Beatrice bent closer to the microphone. “Can you tell where we might find her?”

  “I have no idea. Must dash. Goodbye.”

  Beatrice and Theo stood looking at each other for a moment, then got into the car without a word. Once they had closed the doors, Beatrice snorted. “He’s a bloody liar. Let’s go to the yoga studio and try her apartment again. But if she’s there, I’ll eat my cat. I bet you anything she’s hiding in there somewhere. But why won’t he cooperate with us? We’re trying to find out who killed his sister, for crying out loud!”

  Theo reversed out of the driveway and turned the car in the direction of Deià. “Way I see it, you’re right. She’s not coming out and we have no authority to insist. But Quintana does. There must be a way of informing him, even if he does take weekends off.”

  “You didn’t get his mobile number?

  Theo shook his head. “I asked, but he said to contact him via the station. That’s why I have the feeling Detective Pedro Quintana is a nine-to-five kind of guy.”

  Beatrice had to agree with that. “Right, here’s the plan. We’ll go to Nirvana and check her apartment. She won’t be there, but we have to go through the motions. After that, we’ll go to the police station and ask whoever is on duty to contact Quintana on our behalf. Then when we have handed over all the information we know, I’ll find Matthew and you can go and get ready for your date. I assume that’s still on?”

  “It’s on. I sent a message while we were at your place. It’s just a drink.”

  “That’s what they all say,” Beatrice said, with a knowing smile.

  There was no answer at Miranda’s apartment and the yoga studio was still closed. Beatrice sent Theo across the street to ask the waiter if he had seen her in the last couple of days and the response came back negative. When he returned, Beatrice donned gloves, eased a credit card into the lock and opened the apartment. Inside, they stood and listened for a full sixty seconds. Beatrice looked up at Theo, who shook his head.

  “There’s no one here. I can feel it.”

  They examined each room together, finding little of interest anywhere except the bedroom. There was a clear his and hers side to the bed. On Greg’s side, the drawer opened to reveal a packet of condoms, lubricant, and a pair of handcuffs. Theo lifted them up with his gloved hands and showed them to Beatrice. On the side closer to the window, Beatrice opened the drawer to find enough medication to start a pharmacy. Headache tablets, vitamin pills, allergy medication, sleeping tablets, antiseptic cream, sex toys, eye drops, supplements and antidepressants. She recognised one package as the mood stabilisers she herself used to take, until James prescribed something with a lower dosage. There was a small turquoise box at the back. Inside, there was a ring with a solitaire diamond.

  Theo came over for a closer look and whistled. “Jewellery from Tiffany’s? Yoga teaching must be more lucrative than I thought.”

  “Not just any old jewellery, either. This is an engagement ring.”

  “Is it? Well, if they’re engaged, why isn’t she wearing it?”

  “Good question.” Beatrice took out her phone and snapped pictures of everything.

  They drove to the police station immediately, even though Beatrice had moved from peckish to absolutely starving. The duty officer seemed almost pleased to see them, as if she was bored out of her mind. She took a statement from Theo and asked several questions, including a request for both Fae’s and Theo’s mobile numbers. After the interview, she assured them she would impart the information to Detective Quintana as soon as possible.

  As soon as possible was a vague sort of term. Beatrice wasn’t keen on vague and asked Theo to press the point. The woman glanced at her watch and with a gentle smile promised them she would do it before she went off duty at six. There was nothing more to be done, so Beatrice and Theo thanked the lady and walked outside to the afternoon sunshine.

  “I’ll walk back, it’s not far. If Matthew is not home, I’ll find out where he is and go and meet him. You enjoy your date. Tomorrow morning, we should attend the funeral. I’ll find out the details and send you a message. I don’t suppose you have a black suit, do you?”

  “Not black, but dark grey. I’ve read The Accidental Tourist. Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you for giving me the night off.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck.” She gave him the thumbs up and walked in the direction they had come. He drove off with a wave and she softened, remembering the day he turned up on her doorstep and announced he was her new assistant. She was very lucky to have him, she knew it.

  At the cottage, she checked all the rooms, including the smallest one, but there was no sign of Matthew. Most likely he was still on his walking tour. She raided the fridge for a slice of tortilla and some tomato salad with a side of pan Catalan, taking it out into the garden with a glass of rosé. While eating, she opened her laptop and searched for the details of the Palliser family funeral the following day. Eleven o’clock in the village nearest to their estate. Now that Quintana had all the facts, she and Theo could merely attend in the background and report back to the Moffatts. With a quick message to Theo containing all the details, she was officially finished for the day. She checked her watch again and decided to call Matthew and find out where he was.

  A second after the ring tone began in her ear, it reverberated from their bedroom. She went inside and sure enough, Matthew’s mobile was lying on the bedside table, lit up and vibrating, announcing her call. He was the most exasperating man. After all these years she spent trying to convince him to get a smartphone, he either ignored it, left it behind or accidentally called her, Tanya, the delicatessen or one of his friends in Rome. She lost count of the number of times her mobile had rung, showing his name as the caller. When she picked up, alarmed, wondering what the emergency might be she could only hear a muffled rustling from inside his pocket.

  No matter, she knew where he was going. She could simply follow in his footsteps. She cleaned up her crockery after her late lunch, found her hat and went out once more into the streets of Deià.

  The place all guided tours began from was Deià’s tourist office, housed in the same building as the council. Unlike the tourist bureau in Port de Sóller where Nuria Quintana worked, this place had already closed. Maybe they didn’t even open on Sunday. Beatrice frowned and looked at the offerings pasted in the window. She saw it almost immediately.

  Walking tour on the trail of Robert Graves. Spanish/English speaking guide, duration two hours. Assemble outside this office at 14.00. Cost: 20€ (including entry to museum).

  Two hours? It was now twenty to six. Matthew should have been home an hour and a half ago. She pulled up the map on her phone and located the Robert Graves Museum. It was a short walk from the town but Beatrice noted from the website that it closed at five o’clock. Perhaps he’d got chatting to someone on the tour and gone for a drink and some tapas. She followed the directions, checking the patrons of cafés and bars to see if she could spot his distinctive fedora. By the time she had walked all the way to the Graves house and back again, the clocks were striking six.

  Where would he have gone? Did he forget Theo’s date and go to the hotel, expecting dinner? No, Matthew always changed for dinner if they were going out or had guests. There was always the possibility he had got lost again, although the distance to the tourist office from their cottage was only a touch longer than the stroll to the bakery. If only the bloody man had taken his mobile. Beatrice stood in the doorway of the cottage looking out at the street, at a loss as to what to do next. She was tempted to call Theo, but decided against it, giving the man a genuine night off.

  Finally, she realised it was pointless to wander about the streets in search of him and returned to the cottage. She sat in the garden with another glass of wine, waiting for him to come home.

  Chapter 22

  Beatrice jerked awake at the sound of her mobile. The sky was growing dusky and when she picked up her device, she saw it was already ten to eight. Philly’s name was on Caller Display.

  “Hello, Philly?”

  “Beatrice! My dear girl. Am I interrupting you in something dreadfully important? It’s just I thought you should know that Matthew is here. He, Raf and Hoagy had a few drinks this afternoon and I’m sorry to say they are rather the worse for wear. I thought I might feed them something stodgy in the hope of sobering them up. I don’t want to interrupt whatever it is you’re doing, but if you are free, would you like to join us? Do bring your fabulous assistant; he’s awfully easy on the eye.”

  Beatrice sat up, rubbing her face. “Matthew is with you? I’ve been sitting here waiting for him. Philly, we don’t need to impose on you for dinner. I’ll come and fetch him and take him down the road to the place that does the whitebait.”

  “Oh my God, they’re cracking open the brandy. Beatrice, I have to put a stop to this. Come up here and we can decide whether to cook or break up the party. Frankly, a strong female hand is required and you and I are both up to the challenge. See you in a bit. Bring Theo!”

  What the hell was he doing getting drunk with Hoagy and Raf when he should have been exploring the stomping grounds of a twentieth-century poet? Beatrice brushed her hair, washed her face and headed up the hill towards the Moffatts’ villa.

  The dogs greeted her as the gate opened and the sound of raucous, drunken male laughter echoed from the patio. Her molars pressed together, helping her control a growing anger. She walked straight past the three men, ignoring their calls of greeting, and found Philly in the kitchen, boiling a huge vat of pasta.

  “You angel! I couldn’t cope with those old farts on my own but I daren’t leave them because they’ll crack open the spirits and things will get extremely messy. Thank you so much for coming. I thought carbs might be the order of the day, you know, soak up all that alcohol. It’s really nothing special but if you and Matthew would like to join us, your company would be most welcome.”

  The dogs paced around Beatrice as if protecting her. “Philly, you’re extremely kind but I really think I should take him home. To be honest, he’s incredibly starstruck around Hoagy and Raf too, for that matter. Whatever either of them suggests, he will follow. In addition to that, it’s incredibly rude to turn up at your house expecting dinner. It’s better if I take him home.”

  A huge cloud of steam engulfed Philly’s head as she drained a pan of spaghetti. “It’s ready now. Let’s eat, then I’ll kick Raf out, insist Hoagy goes to bed and you can drag Matthew home by the scruff. This is over and above the call of duty, my dear, but I really would appreciate your help in managing those three drunken sots. Sorry, one of them is your other half.”

  “He is indeed. Both my other half and an easily influenced old sot. Do you have any sauce to go with this?”

  “In the microwave. It’s out of the jar but who gives a monkey’s? Certainly not those three. Let’s feed them and if we can get a word in edgeways, perhaps we can have a chat. There’s a packet of Parmesan in the fridge. Where’s Theo?”

  “He’s ... still gathering information. Shall I bring the peppermill?”

  The bowls of pasta were received warmly and all three men fell on their plates as if ravenous. Philly rolled her eyes at Beatrice and asked her about the progress of the case. Beatrice gave vague yet positive replies. Even if Hoagy was picking up the bill for her work, there were limits as to what she was prepared to share.

  “Theo and I are going to the funeral tomorrow. I hope to speak to a couple of people and after that, I’m going to write up a full report. Depending on what the police choose to do with our information, it’s possible my task is complete. At this point, and I know it sounds coy, I’d rather say no more for fear of appearing unprofessional.”

  “Funeral?” asked Matthew. “Whose funeral? Was I invited?”

  Beatrice looked at him, flecks of tomato sauce all over his white shirt, hair mussed, eyes glazed, and resolved to remove him the minute he had finished what was on his plate.

  “Of course you’re invited,” Raf said, placing a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “We’re all going to pay our reshpects to Romy and her family.” Raf’s usual clipped diction was blurred around the edges.

  A sudden clatter made everyone turn. Hoagy had dropped his fork and was shaking his head. “Not me. I’m not going, I can’t face it. Her family, all those memories of the girl, I simply cannot do it. Top me up there, Philly?”

  With practised nonchalance, Philly poured water into Hoagy’s wine glass while distracting his attention with a question. “I perfectly understand why you don’t want to go, but would you have any objection to my attending the ceremony? Do eat, Hoagy, I hate making food for people who leave it. Eat!”

  Hoagy stabbed at some pasta with his fork. “Is that what you want? I mean, you’ll have the worst, most hostile reception from the family, locals and media. There is no way on God’s earth I would attend the ceremony for exactly those reasons, but you are made of sterner stuff. Not only that, but you’ll have Raf, Matthew and Beatrice by your side. Are you any closer, Beatrice? Do you have a clue who killed my lovely muse?” He took a long draught from his glass, apparently unaware it was eighty percent water.

  Matthew’s eyes were drooping and Beatrice could take no more. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, after the funeral. Philly, that was a lovely meal and exactly what we needed. Thank you so much for cooking and hosting tonight’s dinner. As I said earlier, I will deliver my report once I have consulted with the police. Now, I would like to take Matthew home so we can rest and recuperate before the big event. Goodnight, Raf, goodnight, Hoagy and goodnight, Philly.” She looked directly into the other woman’s eyes. “You are very kind.”

  “I’ll walk you to the gates,” said Philly. Hoagy got up and staggered into the house with an apparent urgency. Beatrice suspected his goal was the bathroom. Raf tucked his arm under Matthew’s and helped him to his feet. The dogs at their heels, they made slow progress towards the gates.

  Philly lowered her voice. “I won’t press you, but do you think you know who did it?”

  “I’m an ex-detective with the London Met. I will point no fingers until I’m absolutely sure there’s a watertight case against whoever I’m accusing. All I have here is a third-hand conversation and no confirmatory proof. This could be nothing at all and you should prepare yourself for that eventuality. Goodnight, Philly, and thank you for managing all this mess.”

  Raf and Matthew caught up with them. Matthew embraced Philly effusively and chuntered on about the pasta. Beatrice shook Raf’s hand and thanked him for his help. To her surprise, Raf drew her closer and placed a kiss on each cheek. He took the opportunity to murmur in her ear.

  “I hope I’m not shpeaking out of turn, but here’s my doctor’s card. He is an expert in treating Alzheimer’s patients.” He hiccupped. “You may have no need of it, but having seen the shymptoms in my sister, it might be useful. I’m very shorry. Really, so sorry.”

  Unable to speak, Beatrice took the card, nodded to Raf and Philly, and manoeuvred Matthew out of the gates. Smiles and waves took the place of verbal farewells. They strolled down the hill, arm in arm, Matthew waxing lyrical about the town, the company and the cottage.

  “Matthew? Where did you meet Hoagy and Raf? I thought you were doing a guided tour this afternoon.”

  He rested his head on hers. “So I did! It was marvellous. You would have loved it, Old Thing. The gardens are simply sublime and the whole place, as everyone says, looks like he’s just popped out for a few minutes. Perfectly preserved. You could go tomorrow, unless you prefer the beach again?”

  She stopped and faced him. “I asked you a question. Where did you meet Raf and Hoagy?”

  Matthew gazed at her, his eyes trying to focus. “I can’t recall. Oh, wait, yes. They drove past as I was leaving the tourist office and invited me for one of those drinks, what is it? Herbie something, taste of aniseed. Jolly tasty, you should try one. Raf has an old Jag, did you know? Yes, so we had a few drinks, went back to Hoagy’s villa and had a few more. Raf gave me a guided tour of Hoagy’s studio. Fascinating to see the paintings in the flesh, so to speak. We were just about to round the afternoon off with a brandy when you popped up, which was handy.”

  Beatrice walked on, leaving Matthew to catch up. When they arrived at the cottage, he crashed headlong onto the bed and immediately began snoring. Normally when he dozed off after a few too many, Beatrice would attempt to wake him up and make him clean his teeth before bed. Tonight she only took off his shoes and flung her half of the duvet over his fully clothed body. Then she took a blanket and went into the living room to think.

  Chapter 23

  It was three o’clock in the morning when Adrian finally went to bed. He’d finished an entire bottle of wine on his own and fallen asleep on the sofa. When he awoke, he assumed Will must have arrived while he was sleeping. But a glance out of the window showed no sign of the Audi and the bedroom was empty. He washed his face, cleaned his teeth, dropped his clothes into the laundry basket, set his alarm and got under the duvet to stare at the ceiling.

  Where the hell was he? Will had a few friends in the force he might have gone to visit, but most of them lived the other side of London in places like Chiswick or Putney. Even if he’d gone to a pub to drown his sorrows, closing time was four hours ago. Unless he’d met a guy in a bar, poured his heart out, said ‘my husband doesn’t understand me’ and gone home with someone willing. Why would he stay out all night if not to worry or hurt Adrian?

  He turned over to face the window, feeling sick and furious. They both had to go to work in the morning and he was likely to turn up for his first day at work in two weeks hungover and lacking sleep. A great look for the boss. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “This is all your fault, William Quinn. This is on you.”

  At quarter to eight, the alarm woke him from a strange dream about climbing mountains. Will’s side of the bed was still empty. Adrian checked his phone and the landline for any messages, but other than ‘Hope you got home safely’ from Tanya, there was nothing. He went through his morning routine as usual and left the house an hour earlier than usual at half past eight. He considered leaving a note, but what would it say? On the bus to Shoreditch, he allowed himself to consider the worst-case scenario. If he hadn’t gone to see a mate or picked up a one-night stand in a bar, perhaps he’d had an accident. The police might be knocking on Adrian’s door at this exact moment, looking for next of kin.