to get in. She put the light on in the kitchen and a pan of water on to boil. The storm wasn’t the only thing keeping her awake. Her subconscious was nudging her, whispering that she’d overlooked something, but refused to tell her what it was.

  She made tea and sat on the sofa with the curtains open so she could see the full drama of a Mallorcan storm. After a while, the display grew less impressive and she pulled out her notes to consider the case one more time. There were more motives than she could shake a stick at; jealousy, acquisitiveness, money, revenge, silencing and envy. She’d spoken to every suspect and none of them had showed a liar’s tic. Either they were all innocent and the murderer was a random stranger who returned the following night to destroy all available images of the girl, or one of the interviewees was a better liar than she thought. Beatrice had been in this job for decades and knew how to interview a witness. Or at least she used to.

  Therefore, it was reasonable to assume that only the people she had not interrogated personally were the ones with something to hide. It made sense. Theo had been the one to speak to Nuria Quintana on the subject of Romy Palliser’s death. As Hoagy’s previous muse, she had spent some months in the room above his studio. She might easily have looked over the wall and spotted the rungs below. It was perfectly feasible that she had bided her time, committed the crime and returned the following day to slash the canvases. Perhaps with superior knowledge of Hoagy’s working patterns, she had hidden in the foliage, waiting for him to arrive and watched as he entered the code into the keypad. Only to access it later when he and Philly had retired for the night. As for suspicion falling upon herself, she was confident that her uncle would protect her.

  Beatrice dunked the teabag one more time and laid it on the saucer. The other question was that huge ceremonial sword in the tourist office. That was exactly the kind of weapon which could all but decapitate a person. Details floated across her mind: Nuria’s manicure, her quick temper evidenced by the changing expressions she had seen in those few minutes Theo had engaged her in conversation. Her slight dancer’s frame. This was the kind of woman capable of a furious overreaction or crime of passion but was she the coolly calculating sociopath who would return to the scene of a bloody murder in order to ruin all the images of her nemesis?

  There was one way to find out. Tomorrow, she and Theo would interview her together, Beatrice guiding the line of questioning. Theo would be the interlocutor and Beatrice would be the observer. By the time the conversation was over, Beatrice would have a gut feeling. She would know and if what she suspected were true, she would need to take her evidence to a higher authority than the girl’s uncle.

  She drank tea, aware of the lessening rain on the roof. Depending on how things went the following day, or rather later today, she might have this all wrapped up by Monday. A frown twitched across her brow, recalling how Tanya had alluded to Matthew’s scattiness as part of a deeper problem. She resolved to take the girl aside once she had returned to Devon and express in the strongest terms how insulting and patronising that kind of language was towards her father.

  On the horizon, the sky lightened to an ashen yellow and Beatrice decided it was time to return to bed. She swallowed her cold tea in three gulps, threw off her dressing gown and snuggled under the duvet, drawing warmth from Matthew’s body.

  For a change, Matthew was up before her. That was not surprising as she had spent two hours sitting on the sofa, cogitating until the storm blew itself out. She sat up in bed, listening to him singing in the kitchen. If only Tanya could hear him now, performing ‘Non son più re, son dio’ from the opera Nabucco not only in Italian, but also in a fine baritone. Hardly a sign of senility.

  When she got out of the shower, the singing had stopped and in its place, she could hear conversation. Theo was here to take her wherever she needed, in order to pursue this investigation. At the dining table, they were each eating a plate of tomato and eggs. The smell of coffee filled the air and sun shone a spotlight on a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice.

  “Good morning. Sorry to be the last one at the table, but the storm kept me awake last night. Did you hear it, Theo?” She poured herself some juice.

  “It kept the whole town awake. The hotel restaurant this morning was practically empty when I got up. Everyone was sleeping in. I tried doing some relaxation exercises at about four in the morning, but I couldn’t concentrate. I went for a run instead.”

  Beatrice stared at him, appalled. “In that weather? Are you mad?”

  Theo sipped his coffee. “Not outside. In the hotel gym. I did seven kilometres before breakfast, which is why I was ready for seconds when I got here. Running is also a good way to think. We really should speak to Miranda Flynn again. I get your point about not intruding on the family’s grief but we need some answers from that woman.”

  “Would you like some breakfast, Old Thing? Eggs sunny side up and a slice of fresh bread?”

  “Thank you, Matthew, that would be lovely. Do you think I could have tea rather than coffee this morning? I wanted a hot brew last night but got distracted thinking about the case and let my mug get cold. Theo, as I said last night, we will talk to Miranda Flynn tomorrow, after the funeral. Today I want to interview Nuria Quintana again, even at the risk of annoying her uncle. I want you to ask the questions so I can be the observer. I will tell you what to say, don’t worry.”

  Matthew placed a cup in front of Beatrice. “One cup of coffee, splash of milk, no sugar. Theo, would you like another?”

  “No, thanks. Really enjoyed breakfast, though. Beatrice, I’m fine with interviewing Nuria Quintana again but I really don’t understand why we can’t talk to Miranda Flynn. It’s not like she’s a member of the family or anything. I want to get to the bottom of that row she had with Romy. When I spoke to them after church, Greg wouldn’t leave her side. I think we should try to get her on her own.”

  Coffee rather than tea, an argumentative assistant, and lack of sleep made Beatrice irritable. She drank juice and looked out of the window at cloudy skies.

  “Tanya and Gabriel will be in the air by now,” she said. “Luke will be over the moon to see them.”

  “Beatrice? We could do both.” Theo rested his elbows on the table. “Nuria Quintana speaks English so you can talk to her. I could take the car and drive to the Palliser estate, see if I can get Miranda alone.”

  “No. Definitely not. We’re not splitting up. Whatever interviews we do now, we do together. Think about it, Theo. If either of these women is potentially guilty, they could be extremely dangerous to a single individual. You’re keen to follow the angle you found, but I must ask you to trust my experience. I know the way to handle an interviewee. We’ll talk to Nuria today and Miranda tomorrow, asking questions as a team. Because that’s what we are. Oh, that looks exactly what the doctor ordered.” She looked down at the plate Matthew had placed in front of her and gave him a grateful smile. He really was a wonderful man.

  To Beatrice’s intense annoyance, Nuria Quintana did not work at the tourist information centre on Sundays. She didn’t answer her mobile when Theo called either. He found her home address, but she wasn’t there or wasn’t answering the doorbell. Why would she be at home on a sunny Sunday morning? She could be anywhere, shopping, on the beach, visiting her uncle, who knew? Hot and frustrated, Beatrice got back into the car and instructed Theo to drive to the beach.

  “You think you’re going to find the woman in a crowd of semi-naked bodies? I don’t fancy our chances.” Theo indicated and pulled away from the parking spot.

  Beatrice did not reply, massaging her forehead.

  “You realise how crowded it’s going to be? Everyone’s going to be on the sand making the most of a fresh, post-storm sea,” he added.

  He was really getting on her nerves today. “Yes, yes, I know. We are looking for an eagle in the haystack. But we’ve been to her house, to her work and even poked our heads in a couple of nearby cafés. There’s a chance she’s on the beach and while we are there, we could take the opportunity of speaking to Juan Carlos again. Just putting out some feelers regarding the relationship between Romy and Miranda.”

  Theo drove without speaking until they parked at the beach. It was not a companionable silence and Beatrice could feel a sense of judgement emanating from her assistant. Sooner or later, she was going to have to address this attitude. They walked down the weathered boards to where bronzed bodies reclined, swam, played and chatted, making the most of a glorious Sunday morning. Beatrice instructed Theo to take the left hand of the beach while she took the right, soon regretting her choice of sunglasses instead of a hat.

  She slipped off her shoes and scrunched away through the sand, scanning all the faces she passed to see if any resembled Nuria Quintana. Since she’d only seen the woman once, fully dressed and in uniform, the likelihood she would recognise the girl was close to zero. She searched the beach until the heat became oppressive and made her way to the palm tree umbrellas where they had interviewed Juan Carlos. She couldn’t see Theo anywhere and waited in the shade until he returned. It took twenty minutes before she saw his familiar figure heading in her direction, a muscled man in swimming trunks by his side. Juan Carlos. She blushed, now grateful for the sunglasses.

  “Hello, Beatrice! Nice to see you again.” He held out a hand and Beatrice shook it.

  “Same to you. We came here looking for Nuria Quintana but I’m glad to have a chance of talking to you again.”

  Theo placed his notebook on the shelf between them. “We just had a chat and Juan Carlos shed a little light on the ‘sanctity of life’ situation. His cousin works at a private clinic. She let slip that Miranda Flynn had attended an appointment to terminate a pregnancy in April this year. Juan Carlos told Romy in passing, without realising the significance of that information. Juan Carlos?”

  Juan Carlos nodded with so much emphasis, he reminded Beatrice of a headbanging parrot. “As I told you, Romy and I mixed in different circles. Her friends are not my friends. I don’t know her brother or his church or his beliefs or anything. I met Miranda on a couple of occasions but I can’t say I liked her. That crowd, the rich players, are not my kind of people. They’re not Mallorca’s kind of people, but the one thing they are good for is gossip. What they do, where they are seen, who they meet and what they wearing is the subject of a lot of conversation. So my cousin at the private clinic recognised Miranda Flynn and in confidence, told me what operation she had. My cousin is a good person, but she doesn’t earn much. That sort of information is, how do you say it, a kind of status. She told me a secret and I told Romy. I don’t even know why.” His eyes were distant, gazing past Beatrice at the dunes. “Maybe it was a pathetic attempt to level the field. They have more money, contacts, style and fame, but they’re still human. Their bodies are the same as everybody else’s and an unwanted pregnancy reduces the rich bitch to the same place as her cleaning woman. I’m not proud of telling her that. In fact, I’m ashamed. That was a cheap trick to gain some respect in her eyes.”

  Beatrice studied the young man and admired him. Not in the physical sense, although his body was hard to ignore, but more for his sense of self-knowledge and capacity to learn from his mistakes.

  “I want to thank you for sharing this information, Juan Carlos. It’s never easy to reveal something about yourself which makes you look worse rather than better. But what you have told us today will enable us to close the net on whoever killed Romy Palliser. Do you think your cousin would be willing to talk to us?”

  “I guess. You want me to call her?”

  “That would be marvellous. Here’s my card. Would you let me know what she says? Sorry to have disturbed you and I wish you a lovely Sunday.”

  A pounding headache took hold and Beatrice could tell it was not going to abate in a hurry. What’s more, if they couldn’t locate the Quintana woman, the best use of their time would be to interview Miranda Flynn. Which meant apologising to Theo.

  “Shall I try Nuria’s mobile again?” he asked as they drove away from the beach.

  “Not while you’re driving. Let’s stop at a café somewhere. I need to get some water and take a painkiller.”

  “What’s wrong?” Theo glanced at her in concern.

  “Headache. Lack of sleep, wandering about in the sun and worried about Matthew.” The words escaped her before she’d even formed the thought.

  Theo didn’t reply as he navigated the narrow streets, passing several cafés that would have done the trick.

  “Where are you going?” Beatrice demanded.

  “To your cottage. Let’s check in on Matthew, get you a drink of water and I’ll make some calls. He said he was going to sit on the veranda this morning, so he should be fine.”

  Beatrice considered his words. He hadn’t asked why she would be worried about Matthew, just took it as if there were good reason to be concerned. He parked in the street opposite and Beatrice hurried across the road, suddenly fearful. She opened the door and saw the place was empty, all the washing-up done and table tidied. She ran out to the garden but could see it was unoccupied.

  “Matthew?” she shouted, opening the bedroom door.

  “Yes?” His voice came from the bathroom.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I’m on the throne, as a matter of fact. You’re back early.”

  “I know. Bit of a headache. We’re just going to have a cold drink.”

  “Righty ho. I’ll be out shortly.”

  She returned to the living room to see Theo adding ice to two glasses of water.

  “Is he OK?”

  Beatrice dug around in her handbag for paracetamol. “He’s fine, in the toilet, otherwise engaged. Thank you for this.” She took two tablets and washed them down with a slug of cold water. “Why don’t you find the address for the Palliser family and we can take a drive out there?”

  It wasn’t an apology, but an acknowledgement that he was right, and that would have to do.

  “I already have the address. I checked it out this morning.” Theo’s tone was gentle, a tacit acceptance that he’d won. “Should we call ahead or just turn up?”

  Beatrice had to smile. Even though she was in the wrong, he was still asking her opinion, respecting her as his boss. “Forewarned is forearmed. I think we should just turn up.”

  The bedroom door opened and Matthew emerged. “Are you two off again so soon? Not sticking around for a spot of lunch?”

  An idea occurred to Beatrice. They could drive to the family estate, wangle an interview with Miranda Flynn and return via Café Umberto. Matthew would adore the place, she was quite sure. However, when she suggested the jaunt, Matthew had made other plans.

  “It sounds like the most extraordinary place, I must say. I should certainly like to visit before we leave the island. Nevertheless, today I must demur. My plan was for a guided tour on the subject of Robert Graves. Do you know his poetry at all, Theo?”

  “I remember studying some of his stuff in school, but I tend to get him mixed up with Sassoon and Owen and other wartime poets. What are his best ones?”

  Matthew sat down to lace up his shoes. “Well, that is a highly subjective question. Are you dining with us this evening? If so, we might discuss some of his more complex works.”

  Theo shifted a pace backwards. “Actually, unless Beatrice has other plans for me, I thought I might ask the yoga teacher out for a drink. I mean, on a date, rather than an interview. But obviously, work takes priority.”

  Beatrice beamed. For the first time since she met him, Theo Wolfe was showing an interest in someone romantically. “About bloody time! Of course you can have the evening off to go on a date. Is that the Fae you mentioned? Sorry, sorry, none of my business. Keep your ears open, that’s all. Matthew, enjoy your guided tour and will see you back here around teatime. Do look after yourself, you old coot.”

  “Of course I shall, my love. Off you go to your sleuthing and I wish you all the very best of luck.” He stood up and peered out at the sky. “I say, it’s a bit dark over Bill’s mother’s. I hope we’re not due another storm.”

  Chapter 20

  Huggy Bear must have the hearing of a bat. Adrian was listening to Radio 4 while washing up the lunch things. Outside, Will and Luke were practising some kind of martial art in the garden. At some signal inaudible to Adrian, the dog started scratching and barking excitedly at the front door. Adrian dried his hands and went to see what all the fuss was about.

  On opening the door, he saw the brake lights of Gabriel’s Land Rover switch off. He released his hold on Huggy Bear’s collar and the terrier raced to greet the new arrivals. At the same time, the garden gate swung open and Luke tore across the gravel to meet his mother. The reunion was emotional and Adrian swallowed several times, watching the young boy’s joy not only at seeing Tanya, but also Gabriel.

  They both looked wonderful. Mallorcan sun had worked its magic. Gabriel’s hair was lighter, Tanya’s skin was darker and if anything, their love for Luke was stronger than ever.