Page 21 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘What is it, Viviane?’ Zephyr says, over the top of her book, surveying me in my jittery state. ‘You can break the no-talking rule, it’s not really a rule, is it?’

‘It really is.’ I can’t get lax about that now or it’ll be a free-for-all. Do I share my worries with them? I don’t want mass panic. I definitely cannot handle any high-pitched screaming. I weigh that up against the alternative and decide breaking the rules is necessary and I’ll have to weather any fallout. I consult my watch. ‘OK, I have to share something with you, but I call for calm, OK?’ The book club members nod. ‘It’s precisely 4.27 and Lucinda isn’t here.’

I wait for histrionics. There are none. A yell. A scream. Hands cupped over open mouths. Instead, they give me blank stares, even Tiago, who should really understand what this is all about.

‘And … ?’ old Albert says. ‘You’re not going to make a rule about punctuality too, are you? I sure as hell don’t want book club becoming some kind of nanny state. What’s next, book club bylaws?’

Tiago’s expression hardens while mine becomes rather flummoxed. How can everyone be so calm when Lucinda foreshadowed this herself? ‘That’s a bit much, mate,’ Tiago says to old Albert. Is he coming to my defence?

‘Albert, your concerns are noted, but we have bigger problems than nanny states and bylaws. Did you not all hear Lucinda announce that the only way she’ll miss book club is if she’s dead? And here she is …’ I drop my voice for effect ‘… missing.’

Tiago gives me a supportive eyebrow raise, it’s a touch flirtatious or perhaps I’m reading it wrong in the moment. Thomas doesn’t lift his head from his Crimean War hardback. Zephyr tilts her head to one side. And old Albert folds his arms over his belly. ‘So?’ he says with a dismissive chortle.

‘So? So! Do you not think that’s worrying?’

Zephyr has the audacity to pat my hand as if I’m a little old lady who has lost her marbles and she’s humouring me. ‘She’s probably lost track of time. It’s a sunny day and she is lowkey obsessed with her garden … It’s kinda cute you care though.’

Dare I tell them about the phone call? The kill list? They’re giving me looks verging on pitying, as if I’m overwrought for no good reason. Their perfectly innocent faces almost undo me. Perhaps I’ll hold off sharing anything more for now until I have further proof.

But I can question them and see if they have any intel that might help point me in the right direction. I really do need a co-captain to jolly along beside me and help to crack the case. Tiago is going to have to officially become the Dr Alexander to my Amber Quill. A thrill races through me, which I tamp down as it’s uncouth to revel in a new friend’s murder plot.

‘Who is Lucinda, really?’ I try to rally the troops and get a couple of frowns in return. ‘Did anyone catch which way she walked home? Her surname? Anything?’ Desperation leaks from my voice at their lack of response.

Zephyr blows a black curl from her forehead. ‘No idea. I did hear her on the phone though, she said something about finding people for a focus group.’

‘A focus group?’ Tiago queries. ‘So, she must work in market research or product development?’

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man with the blue beret. The person who knocked into me outside once. He was here the week before that too. This must be his local, my mother did say I was great with patterns, and here’s one to make note of. The man is doing his best to listen without appearing to listen. It’s all in the body language, the way he leans forward at an odd angle, how he quickly averts his gaze when I train mine his way. Suspicious.

Out of an abundance of caution, it’s best he doesn’t hear anything else about our missing book club member. The man could be anyone. His description is going in the notebook of mysteries, and his name shall now be capitalised in the manner befitting a person of interest. ‘Right, well, thanks for listening and now let’s read in silence.’

Tiago gives me a thumbs-up.

We wait the designated two hours and there is no sign of Lucinda. Tiago spends an inordinate amount of the session sending me long looks, that I just do not have time to decipher right now but have a feeling only mean one thing. I push it aside. In the anatomy of a whodunnit, our missing book club member would be the first clue that soon the crime itself is going to take place … or that it already has. Am I too late to stop Lucinda doing something she will surely regret?

Chapter Eleven

‘Wait, Vi, Viviane! I’ll walk with you, just for a bit. If that’s all right with you?’

Tiago’s determined, I’ll give him that. Secretly, I’m thrilled. I’m quite capable of solving the Lucinda mystery myself, since my book club members aren’t taking it seriously, but having a sidekick is de rigueur in the genre. And clearly my whodunnit senses twitched for very good reason, as this time there really is a mystery afoot.

I’m practically fizzing with excitement. We need to save Lucinda from herself. I’ll need a faithful sidekick and Tiago fits the bill. He’s thrown me with all the attention directed at me. I’ll be honest, it’s not every day this kind of carry-on happens off the page in my life.

I stop under the shade of an olive tree. First, for both our benefits I should address the situation at hand, the many starry-eyed glances Tiago threw my way did not go unnoticed. I copyedit for a bevy of highly acclaimed romance writers and have seen this played out in many a romantic comedy.

Tiago fits neatly into the guy-falls-first category as the loveable boy-next-door archetype, the cinnamon-roll hero who is casually overlooked by the heroine because she keeps choosing the alpha male. And then much later realises the perfect man was there all along, in the shape of the floppy-haired, slouchy-clothed, nice guy who opens car doors and calls when he says he will. Romance novels really paint life in the most heartwarming of ways. It’s such a shame I can’t put this to the test with Tiago with his unironic wholesomeness. I cannot let his crush on me scupper our investigations.

‘Tiago, my heart is a locked box. It’s closed for business.’ He presses his lips together as he grapples with the terrible news. How to soften the blow so we can team up to solve this knotty Lucinda problem and also continue meeting every Wednesday at precisely 4 p.m.? ‘You’ll find someone but sadly that someone is not me. I only hope they care as much about your almond allergy as I do.’

He fights a smile. At least, that’s what it looks like he’s doing. Perhaps, it’s just for show? ‘I understand. And thanks for caring about my almond allergy the way you do. It’s sweet.’ His face shines with what I’d call bemusement but how can that be? Isn’t he upset at my rejection?

‘You’re welcome. And again, I’m sorry. Take some time to process it. Sit with your feelings.’

‘You’ve done this before a lot then?’ Why does he grin like this? Men are such enigmas.

‘Broken hearts? I wouldn’t say I have a long, illustrious history of it, but there have been a few hopefuls who didn’t quite tick all the boxes on my checklist.’

‘I meant sit with your feelings.’