Monique splayed out her fingers on the polished surface of her desk and studied the long, glittering nail extensions. ‘Good, aren’t they?’ she said. Little sparks of refracted light shimmered and danced with every movement of her fingers.
Well, whatever they were good for, it certainly wasn’t for picking up telephone receivers or pressing buttons. Was that why I had been summoned from my desk in the outer office?
‘Wow, they’re wonderful,’ I said and meant it. ‘Flutter your fingers again.’ Silvery light twinkled and flashed. I must be careful not to betray any knowledge of the Snow Queen costume. ‘Is this something to do with your outfit for the barbecue tonight?’
This was greeted with a cagey smile. ‘You’ll have to wait and see – oh, but of course, you won’t be there.’
Oh, but I would. Eavesdropping, hoping to find out why Vanheusen rated her assignation with Jonathan Mansell important enough to be kept under wraps. Perhaps too, I’d suss out how deeply Monique herself was involved in the money-laundering scheme. She was probably just a minor cog, as I was sure she’d been kept in the dark about this week’s two murders. I hadn’t made up my mind about Mansell, either. Innocent dupe of Vanheusen’s mob, or fellow-criminal?
‘Well, is it yes or no?’ She was waiting impatiently with raised eyebrows for a reply to some question I hadn’t heard.
‘Er…yes,’ I hazarded.
She frowned. That hadn’t been the right answer.
‘I mean no. Definitely not.’
‘Well, you’ve taken it better than I expected.’ She sounded surprised. What had she said? What had I agreed to?
With a metaphorical bow and scrape in my tone, I asked, ‘Monique, could I possibly ask you to repeat—’
Buzz Buzz…Buzz Buzz…
Her icicled fingers hovered for a moment over the telephone on her desk. With a tut of annoyance, she motioned for me to press the loudspeaker button. ‘Mr Vanheusen’s office.’
The tinny whine was unmistakable. ‘I understand Mr Vanheusen is holding a costume barbecue tonight. I’ve checked with the desk clerk but no invite’s been left under the name of Wainwright. I’m not one to bellyache, but it seems that somebody’s goofed.’
Her tone was soothing and sympathetic. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Wainwright, if you’ve been misinformed.’ She shot me an acid glance. ‘You see, the barbecue is for employees and business associates only. It’s Mr Vanheusen’s expression of appreciation for the service they’ve given in the past year.’
A spluttering bleat signalled Wainwright dissatisfaction.
‘It’s disappointing, I know, Mr Wainwright. I quite understand. I’ll instruct Deborah to arrange a complimentary dinner with a bottle of cava. If you—’
A querulous, ‘Where?’ spiralled from the handset.
‘At an establishment of your choice, of course, Mr Wainright.’ Again her tone was sweetness and light, her expression thunderous.
The Grouch grumbled acquiescence.
She disconnected and leant back in her chair. ‘I think I dealt with that screw-up of yours rather well, don’t you?’
I nodded. Whoever had screwed-up it hadn’t been me, but I certainly wasn’t going to make things worse by arguing. ‘You handled that expertly, Monique.’ Praise where praise was due, after all.
Her frown of censure faded. I took advantage of the moment.
‘Er, would you mind going over what we were discussing. It’ll help me to understand it all a little better.’
Instant frost descended. With the tip of one of the nail extensions, she flicked shut her desk diary and pushed back her chair.
‘There’s nothing to understand,’ she snapped. ‘To deal with any emergencies, you are on duty tonight and tomorrow. You had Christmas off so you can’t expect the Three Kings festival as well. Especially as, when I asked you a moment ago, you said you had definitely not made any arrangements for that period.’ She seized her handbag. ‘So that’s settled then. I don’t expect to hear any more about it. Now, I’m off to have a bath. Then it’s the hairdresser. And I’ll need at least an hour to fit my costume before the limousine comes.’ She swept out. ‘Don’t forget that reservation for Mr Wainwright,’ drifted back along the corridor.
On duty tonight. Stuck here in the office.
How the hell could I do my little eavesdropping act if I was tied to my post for the duration of the Three Kings celebrations? I stared blankly at the empty doorway. As Shakespeare put it:
That is a step
On which I must fall down, or else o’er-leap
For in my way it lies…
I did as I was told. Virtuously I stayed on duty at my desk planning the next Outing. But only till 7 p.m. And I didn’t forget about that reservation for The Grouch. In the end, he grudgingly took up my suggestion to dine at one of the small, exclusive and prohibitively expensive eating establishments in Las Américas.
At a few minutes to seven I finished setting up the answering machine and pressed Play. I’m sorry. The Exclusive office is closed for the holiday. If your call is urgent, please telephone Carmella at Viajes Extreme, Las Américas 922…
Carmella, alias the resourceful Jayne. I’d have to erase that message before Monique arrived at the office in the morning or I’d be fired. And that would spell the end of Operation Canary Creeper.
Darkness was already falling as I shut the office door quietly behind me. Ten minutes later the yellow lights of the distant marina winked conspiratorially as I drew up in the darkest corner of the car park on the cliff-top promenade. No other cars were parked nearby as yet, but snatches of conversation and laughter drifted across from the brightly illuminated steps to the beach two hundred metres away.
I bundled the unwieldy palm tree costume under my arm and headed for an unlit path zigzagging steeply down to the beach. Even in the dark the start of this unofficial shortcut was easy enough to find, marked as it was by a clump of straggly bushes silhouetted against the paler night sky. I stopped and listened… Only the frrusssh of waves breaking gently on the beach below.
Vroo-oo vroo-oo-ooom. The hollow din of an engine with a holed exhaust blasted into fragments the peace of the warm night air. Misaligned headlights swept the arc of the sky, mini-searchlights probing for enemy stars. A vehicle was bumping across the uneven ground between the car park and the shortcut path. I threw myself flat among the euphorbia bushes and peered through the tangle of branches. With a crunch of gears and a metallic squeal, the car came to a halt. The doors opened and two figures scrambled out.
‘I thought I saw someone over there, Jay.’ The voice was young, female and apprehensive.
A muttered, ‘Shhh, Cath. Just another freeloader like ourselves. C’mon, path’s this way.’
The two figures crossed the gritty volcanic soil towards me. I buried my face in the soft folds of my palm tree bundle. The crunching footsteps were very close now.
‘What if we’re rumbled, Jay?’
‘God, Cath, what a wimp! There’ll be hundreds mobbing the place. Just think of all that free booze.’
Jason’s voice. I should have remembered that Belt-and-Braces Gerry always had back-up for a plan. The fact that Jason was at the barbecue with the same mission as myself showed just how important Gerry thought it was to find out more about the link between Vanheusen and Mansell. Cautiously I moved a branch aside and risked a look. Silhouetted against the pale night sky were baggy trousers and clown-style wigs.
‘Put your arm round me, Jay. I’m afraid of heights,’ Cath giggled.
The two figures morphed into one. I suppose Jason would call it ‘getting into the role’.
I sniggered into the palm fronds. I’d pick my time and…
‘Come on, Cath. Let’s get down there and party.’ Scuffling and giggling, they disappeared from view.
Lugging my palm tree costume, I followed in their wake. Sliding one foot carefully in front of the other, I made my way slowly down. By the time I reached the beach, my fellow party-crashers were well ahead. I watched their silhouettes break into a lurching run. As they approached the nearest marquee, flares set on iron posts in the sand elongated their shadows into cavorting and capering Giacometti figures. I took a tighter grip of the fake palm tree costume and ducked into a clump of the Real McCoy handily close to the end of the path. It wouldn’t do for someone to come along while I was transforming myself into a tree.
When I’d spotted the costume in the hire shop, I’d been sure it was perfect for my mission. And I was still sure, though it was a bit of a hassle to put on – as I’d already found in a trial run in front of my bedroom mirror. It had taken a good ten minutes to wriggle into the narrow tube of the trunk, pull up the long, concealed zip and arrange the realistic fronds. This time I didn’t have Gorgonzola playfully using my trunk as a scratching post, but with my legs imprisoned in a cylinder of material tighter than the tightest hobble skirt, it was going to take God knows how long to shuffle the couple of hundred metres across the sand to the marquee area. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’d just set out on my marathon shuffle, when a foot scraped against stone on the cliff path above. I inched back among the trees, one phoney trunk amid five genuine. Party-crashers? Security, judging from the flash of torches and no attempt at concealment. Two dark shapes loomed. Keep going, guys. But sod’s law, they stopped a few metres away. A match scraped, a cigarette end glowed.
‘Well, that’s the path closed now,’ the bulkier shape grunted. ‘No drunken bum’ll get past Felipe at the top. And quit bellyaching about being on duty on a holiday. The boss is paying us treble rates, isn’t he?’
‘Think he’ll want us again on the 25th?’
‘Sure to. And every night till then. Now that the arty-farty sculpture’s finished, he wouldn’t want anyone making off with it before The Big Do, would he?’
Silence. Then, ‘Beats me how anyone can go overboard like that for a cat. Spends thousands of euros on it. A nut case, that’s what he is. Talks about it as if it’s an effing human.’
‘Sodding right, Eduardo.’ A snort of derision. ‘Heard he’s arranging a wedding ceremony for it.’
At the earthy comments that followed, a more refined palm tree would have turned pink with embarrassment, but palm tree vulgaris, that’s me. Anyway, I had more on my mind than maiden blushes. Vanheusen holding a wedding ceremony for his cat… I didn’t like the sound of that at all.
Eduardo’s radio emitted a tinny squawk.
‘Shit. That’s the last chance of a smoke we’ll have till this thing’s over.’
A tossed butt came dangerously close to lodging in my floppy headgear. I flinched. My fronds rustled and swayed.
‘Wind’s got up.’ They moved off.
As I’d thought, it took me ages to shuffle across the couple of hundred metres of sand over which the clowns had so lightly skipped. I don’t recommend palm tree attire in any situation where quick action might be on the agenda. At last I put down roots, strategically positioning myself in front of the marquee to waylay the waiter emerging with a tray of drinks.
‘Excuse me.’ I whipped out a frond-covered arm and relieved him of a slim glass of bubbly cava.
As I sipped, I studied the surrounding throng. There were Father Christmases and clowns aplenty, and even a Christmas tree or two, but I could spot no other palm trees of the artificial kind. And no sign of the Snow Queen, or of Jonathan Mansell, either. Not a problem: when the Snow Queen arrived, she’d home in on him like a bee to a honey pot.
‘How do palms reproduce, Jay?’ a female voice slurred behind me.
I feigned deafness. Jason could be a damn nuisance, but he was a professional. He’d never have come near me if Gerry had put him fully in the picture. Gerry and his bloody ‘need-to-know’.
Cath howled with mirth. I maintained a lofty silence and moved away.
Sticking to my repertoire of nod, grunt and glass clinking, I circulated. When I located the Snow Queen, I’d—
And there she was.
Thoroughly enjoying the sensation she was causing, Monique was shimmering down the steps from the car park, every movement sending forth flashes of cold, glittering light. She acknowledged the burst of spontaneous applause, her fingernails erupting in a burst of crystalline fireworks. I watched as Jonathan Mansell in the flowing white robes and corded headdress of a desert sheikh greeted her and ushered her to some tables set a little apart from the rest beside a clump of dwarf palms. Ideal for eavesdropping. Who’d notice one more tree, after all?
It took five minutes to get into position in the clump of palm trees. Rough bark snagged at my outfit as I parted fronds, not my own this time, to give me a clear view of their table. Her high-pitched laugh tinkled on the warm night breeze, but frustration, oh frustration, that’s all I could hear. I hadn’t bargained on the party buzz drowning out everything else. Without warning, they pushed their chairs back and rose to their feet. At a racing snail’s pace I shuffled along in their wake.
The Snow Queen’s tiara flashed from near the water’s edge. There were fewer people in that direction but, unlike the barbecue area, that strip of beach was dark, illuminated only by the phosphorescence of the breaking waves – and that concealed my stealthy approach. Against the backdrop of moonlit sky and sea, Mansell was a ghostly shadow in his pale robes alongside the flashing, sparkling Monique. They strolled to and fro along the sand, an advertising copywriter’s cliché – two figures silhouetted against a sea silvered by moonlight…
Each time they turned their backs I took the chance to shuffle forward a couple of metres. After my third shuffle, they passed within range of my eavesdropping fronds.
‘…I’ve one big reservation about that, Monique. Criminal elements could—’
‘Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Ambrose will be in complete control. He’s got a lot of experience in that field, and, of course, as you will be one of the directors, you’ll…’
A loud burst of laughter from somewhere behind me drowned the rest. Then they were past, their words reduced to an indistinct murmur by the long scrrr-unsssh of pebbles dragging in the waves.
Just the info Gerry wanted. On their next approach perhaps I’d get a clue to what the business deal was. I waited.
‘…thing is, Las Américas already has a casino. Can’t see them licensing another one.’
Another tinkling laugh from Monique. ‘No problem there. Ambrose can guarantee…’ Frustratingly, a gust of wind blew the rest of the sentence out to sea.
So Vanheusen had plans for a new casino – a much more efficient laundering-machine than property sales. The Alhambra would be an ideal front… No wonder he was so keen to persuade Mansell to become a business partner… Damn, damn, damn. If only they would stand still. They stopped and gazed out to sea as a particularly large wave crashed thunderously onto the shore. I leant forward, straining to hear more, but could make out nothing, only an indecipherable murmur.
They made their way back to mingle with the crowd. I’d learnt all I was going to learn. Time to go, but the cliff path was out because of the security guard now stationed at the top. I shuffled off towards the main steps on a course that would take me round the fringe of the party.
I’d just reached the steps when a chord from the band cut through the noise and Vanheusen’s voice boomed through the speaker system. ‘Guys, I think you’ll agree we’ve all enjoyed this celebration of the Feast of the Three Kings.’
Whoops and cheers.
‘Glad you enjoyed it. Now, let’s draw it to a close in the traditional style for this time of year.’
The band launched into the introductory bars of ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
A kilted Scotsman seized my fronded arm. ‘C’mon, hen,’ he slurred in a cloud of alcoholic fumes. ‘I’ll show you how we dae it in Scotland, darling.’
‘Yo, ho, ho, palm tree.’ A laughing pirate, complete with eyepatch and assorted blackened teeth, grabbed my other arm, and I was caught up in an exuberant circle of linked hands. There was nothing I could do. To resist would draw unwelcome attention.
‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot…’ The pirate and the Scotsman swung my fronded arms vigorously up and down. ‘An’ never brought to mind…’
‘Go easy on the swings, guys, for God’s sake,’ I yelped. I might as well have kept my mouth shut.
‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot…’ My right arm was swung forward, my left jerked painfully back. ‘For the da-ays of auld lang syne.’
The Scotsman and the pirate surged forward with the others in the circle, dragging me behind them. ‘Now gies a hand, my trusty friend…’
‘Guys,’ I yelled, ‘I can’t—’ I teetered precariously, lost my balance and collapsed sideways on top of the pirate, pulling the unsteady Scotsman with me. By the time we had sorted ourselves out, the whole thing was more or less over.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Under the cover of an explosion of red and green maroons, I turned to shuffle quietly away. A crash of chords from the band and deafening cheers heralded another announcement but, intent on making my getaway, I wasn’t paying much attention.
‘…Snow Queen.’ A roar of applause.
‘What was that all about?’ I shouted to the pirate above another roar of applause.
‘Best costume. Nobody else stood a chance, did they?’
Everyone was watching Monique as she shimmered and glittered her way onto the platform to claim her prize. She clutched the microphone. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Vanheusen. This is so unexpected…’
I put a foot on the first step. ‘Keep talking, Monique,’ I muttered.
A burst of applause.
‘In addition to the first prize,’ Vanheusen had taken the mike again, ‘the judges have decided to give an award for the most original costume…and so…’
I reached the fourth step.
‘…I’ll ask the Snow Queen to announce their decision.’
‘I’m so honoured, Mr Vanheusen.’
Six steps negotiated, only another eight to go.
‘The winner of the most original costume is…’ A dramatic pause, much rustling of paper and thumping of microphone. ‘…that adorable little palm tree.’
Shit. Hell and Damnation.
‘Whey hey! Thaar she goes.’ The pirate’s halloo sank my last chance of sneaking away unnoticed.
Eager hands pulled me back down the steps, pushed me through the crowd and lifted me onto the platform. Please, please, please, don’t let them discover who I am.
‘Congratulations to a worthy winner.’ Vanheusen held out an envelope.
‘Thank you,’ I squeaked.
‘Ah, I detect a palm tree of the female kind.’ He put an arm round my shoulder and drew me towards him. ‘As my prize, I claim a kiss from the winner.’
Shit.
‘Now, let’s see whose pretty face is concealed behind all this greenery.’ He twitched the fronds aside.
‘My God!’ Monique shrieked. ‘It’s Deborah!’ She thrust her face close. ‘What are you doing here in that ridiculous costume? You’re fired. Do you hear me? Fired.’