Neil opened his eyes and saw Brie’s face hovering above him. She smiled. She was dabbing a cold cloth on his forehead. Did she also just kiss his forehead? Or had he dreamed that?
“The effects of that knockout stuff can be a little rough,” Brie said. “I’m still woozy myself.”
“That guy a friend of yours?” Neil asked, closing his eyes again to stop the room from spinning. The more he woke up, the worse he felt.
A bell tingled in the distance, or was that in his ears?
Brie snorted. “Hardly. Reggie Crayfish. He and his twin brother, Ronnie, are the local goons. They show up every once in a while to extort some cash for ‘protection.’ Protection from the two of them is what they mean, of course.”
Neil was about to say that Reggie had been there to get Neil to deliver a message, but he stopped himself. He’d learned a long while back to not trust anyone, even seemingly innocent strangers such as Brie. He didn’t always remember to apply this advice, and had the bruises to prove it, but he thought now might be a time to be careful.
There were footsteps approaching. They echoed in Neil’s waking head like blows from a hammer. What could possibly be so loud? Was Reggie coming back? Had he figured out who Neil really was—not just a kid but the real detective—and decided to kidnap him after all?
Brie leaned over him again, wiping the cloth over his aching eyelids. The footsteps drew closer and stopped.
“Ahem,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. “Well, this looks very accogliente, cozy.” This was followed by something else in Italian that Neil was pretty sure was an angry curse.
Neil fought the pain in his head and turned his head sideways.
Isabella Tortellini was standing in the doorway, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed.
“Isabella!” Neil said, fumbling for the right thing to say to defuse the awkwardness of the situation. “I thought you weren’t coming for a few more days.”
That wasn’t it.
“Oh, really? So you thought you had a few days to try out some other items on the menu?” Isabella said.
“What? What’s wrong?” Neil croaked. “Menu? What are you talking abo—”
“Now wait a second!” said Brie, standing up. “I was just trying to help him wake up!”
“Try kissing him!” Isabella turned on her heels and marched away, her hands now clenched into tight fists.
“No! Wait! Isabella!” Neil said. He tried to stand up to follow her, but his legs wobbled and he had to steady himself on the edge of the counter. Isabella didn’t stop.
Neil saw her pass the hulking figure of Jones, who opened the door to let her out. Jones was grinning. He saluted Neil and then turned and followed his charge out of the door. He never had been much of a fan of Neil Flambé as boyfriend, and Neil didn’t like the look of his grin one iota.
But this was crazy. Isabella was actually jealous? Over him? Neil felt an odd mixture of confusion and excitement. She couldn’t believe he’d ever be interested in someone else! Then again, she also thought he might be interesting to someone else! Neil was used to having his cooking celebrated, but he always had a nagging suspicion that people found him kind of abrasive. As he got older, this actually bothered him.
Maybe he was changing?
“Who was that?” Brie asked.
“Isabella Tortellini,” Neil said, still gripping the cheese counter.
“The perfume maker? I love her scents!”
“Me too,” he said. “Me too.”
* * *
Neil was finally able to stand a few minutes later. He didn’t walk out of Wensleydale’s empty-handed. Brie quickly packaged up some replacement cheeses and even some fig compote. “Maybe this will help ease the pain,” she said.
Neil just nodded. “I doubt it, but thanks.”
Neil walked out slowly, his head throbbing. He smelled Jones’s signature cologne—a mixture of camouflage paint and wood smoke—and ducked. But there was no punch or meaty hand grabbing for him, just a slight cough from a dark alleyway.
Neil looked around. Jones was barely visible in the shadows, leaning against the wall of the cheese shop.
Jones coughed again; then, when Neil still didn’t move, he just rolled his eyes and called him over with a wave of his muscle-bound hands.
“I don’t understand how you keep surviving,” Jones said quietly. “Follow me.”
Neil took a furtive glance around him and then followed Jones into the gloom. It was still daylight, but a combination of the gray sky and the closeness of the buildings almost made it feel like they were weaving their way through dark woods.
Neil was struck by how many narrow and winding alleys he’d already been down in his short time here. London seemed to have been built by accident. Roads met and crossed at odd angles—treacherous when you weren’t used to seeing cars driving on the left. Every once in a while an alleyway would thin to almost nothing, then suddenly open into a wide stone plaza or church courtyard.
Neil wondered if a map would help, or just give the false impression that there was an actual way to not get lost in London.
They came to the end of the alleyway. They seemed to be alone, and Neil shivered as he entertained the fleeting thought that Jones had lured him here to pummel him, or even lecture him.
But then Neil saw that a black SUV was parked in an underpass across the way from them. Despite the closed doors, Neil could smell lavender perfume lingering on the breeze.
Neil felt Jones’s enormous paw on his shoulder, urging him forward.
“And give me that cheese,” Jones said. Neil gave him the package. Jones opened the trunk. He put the cheese in a fridge that was built into one side. Where does Jones find these rental cars anyway? Neil thought.
Jones led Neil to the side door and pushed him inside. Neil took his seat next to Isabella, but kept one hand on the door handle. Jones slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Isabella reached across toward Neil, who inched away on the seat and prepared to make a run for it. Jones, to Neil’s consternation, hit the gas, and the van lurched forward quickly.
Isabella was getting closer, her arm moving toward Neil’s neck.
Neil shook the door handle, which remained locked. His finger fumbled for the window button.
Isabella was now right next to him, her gaze intense and her hands touching his neck.
With one swoop Isabella wrapped her arm around Neil and planted a kiss right on his lips. Then she backed away. “There. Does this help you to stay awake?” she asked, smiling.
Neil’s confusion was now complete. He was speechless.
“You don’t honestly think I’m that jealous!” Isabella said. “I’d like to think we trust each other.”
Neil wasn’t sure what to say. Neil found himself oddly disappointed again. But also relieved. Finally he blurted out something like, “That stuff back in the shop was, that was a . . . a . . . an act?”
“Not completely,” Isabella said, jabbing Neil in the ribs. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, or so I’ve heard. Stay away from pretty girls in cheese shops, capisci?”
“Understood.” Neil smiled. “Anyway, the way to my heart is through my nose.”
Jones gave a loud scoff from the front seat. “Some advice, chef boy: Don’t ever put that on a Valentine’s card.”
“Ha ha,” Neil said. He quickly explained what had happened at the cheese shop. “But what are you doing here in the first place? I wasn’t out that long, was I?”
Isabella squeezed Neil’s hand. “We were in France, buying some lovely aromatic oils from the Alps, but business went well. We were not so far away, so we decided to come early. We phoned Rose first, but she said you weren’t there. Jones did a quick calculation of how long you’d been away and came up with a possible search radius.”
Neil wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Jones flinch at the mention of Rose’s name.
Isabella went on. “So I did a quick look at how many food locations would attract your nose, and a shop for il formaggio seemed a good place to start.”
“Isabella, you are amazing, like a really well-done asparagus risotto,” Neil said. For some reason, to his shock, being in England of all places had loosened his tongue. Compliments never flowed easily, unless he was talking about his own food, so this was new.
Isabella smiled. “When I walked in, well . . . I don’t know this cheese-shop person, so I thought it best to give her a story to chew on about a jealous girlfriend. Besides, I needed you to follow us so that we can meet up with Rose and Larry.”
He took her hand. “Are we headed back to Rose’s?”
“Too risky,” Jones said. “We are heading across town.”
Neil sat back in the seat and smiled at Isabella. “It’s great to see you.”
Isabella smiled back. “We just felt it was time to come help you out, or at least see if you needed some help with your mystery.”
“Surprise, surprise, you two lunkheads did,” Jones said, steering them into a traffic circle and out again with expert skill.
“Anyway, Rose has made reservations for dinner. So let’s all get together and compare notes.”
“Dinner.” Neil sighed. “Maybe they’ll need some help in the kitchen?”
“Oh brother,” said Jones, gunning the engine.