When in Bruges (Humorous Romantic Mystery) (18 page)

K
ate was packing
up her meager belongings with a heavy heart, when a discrete knock sounded. Looking up, she saw it was Queenie. Feeling quite miserable, talking to someone—
anyone
—was about the last thing Kate wanted, so she didn’t really jump with joy at the sight of her hostess.

“Sorry about this, Queenie. But I’m sure you’ll find someone else for the room soon enough. It being the high season and all…”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said Queenie, an uncharacteristic frown marring her usually cheerful face. “It was wonderful to have you, Kate, and I do hope you’ll be back soon.”

“I don’t think so,” said Kate, as she transferred her underwear from the closet to her trunk. “I’ve seen about all of Belgium I can stand.”

“Things didn’t work out the way you planned?” said Queenie, taking a seat on the bed.

“Not exactly.”

“Plans often don’t,” said Queenie with a sigh, as one who knew from experience. “I remember this one time I’d planned to bake a cake, and though I was quite sure I had all the ingredients, when I had my batter all ready to go, I discovered I’d forgotten to buy butter.” She pursed her lips. “So I had to use oil instead. I could have popped over to the store to buy butter, but my dough had already been resting far too long.”

Though this cake story was probably intended to cheer her up, Kate only felt annoyance. “I can see how that must have upset you,” she said with a touch of impatience.

“Oh, it most certainly did,” said Queenie, flashing those big, innocent eyes at her. “But you know what? In the end, it all came out right. You see, I’d never used oil before to bake a cake. It wasn’t in the recipe book my dear, dear grandmother gave me when I first set up house, so I never tried. It tasted different, of course, but quite delicious.” And with a cheery smile, she concluded, “So you see, even if things don’t go as planned, sometimes it’s all for the best.”

“Right,” grumbled Kate, who really had no patience for cake stories.

“Don’t forget this, dear,” said Queenie, handing her a picture frame. Kate took it and stared at it for a moment. It was Piet and Jacqueline’s wedding photo from all those years ago. She didn’t know why she’d kept it. Probably because she still harbored a faint hope that her parents would get back together again. Romantic nonsense, of course. She flung the picture unceremoniously into her trunk. It collided with her toiletry kit, and a piece of paper fell from it. Frowning in frustration, she picked it up so she could put the thing back together again, but then noticed it wasn’t a picture but a letter of some kind.

Turning the picture frame over, she saw that the letter must have gotten caught in the metal clips fastening the cardboard to the rest of the frame.

“Oh, don’t you hate it when that happens?” remarked Queenie. “Probably housekeeping must have bundled up the picture and the letter while they were cleaning your nightstand. I’ll have to give them a good talking-to.”

“Thanks,” said Kate absently, opening the letter.

“Well,” said Queenie, getting up, “I’ll leave you to your packing, honey. Let me know when you need the taxi, all right?”

“Sure thing,” mumbled Kate, so focused on the mysterious letter that she hadn’t heard a word the old lady said.

With a little smile, Queenie turned and left the room, leaving Kate to plunk down on the bed and start reading the letter.

B
eloved Kate
,

I
’m not
a poet or a literary man, so I hope you’ll forgive me for this feeble declaration of love. I’ve always looked askance at those who proclaim to have fallen in love at first sight. I always considered them fools and morons. Well, consider me a fool and a moron, for I’ve fallen in love at first sight for the first time in my life.

T
he moment
I laid eyes on you, Kate—was it only three days ago?—I knew you were the woman I’d love until the end of time, or at least until the end of my life. I never thought I’d say this—or write this—but I love you, Kate. My heart is yours to do with as you please, for I can think of no other purpose for it, than to lay it at your feet.

F
orever yours in love
,

C
hris

C
hris was having
a horrible time at the campaign fair. This time, Bruges’s Market Square was the center of attraction. Today, Saturday, was the last day of the campaign, and tonight the final event was to be held here, smack dab in the heart of Bruges.

Much was at stake, and though the candidates had officially adopted a bipartisan approach to the elections, tension was still rising as the final day drew to a close.

The square was dotted with stalls hawking their wares and merry-go-rounds and other carnival paraphernalia entertaining the young set.

Chris, who had vowed to keep a close eye on Jeanie, had been following the reality star around all afternoon, like a hunter stalking his prey. If that woman even dared to lay a hand on the candidates, Chris was ready to move in at a moment’s notice.

Furthermore, he had recruited both Kirt and Lauren to help him out. While Kirt trailed Jacques Van Damme, Lauren ran a close surveillance on Piet Peeters. With all their bases covered, Chris had to hope for the best.

The reason he was having a lousy time was not because Jeanie proved to be a pain in the ass—which she did—but because his heart ached terribly. For the second time he’d lost Kate, and this time, he felt, it was for good. He really didn’t know how to even begin making things up with her. Scenario after scenario had crossed his mind—from delivering a wagonload of flowers at her doorstep to serenading under her window—but all of them seemed inadequate to make amends for letting her down at a moment when she needed him most.

And when Jeanie appeared to try and shake him off by disappearing into a fortune teller’s tent and coming out donning a wig and kaftan, he groaned inwardly at fate, that fickle mistress.

It came as quite a shock to him, therefore, when suddenly his phone chirped and, when he picked up, discovered the word ‘Kate’ on the display. Answering the call, he was even more surprised when, instead of directing a steady stream of vituperation at him, she cooed like a turtle dove.

Well, perhaps not exactly cooed, but after the slap of their last meeting, the words, “Meet me behind the circus tent,” sounded like music to his ears.

Ten seconds later, he arrived behind the circus tent, and was gratified to find Kate waiting for him, eagerly tapping her foot and looking anxious and upset.

“Chris,” she said when she caught sight of him. “I wanted to—”

“Before you say anything,” he quickly interjected, “I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I should have stood by you from the moment you confronted Jeanie. I’m terribly, terribly sorry.”

“I just wanted to—”

But he held up a hand to silence her, and continued the speech he’d rehearsed a thousand times. “You expected me to have your back and I failed you miserably. All I can say is that I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I promise—”

“Chris, look here,” she said, a little exasperated.

“I promise,” he pressed on, raising his voice, “that it will never happen again. I’m here for you, Kate. I want you to trust me as your partner and from now on, whatever happens, you will always find me by your side, supporting you one hundred percent of the time.”

“You finished?” she said a little peevishly.

“I am,” he said, expecting the worst but hoping for the best. He’d said his say, and now it was up to her. He kept his fingers crossed, and prepared himself to grovel if groveling was what it would take to conciliate her and win back, if not her love, then at least her friendship.

“Fine. I read your note.”

“My note?” he said, puzzled. He couldn’t remember having sent her a note.

“The one you wrote six months ago at the Royal Metropolitan in New York.”

His eyes widened. “You found it? But how—where—when—”

“It got stuck behind my father’s wedding picture.”

“Your father’s…” Now he was completely baffled. What did her father’s wedding have to do with his note?

“I really don’t know how it happened, but somehow it must have gotten mixed up with my parents’ wedding picture that I always take with me wherever I go. Perhaps, like Queenie said—”

“Queenie?”

She flapped her arms around for a bit, then said, “Look, this would go a lot easier if you would just let me do the talking for a while, okay?”

Chris indicated his lips were sealed and the key in storage.

“Queenie said that housekeeping must have mixed up the frame and the letter when they were cleaning the nightstand. Of course, that didn’t happen here but in New York, but I can see that she might be right about—” Her eyes widened. “Queenie! She found it!” She smiled a wide smile. “That woman. She really is a miracle worker.”

Seeing her smile, Chris felt as if the sun suddenly broke through the clouds. Next thing he knew, she’d flung herself into his arms, and was showering kisses on his face.

“I read it and loved it, Chris,” she murmured. “I love you.”

“I, um…” he mumbled, momentarily taken aback. Then, gazing into those twin stars of eyes of hers, he quickly recovered, and covered her lips with his. “I love you, Kate,” he muttered. “I missed you so much.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I wanted to hate you but it was no use. I’m sorry, Chris. I behaved like a cavewoman. I should never have hit you. I just went completely nuts. Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “I should have backed you up. You had every right to be pissed.”

“No, I didn’t. I was a fool and an idiot.”

“No,
I
was a fool and an idiot.”

“Well, perhaps we’re both fools and idiots. Perhaps that’s why we fit together so well.”

“Like ham and eggs,” he said, suddenly remembering a good one.

“And peanut butter and jelly.”

“Cheese and crackers.”

“Laurel and Hardy.”

“And you and me,” he said, pressing a kiss on those luscious lips of hers.

When the kiss broke, she said, “Talking about Laurel and Hardy, I went over the campaign reports again,” abruptly introducing the business note in this tender lovers’ reunion. “And I think I know what Jeanie’s plan is. She’s going to blow up the candidates with an exploding pipe.”

“
T
hat’s exactly
what Hock said!” exclaimed Chris.

Kate had just finished telling him that among Jeanie’s more harebrained ideas discussed in previous campaign meetings, one stood out: she’d gone to some trouble to convince both men to smoke a peace pipe at the last stage of the campaign. It would not only symbolize their cooperation and newfound bond across party lines, but also a sign they’d finally stop bickering about her. After all, she was a free spirit, and didn’t want to be tied to just one man. If Jacques and Piet loved her, they’d smoke the pipe. If not, she’d sever relations with the both of them, and they’d never see her again.

“Hock had the same idea,” said Chris. “But Coleen shot him down.”

“You know what this means?” she said, punching him in the chest.

“That you and I are in perfect synchronicity!” he growled, and pulled her close for a sloppy kiss. When she finally resurfaced, her legs wobbly and a silly smile plastered across her face,” she said, “Well, there’s that, of course, but what’s more important: Hock and Jeanie are in this together! Must be. Why else would they both come up with this crazy pipe idea? I bet they’re going to stuff this pipe with enough explosives to permanently blow both candidates to the political afterlife.”

“We have to tell them,” said Chris. “I bet this time they’ll believe us.”

“Let’s hope so,” she said.

Together, they went in search of their dads. They found them on the merry-go-round, where they were both seated on the horses, and apparently trying to outgallop one another.

“Dad!” Kate waved.

When Piet saw her, his initial happy wave was quickly replaced by an uncomfortable frown when Van Damme saw her, too. He whispered something in Piet’s ear, and the next moment, they awkwardly clambered off their horses, and made their way over to them.

“What are you doing here, honey?” said Piet, after giving her a peck on the cheek. “You know that you shouldn’t involve yourself in the campaign anymore?”

“I know,” Kate said. “And I’m sorry about what happened with Jeanie. It’s just that Chris and I have discovered new proof that she—”

“Honey, you really have to get over this obsession with Jeanie,” said Piet a little sternly. “She’s a nice kid and she doesn’t deserve to be beaten to a pulp even if you don’t like her.”

“I didn’t beat her to a pulp,” Kate said, exasperated. “If I had, she wouldn’t be prancing around right now. She’d be in the hospital, or, better yet, in prison, where she belongs.”

“If you’re going to start hurling around baseless accusations again, young lady,” said Van Damme, who’d joined them, “I suggest you do it elsewhere.” And to Piet, he said, huffily, “I thought we agreed to keep her out of the campaign from now on, Piet?”

“We did,” said Piet. “Please, honey, just take the day off, all right? Today is the last day of the campaign and we really don’t want any more trouble.”

“I’m not the one causing trouble, dad!” Kate yelled. “She is!”

Jeanie had magically appeared, as if popping out of a trap, and now stood scowling at Kate from a safe distance. In spite of an inch-thick layer of make-up, the bruise where Kate’s fist had connected with her face was still visible.

“I really should call the police,” she said.

“No, Jeanie, no police!” said Jacques instantly.

“We’ll take care of this. You go on, now,” said Piet.

Far from going on, Jeanie stayed put, and scowled some more.

“Dad, we’ve just discovered that Hock and Jeanie are working together,” said Chris.

“Of course they are,” said Van Damme. “We’re all on the same team here, Chris, you know that.”

“Tell him about the pipe,” Kate said.

“Pipe?” said Piet. “What pipe?”

“The peace pipe Jeanie and Hock want you to smoke at the final ceremony.”

Jeanie suddenly piped up, “You know, it really isn’t fair that Piet’s daughter has been kicked off the campaign, but that your son is still free to stalk me, Jacques.”

Van Damme started violently. “You’ve been stalking Jeanie, Chris?”

“Listen, dad,” Chris said, placing his hand on his old man’s shoulder and massaging it gently. “Jeanie’s bad news, see? So of course I’m keeping an eye on her.”

“You know, Van Damme,” said Piet suddenly, “I don’t know if Jeanie’s not right. It’s really not fair for my daughter to be banned from the campaign while your son is free to harass perfectly innocent girls.”

“Yes, Chris,” said Van Damme, shaking off his son’s hand. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing. You’re supposed to watch out for my safety, not stalk Jeanie.”

“I’m not stalking her, dad,” said Chris, exasperated.

“I think it’s best if you don’t involve yourself in the campaign anymore, son,” Van Damme said decidedly. “From now on, I’m sorry to say that you’re relieved of your duties.”

“But, dad!” said Chris. “Hock and Jeanie—”

“Enough with this foolishness!” snapped Van Damme, and promptly turned his back and stalked off.

“Sorry, honey,” said Piet, patting Kate on the back. “It’s all for the best. Tomorrow this will all be over and you and I will have a good, long chat, mh?”

“But, dad, you’re in danger!”

“Of course, honey,” said Piet vaguely. “Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to circulate.”

And before she could put in another word, Kate’s dad hurried away after Van Damme.

“Wait for me, Piet!” squeaked Jeanie, tripping after him. Then, snapping her head around, she said, “I’m going to file for a restraining order against you, you—you—you crazy person!”

For a moment, neither Chris nor Kate spoke, then they both let out a long sigh.

“That went well,” said Chris under his breath.

“What are we going to do now?” she said, watching a circus clown entertain a small gaggle of children nearby.

“One way or another, we’re going to save our dads,” Chris said, and Kate admired his tenacity.

“I’ve never known two men who were so hard to protect,” she said.

He took her in his arms. “We’ll find a way,” he said. “Whether those two old fools want to or not, we’ll find a way to save their asses.”

Just then, his phone chirped. He fished it out of his pocket and frowned. “Coleen,” he said. “What does she want?”

“Old girlfriend?” Kate said with a touch of jealousy.

He grinned. “Coleen Budget? She works for my dad?”

“Oh, right,” she said, blushing. “Well? What does she want?”

“She wants to meet. Right now.”