Page 37 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘Yes, yes, you have my blessing.’ About what, who would know. Probably her hat choice for cousin Ida’s wedding. Mother’s hat choices have been hit and miss in the past, but I don’t have time right now to give her advice about colour combinations. It’s not the end of the world if she wears a hat that doesn’t suit her skin tone.

The Man in the Blue Beret pokes a pin-striped suited arm out – from this angle it’s rather comical, like he’s hugging the tree. I squint to see what he’s doing, surely he’s not a tree-hugging hippy type, but Mother is a huge distraction as she wrings her hands and moves incessantly. Oh! He’s taking a photo! An illicit photo that I most certainly did not consent to. That is one step too far even if he is a bad guy. And if so, I’ll take my chances.

‘Excuse me!’ I yell at the top of my voice, scattering the peacocks and shocking my mum into silence. ‘I did not authorise this!’ I keep my hands splayed across my face to prevent him capturing a shot of me.

He darts away as I debate whether to give chase. I’m not really the running type. Detective Amber Quill would be up in a flash, she’s quite the scampering sort – muddy fields, flooded ponds, that kind of thing – but I’m not much into sprinting unless I’m being chased.

Mum twists and turns, trying to see who I’m yelling at. ‘Querida, what is it? What did he do?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Sorry, Mum, I’ve got to dash off. Will you be OK to get home?’ What if he follows her? She’s not connected to any of this though, and he didn’t even see her face, her back was towards him.

‘Yes, I’ll be fine. Didn’t you listen to what I just told you?’ A frown mars her brow.

‘Of course. The pink hat. So chic.’ I’m doing my level best to keep Mum from worrying and make sure The Man in the Blue Beret isn’t coming back with a telescopic lens.

‘The pink … what?’

‘Sorry to leave in a rush.’ I gather up my library books. ‘Bye, Mum. Text me when you get safely home.’

‘But …’

‘Bye.’ I dash a few steps away then spin on my heel and say, ‘Don’t drink all that wine and fall asleep in the sun.’

A guilty blush creeps up her neck. ‘Promise.’

I kiss her goodbye then call Tiago. But, of course, he doesn’t answer.

What kind of partner in crime doesn’t answer in the middle of a case? Shouldn’t his phone be glued to his hand? He’s a tech bro!

I leave a message on voicemail. ‘Tiago, we have a code red!’ Can all codes be red? I suppose they scream the most urgency. ‘Call me back as soon as you get this.’

There’s no time to waste. I need to find Tiago. How to work out where he lives, though? I’m reminded he took the Electro that day, which suggests he lives in the Foz area. I go to his social media accounts, which are unsurprisingly not set to private. On Instagram it’s mostly filled with photos of food, he is Portuguese after all. I scroll down his feed.

There it is, a rather intimidating villa with a wrought iron sign that reads Barracazinha da Praia, The Little Beach Shack. A humble brag, because there is nothing little about it.

It takes me three seconds to search the villa’s name and find the address. For someone in tech he’s not very safety aware. Carrying my books, which are much heavier than all these worries weighing me down, I make my way to the Electro stop and work out just how to get there.

Chapter Twenty

I rap confidently on Tiago’s front door, even though the villa is intimidatingly huge. Sprawling. I don’t care much for the trappings of wealth, being anti-capitalist by nature, but I can appreciate a beautiful home as much as the next person. It’s gorgeous, with wrought-iron balconies and a tiled terrace that leads onto a wide expanse of garden. Porto is a city full of apartment buildings and townhouses, detached villas like this are not the norm and only found in the more upscale areas like Foz do Douro. Tiago swings the door open, flopping his floppy hair to one side. ‘Viviane!’

My stomach flips at the sight of his smiley face. He really is bright like sunshine. ‘Sorry for the unexpected drop-in.’ When really what I want to do is demand answers why he didn’t answer his phone when we’re at such a crucial time of the case.

‘Oh, not at all.’

My faithful partner in crime doesn’t ask how I found out where he lives. Doesn’t ask why I’m here. Should I be worried he’s not concerned about privacy?

‘I tried to call and left you a number of messages.’ I only just manage to keep the tartness from my tone.

‘You did?’

I stifle a sigh and launch into a recap about The Man in the Blue Beret attempting to take unsolicited pictures of me in the gardens of the library.

Tiago’s eyes widen. ‘How dare he! I’ll have a word with that man myself for taking creep shots of you, Viviane. Are you OK? What a gross invasion of privacy.’

I double blink. He’s very protective but he’s missing the larger point. ‘Don’t you think it’s weird that he was following me and taking pictures? I’m more interested in the why.’

‘You’re a beautiful woman, that’s why!’ Tiago is incensed as he mutters about getting his hands on the man. Where has my affable sidekick disappeared to?