There was no point in arguing. Adrian said his goodbyes, exchanged numbers with Buster and Mac, then allowed Luke to drag him away in the direction of Beatrice’s cottage. By the set of Will’s back, he knew he was in trouble.

  They ate pasta with some red sauce at the kitchen table, Luke entertaining them with a long story about a prank his class had played on their headmaster. The minute dinner was over, Will asked Adrian to clear up while he got Luke prepared for the next day. Luke came to kiss him goodnight and he hugged the boy warmly.

  “Sleep well, Little Monster.”

  “Sleep well, Monster Munch.” Luke grinned at Adrian’s mock outrage and scuttled out of the kitchen, giggling.

  He listened to them creaking about upstairs, asking and answering questions about books, gym kit and permission slips. There was a lot of laughter. Adrian checked his phone. No news from Beatrice but a message from Catinca.

  Got interview for well massive commission! B-list sleb is getting married – can’t say Who but that’s no typo %)! Can I use your wedding photos for portfolio? You having fun playing Daddies? Miss you two. Catinca xoxoxox

  He was smiling as he wrote a reply.

  Use whatever you want. Good luck! Country life is so me. Daddy so not. Miss you too. Ax

  He heard Will wish Luke goodnight and wondered if there was anything decent on television. When he looked up, Will was standing in the doorway, looking at the dirty plates and messy table.

  “Oh, yes, sorry. I was supposed to clean up. I’ll do it now.” He rubbed his hands together, as if he meant business.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll clear up, prepare Luke’s breakfast and lunchbox, feed the animals and put the dishwasher on. Why don’t you go watch TV?”

  His dismissive tone stung. “I was just replying to Catinca. She asked if she could use our wedding photos for her portfolio. She has a celebrity client!”

  Will kept his back to him as he scraped leftovers into the bin. “What did you say in reply?”

  “I said use whatever you want. Listen to this, she gave me a clue as to who it is.”

  Will exhaled sharply. “You gave permission for her to use our wedding photographs without consulting me?”

  “Why not?” Adrian lifted his shoulders. “It’s Catinca. What is the matter with you today?”

  “With me?” Will paced across the kitchen like a panther and gripped the arms of Adrian’s chair. “You don’t seem to give a shit about the responsibilities we took on. Yesterday you got pissed with two strangers. Today you didn’t go to the supermarket as I asked you and spent the afternoon in the pub. I’m taking care of Luke and the animals and the house while you’re behaving like you’re on holiday.”

  Adrian glared at Will and looked pointedly at his hands, still gripping the chair and trapping Adrian. Will moved away.

  Adrian got to his feet and yelled. “I AM on holiday!”

  With a splayed left palm, Will shut him up. “There is a child in bed, trying to get some sleep. I won’t let you upset him with one of your tantrums. We agreed to step in while Beatrice ...”

  “No, we didn’t.” Adrian hissed. “You did. What the hell do you mean, ‘one of my tantrums’? Don’t patronise me, William Quinn, because I’m not having it. Obviously I wanted to support Beatrice and accepted our holiday wouldn’t be quite as we’d planned. What I didn’t expect was you turning into Mary fucking Poppins and lecturing me about what I can and can’t do while we look after a friend’s kid. I’m not auditioning for the role of Perfect Dad. Are you?”

  Will stared at him. “Maybe you should go to bed and sleep it off.”

  “You’re sending me to my room? Seriously? Go to hell!”

  Adrian picked up his jacket.

  “You are not going out.” Will’s whisper was midway between a question and an order.

  “Get it right, Pops. If you want to play Happy Families, I think you’ll find your line is ‘You’re not going out dressed like that’. Yes, I’m going out. And in the spirit of Happy Families, don’t wait up.”

  He closed the front door gently behind him, so as not to wake Luke. This situation wasn’t the kid’s fault. The blame lay one hundred percent with Will. He strode out of the driveway and headed down the lane towards The Angel.

  Chapter 12

  Nirvana was not easy to find. Beatrice walked past it three times before resorting to the Get Directions feature on her phone. Eventually she realised the little door beside the greengrocer had a nameplate. Nirvana – Yoga and Pilates Studio. She opened the door and ascended the stairs. At the top, a door bearing the same information as the plate below opened into an anteroom with coat hooks and shelves. Beyond was a large airy room with Venetian blinds throwing horizontal patterns across the wooden floor. She spotted two pairs of shoes lined up by the door and took off her trainers.

  “Hello? Anyone at home?”

  At the other end of the room, a blonde head popped round the door. “Can I help? Church doesn’t start till six today.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to disturb you. My name is Beatrice Stubbs. I’m a private investigator looking into the unexpected death of your colleague, Romy Palliser. You must be Miranda Flynn.”

  The woman came out from behind the door, closing it behind her. She moved with a dancer’s grace across the floor, her hand outstretched. “Pleased to meet you. I’ll do anything I can to help. We’re all in shock at what happened.” Her grip was strong and her expression grave. She wasn’t attractive in an obvious way, but she exuded a certain confidence Beatrice could imagine being effective when she was teaching.

  “That’s understandable. I just wanted to find out a few things about Romy as a person. You operated this business together?”

  “Past tense is correct. When Romy took up the role of however-you-want-to-describe-it with the Moffatts, she quit teaching and pulled out of the whole operation. I had to find another investor as well as a new yogi to handle her classes. I don’t mind admitting we had a major fight over that.” She sniffed. “I hadn’t got around to apologizing before she died. I regret it now. It seems so petty.”

  “What about Romy’s family? You and her brother are an item, I hear.”

  Her face softened. “Greg and I have been dating for over a year. I’m crazy about him. He lives out at their parents’ house because they’re usually in Bermuda. They’re flying in tomorrow because of what happened. He’s a bit younger than me, so I wasn’t sure we had much of a future, but just recently, we decided to move in together.”

  “Congratulations. What does Greg do for a living?”

  “He’s had a few different jobs, but only since we’ve been together has he learned his true calling. He founded a church, called ‘The One Truth’. It’s based on humanist teachings and the power of meditation. We have meetings three times a week, here, and he already has a following of thousands of people around the world. A lot of people who come here on holiday convert to the faith and he holds online courses or even one-to-one consultations so they can maintain their discipline. He’s amazing.”

  Beatrice bit her lip. Her experience of new religions had not been positive. But more of immediate interest was how forthcoming and well-rehearsed this woman’s answers were. “How interesting. But can one make money out of founding a church?”

  “Oh yes. He makes most of his money through his courses. Greg’s such an inspiring speaker, you should hear him. His flock tend to be pretty wealthy and what he charges for his consultations contributes to the church fund so that he can continue to spread the word. He’ll be here in around half an hour to prepare for this evening’s meeting. He can tell you more about it then. He’s very open about what he does.”

  “And what about you? Are you part of the church?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve never really felt the need for faith before but you know what? Now I don’t know where I’d be without it. I grew up in Boston in a typically Calvinist kind of family where church was something to be endured. Greg has opened my eyes to what was missing from my world outlook. You can attend a meeting if you want. It could change your life.”

  “I’ll think about that. Do you make a decent living from yoga teaching?”

  She shrugged, her blue eyes downcast. “I get by. Yoga and Pilates classes are one string to my bow but I’m also a qualified masseuse, so I work in the hotel spa two days a week. Hot stones, deep tissue, aromatherapy, Reiki and Alexander technique, I can turn my hand to most kinds of therapy.”

  “What was Romy’s role in your business?”

  A shadow crossed her face. “We were supposed to be partners, renting this space and taking turns to run classes. But when she bailed on me, I had all these people signed up for her Hot Yoga sessions and no one to teach them. She had a different kind of training to me. No way could I teach her stuff.”

  “Do you know if Romy had any enemies? Someone with a grudge against her?”

  The blonde head shook. “She was Miss Popularity. Men all desired her and women wanted to befriend her. Redheads have a reputation for passion, but that was something she lacked completely. She never made any enemies because she just wouldn’t argue. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who avoided conflict of any kind. Even her ex-boyfriend speaks well of her. The only person I can think of who can’t stand her doesn’t really know her. The girl who was Alexander Moffatt’s previous inspiration was pretty vicious about her replacement, but to my knowledge, they hadn’t even spoken.”

  “Her ex-boyfriend. What would his name be and why did they split up?”

  “Juan Carlos Mendez. He lives in Port de Sóller. I can find his number for you, if you like. I don’t know why they split, but I assume it was to do with her role at the Moffatts. It was a bizarro set-up, everyone thought so. How his wife can tolerate that amazes me. Having an affair is one thing, but to move her into your home? A step too far, in my opinion.”

  “You seem very confident the relationship was sexual.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows. “Have you seen those paintings of his muses?”

  Beatrice chose not to mention what had happened to Hoagy’s artwork. “No, I haven’t. I confess I’m not particularly a fan. What did you …”

  The door to the studio opened and a young strawberry-blond man stood framed in the doorway. Beatrice’s first impression was of a convalescent. His skin seemed papery and white, his eyes hollow and cheekbones sharp. Despite the weather, he was dressed in corduroy trousers and a fisherman’s sweater. He knelt to unlace his brogues and gave her a beatific smile.

  “Well, well! Somebody is keen.”

  “Greg, this is Beatrice Stubbs, a private investigator. She’s not here about the church, but about Romy.”

  He froze in the act of shucking off his shoes. “A private investigator? Sorry? Who hired you to investigate my sister’s death?” He pulled himself up to his full height and gave her a cold glare.

  “Alexander Moffatt, actually. He and his wife are concerned that the police are not treating this case with the professionalism it deserves and asked if I could help. I would just like to say I’m extremely sorry for your loss. You and your family have my most sincere condolences.”

  “Thank you.” He flicked a glance at Miranda. “We agreed that when talking to the police we would do so together, Rand.”

  Miranda pouted. “But she’s not the police.”

  Beatrice studied him and his public school looks. His body language was affectedly casual, hands in the pockets of his cords as if he were strolling along the banks of the River Cam. “As Ms Flynn states, I’m not police and have no authority to command you to speak to me. Although I would have thought it was in your interests to find who killed your sister. Personally, I’m quite happy to speak to you together or separately. I would also like to understand a little more about your church.”

  It was a pathetically obvious attempt at getting him onside but to her astonishment, it appeared to work.

  “If you are genuinely interested in our faith, the best way of understanding the tenets upon which our belief system is based, you should stay for the service. Talk to my congregation, engage with my guided meditation and keep an open mind. If you still want to speak to me afterwards, I’ll be happy to talk to you, as I would any other member of my flock. The first attendance is free, although any donations to the cause are always welcome. Now I need to take a few moments to prepare myself. There’s a little coffee shop directly opposite so why don’t you go get yourself a drink and come back in twenty minutes?” In his socks, he padded across to the door Miranda had emerged from and disappeared.

  Beatrice hitched a handbag onto her shoulder. She gave Miranda a smile, trying to convey both apology and understanding in one expression. “How long do these meetings last? Just because my assistant is due to arrive shortly.”

  Miranda’s focus was on the closed door at the other end of the room. “Um, around two hours, maybe more if people have questions. I have to go now.”

  Beatrice puffed out a deep breath. Two hours? “In that case, I won’t be able to stay. Perhaps you could just tell me where you were on Monday night and Tuesday morning?”

  “Greg and I were at my apartment. It’s upstairs, on the floor above this. After my last class, we went down to Sa Fonda and had a few drinks. It’s a good place to go celeb spotting but on Monday, it was half empty and dull. We came home and had an early night. The next morning, we got up around nine and went to the café over the road for some breakfast.”

  “Thank you. You have a very good memory for detail. I appreciate your talking to me. Here’s my card. Perhaps you could send me the ex-boyfriend’s number.”

  “Yes, of course. Excuse me, I must go help Greg.” She covered the length of the room in four long strides.

  Beatrice replaced her shoes and went back out into the street, considering the two people she had just met. Flaky? Certainly. Murderers? They were rather peculiar, so it wouldn’t hurt to check out their backgrounds. She rooted about in her handbag, found her phone and called Theo.

  At ten past six, Beatrice was thanking her lucky stars. Instead of listening to some half-baked guru dispensing wisdom to a group of gullible and wealthy supplicants, she was on a hotel terrace with a martini and a panorama of the sea, waiting for her assistant. Tanya, Gabriel and Matthew were en route from the northernmost peak of the island and the plan was to gather for dinner and collaborate on a strategy. An instinct made her turn and she shielded her eyes from the sun as Theo loped across the terrace, his grin wide.

  She stood to embrace him and assessed how he looked. Their most recent case in Finland had taken its toll, but here he was, glowing with health and apparently ready for action.

  “Theo, my saviour! I really can’t thank you enough for dashing to the airport while you were supposed to take a week’s recuperation. Are you truly recovered or do we need to do a fit-for-purpose test à la James Bond?”

  “My pleasure, M.” He sank into the chair opposite, his eyes warm and shirt loud. “As for martinis, I’ll have mine stirred.”

  She signalled to the waiter to bring a second martini and gave all her attention to the man opposite. As did half the occupants of the terrace. Beatrice had encountered many beautiful people in her time, but Theo brought something else. He commanded attention simply by being. Beatrice wondered if he could teach her that essence and dismissed the thought in an instant.

  “Nice shirt. Let me guess, an original Radu.”

  “Wild, isn’t it? She let me keep one after I did a modelling shoot for her. From her ‘Artiste’ collection. This design is called ‘Luxe, Calme et Volupté’ from the Matisse range. Can you believe I’m sitting here in Deià wearing designer clothes and about to drink a martini? Wait, I forgot my shades.” He slipped on a pair of Ray-Bans and Beatrice chortled in delight.

  “I’d better get out the way or risk getting trampled by all your admirers. Whereas I caught the sun pottering around the streets and the only thing that makes me stand out is my red hooter. Are you ready to talk business?”

  The waiter placed Theo’s cocktail on the table along with a small bowl of nuts.

  “I am now. Cheers! So what have you got so far?”

  She brought him up to speed with a mixture of facts, opinion and impressions. Theo listened, asked questions and took notes. She studied his face as he re-read his own handwriting. His black plaits had been redone since their Finnish case, his skin showed hardly any bruises or scratches from his cave rescue and his eyes were as bright as ever. But some sort of shadow hung over him.

  “Theo, are you truly ready to return to the fray? Do you still want this job now you’ve seen how ugly it can get? Be honest, that’s all I ask.”

  His gaze remained on the paper in front of him as he nodded his head. “I still want this job because I think I’m going to be good at it.” He looked up. “Eventually.”

  “You’ve worked with me on fewer than half a dozen cases and I can already tell you’re good at it. I trust you completely. The one thing I know from my time at the Met is the fact that dealing with suspicion, infidelity, fraud, corruption, jealousy, murder and abuse can get under your skin. You’re going to need some armour.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He pressed his forefingers to his temples. “I’m working on it. This place helps. There’s something in the air, you know?” His gesture encompassed the view of green hills, the distant beach and acres of Madonna-blue sky. “Whoa! It’s the happy couple!”

  He stood up to embrace Tanya, whose hair was shower damp and her skin sun-kissed. Gabriel stood behind her, his face wreathed in smiles. Beatrice looked past them to Matthew who had bent to address a retriever beneath the table of another guest. He gave the impression of being relaxed and in fine spirits. She went to greet him.

  “Did you have a nice afternoon, my love?” she asked, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

  “It was quite out of the ordinary, I must say. This is a part of the world I had quite overlooked and wish I had not. You and I must go to the coast, Old Thing. Your jaw will drop, it’s that spectacular.” He smiled at the retriever’s owners. “Kalispera. You see, it’s fine to bring dogs here. Huggy Bear would love this place.”