Page 4 of Secrets in the Dark
“The sad thing is that something is going to happen before the powers that be decide a warning is in order—and that’s probably the way in every western country, not just England,” Mason told him. “Hey, we get on it, and we move fast.”
“All right, well. Welcome to England! So...would you have a dark ale or light?” he asked. “Oh, let’s head there, to Bixby’s—great bar food and wonderful taps.”
“It’s a plan. It’s also where one victim was last seen, right?” Della asked.
Edmund nodded. “Aye, but... Hey! I’m not lying. Great bar food and clean, clear taps!”
Bixby’s was a large establishment with plenty of inside seating and even more on a large courtyard just outside. Those tables offered views of both the interior and exterior of the restaurant with a bar central in the courtyard, with still more tables spilling out onto the sidewalk and the street.
“Great table!” Mason assured Edmund as they were seated.
It was a great table just inside where they could see what was going on where they were—and out the door to the street. They could watch the flow of humanity around them, couples, groups and the occasional loner.
Della found herself studying the couples as Edmund and Mason ordered after she had waved a hand, indicating she’d be happy with anything they chose.
There was a young couple near them, both smiling, holding hands now and then, sharing their food, either new lovers or old who were very much in love! They were speaking French, she thought, overhearing a bit of the conversation.
She didn’t believe that the killer they were seeking was French.
He was American or British.
Another couple intrigued her at first; they were joined by an older couple, and it appeared that they were young newlyweds out with the wife’s parents.
“Fish and chips. Better here than at home,” Mason said. “Or, maybe I just think that they’re better because we are in jolly old England.”
“No. Fish and chips are better here,” Edmund said lightly. “Hey, no insult. Creole cooking is it in Louisiana, and when not in Cuba, Cuban coffee is best in Miami.”
“Ah, we all lay claim to our culinary delights,” Della murmured. They were having dinner. There was no guarantee that anything was going to happen here tonight.
Here—or anywhere.
“The biggest problem we have is that, of course, everyone assumed that there was just one killer—that’s why they had me and our Interpol liaison Bisset and Jeanne Lapierre from France joining you two and Detective Wilhelm in Norway. We don’t have a list of possible suspects, though tomorrow, we’ll go back through the files. Within them now, we may just find those we cleared at the time because Dante was here and working and they could twist the truth...all the witnesses had alibis that seemed truthful, and then when the murders started in Norway, well...”
Della was half listening and half watching people as they came and went. A group moved and she noticed one of the courtyard tables closest to the sidewalk. A pretty blonde sat there, laughing as she chatted with a young man who appeared to be in his early thirties. He had slightly shaggy light brown hair and an easy smile. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t think that they’d known one another forever—they had the look of two young people flirting and enjoying the get-to-know-you part of a relationship.
And they most likely were just a young couple getting to know one another.
“Excuse me!” she murmured.
She stood and pretended to head out and look down the sidewalk as if she were trying to see if a friend might be arriving.
But as she passed by the table, she heard their conversation.
The girl spoke with an American accent; she probably hailed from somewhere in the Midwest.
The man spoke with an English accent, as if he’d been born and bred in London.
“Well, we could meet up with your friends, or...” the young man said.
The blonde giggled and ran her fingers over the back of his hand. “My friends are genuinely nice, and I think that you would enjoy them. Then again...how quickly we could move, so much we could see and do if we were alone!”
Della wasn’t sure why, but alarms rang loudly in her head. She wasn’t sure that she thought anything out, she just hurried back to the table and picked up her pint of ale.
She meant to explain, but just as she picked up the glass, she saw the couple rising. She hurried back, weaving through tables, anxious to reach them before they could leave the restaurant.
She pretended to look elsewhere and slammed into the young woman, making sure that her ale flew into the air...and fell due to the force of gravity, soaking the pretty young blonde.
“Oh! I am so sorry!” Della cried. “I am truly sorry, I’ve ruined your night, oh...!”
