When in Bruges (Humorous Romantic Mystery) Read online

  “Mrs. Franklin Drub,” she said with some vehemence.

  “Huh?” said Lauren, looking up.

  “Mrs. Franklin Drub. Kate Drub. Hi, Mrs. Drub. How are you this AM, Mrs. Drub?” she mumbled. Why, oh why, did Franklin have to have such a funny surname? Then, with a petulant shake of the head, she razed these petty thoughts from her mind.

  “Kate? Are you all right, honey? You’re talking to yourself.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Kate quickly. She hadn’t realized she was thinking out loud. “I was just… practicing.”

  “Practicing the role of Mrs. Franklin Drub,” said Lauren with a grin.

  “That’s right,” said Kate a little too defensively.

  “Hey, did I tell you I sent a message to Kirt?”

  “You did? That’s… wonderful,” said Kate.

  “Yeah, I just figured, why not? I mean, he seems like a decent sort of guy, and since we’re supposed to be here on holiday, why not live a little, you know?”

  “Of course. No, you’re absolutely right. You should really go for it. He does look like a great guy.”

  And Chris’s colleague. Not that it mattered.

  “Hey, and since he’s a local, perhaps he can show us some of the sights that are off the beaten track, right?”

  “Good thinking,” said Kate. “Always a good idea to mingle with the locals.”

  Not all the locals, of course. Especially the ones with names like Chris…

  “I’m meeting him tomorrow for drinks. I hope that’s all right with you?”

  “Sure, sure,” said Kate. “Absolutely. I’ll probably have lunch with my dad tomorrow anyway so…”

  “Great. Now where is this Gnat place?”

  Stepping off the bike for a moment, Kate brought out the map of Bruges she’d picked up at the Bouquets & Nosegays and studied it.

  “Just a little further,” she said. “We’re almost there. You have the stuff, right?”

  Lauren tapped her backpack. “Everything your friendly neighborhood burglar needs is right here, honey.”

  “Are you sure you know how to pick the lock?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Are you sure you can break into his safe?”

  Kate grimaced. “No way of knowing until I see the thing. If it’s one of those older models, it shouldn’t be a problem. If it’s a new one…”

  She hadn’t really given the matter a lot of thought. Back home, she had all the equipment she needed to bust a safe, but here in Belgium? Judging from what her father had told them, this Gnat guy was an elderly man who ran a small local paper, so she just hoped he used an elderly safe.

  * * *

  Chris and Kirt had been sitting in Chris’s navy blue Toyota Corolla for the better part of the last hour, staring out across the street at Gazet Street No. 8. At least, Chris was staring at the house while Kirt read a copy of Top Gear Magazine.

  Same old, same old, Chris thought. He and Kirt had spent so many hours on stakeouts together, it felt like old times to sit hunched up in a car once again. Only this time, they were making billable hours, and the car wasn’t police issue but his own beat-up jalopy.

  “You think he’s still in there?” he said, for the umpteenth time training his field glasses on the row house that had become the target of Van Damme Security’s first ever big case.

  Kirt shrugged as he leafed through his magazine. “Probably better if he is. He can show us where the pictures are. Save us a lot of trouble.”

  “I’d prefer not to be so open about it. Better go in and out undetected. We don’t want to run into our old colleagues.”

  Kirt slowly raised his eyes to take in his partner. “That would be embarrassing. Though we could try and explain it to them. I’m sure they’ll understand if we tell them we’re working for their future boss.”

  “Somehow I doubt it. You remember that one time when we were searching a house without a warrant and the guy came home unexpected and he turned out to be the commissioner?”

  Kirt chortled at the recollection. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “Not for me,” said Chris, whose father had still been mayor at the time.

  His voice trailed off, for at this moment he detected movement across the street.

  “There he is,” he said.

  An older gentleman, perfectly coiffed and dressed in a tailor-made suit of impeccable cut, stepped jauntily into the street, closed the door of No. 8 behind him, and sauntered off in the direction of ’t Zand, a fluffy Pekinese happily cavorting at his side.

  “Coast is clear,” grunted Chris as he tracked Alfonso Gnat down the street until he disappeared round the corner.

  Kirt lazily threw his magazine on the backseat of the car and stretched his limbs. “Go on, then,” he said. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Two cyclists are approaching,” Chris said, checking his rearview mirror. “They’re still far away but perhaps it’s better if I wait until they’ve passed.”

  “Why wait?” said Kirt. “Just get a move on, already. I’ll keep my eyes peeled out here.”

  “Right,” said Chris dubiously. “But what if it’s the cops?”

  “On bicycles? Sure.”

  “Or what if this Gnat guy has private security working for him? They could be watching us right now.”

  “And what if ET had an evil twin and he came back to hunt down Elliott and all the other kids?”

  “Oh, all right,” said Chris. “But you better keep an eye out.”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” said Kirt, flipping down his seat and luxuriously stretching himself out across it. “The moment I see one of Gnat’s spies bearing down on you, I’ll personally move in and kick his butt.”

  After a final glare at his frivolous friend, Chris, with a shake of the head, ventured outside. Quickly checking left and right, he scooted across the street. It didn’t take him long to pick the lock of the ancient house—the old skills still lingered—and after another furtive glance down the street, he disappeared inside.

  Kirt, suddenly remembering he hadn’t yet finished that article on the new BMW roadster, retrieved his auto magazine from the backseat, thumbed to page twelve, and was soon so engrossed in the pros and cons of yet another miracle of German engineering, that he didn’t even notice two familiar young women bicycling down the street.

  Having had a tiring day, Kirt soon slunk down lower in his seat, and before long, the magazine fell from his grasp, his chin hit his chest and soft snoring sounds filled the car. Kirt, the man to put the Co in Van Damme Security & Co, had just entered the land of nod.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kate and Lauren pedaled by the offices of Alfonso Gnat’s outfit once, twice, and then a third time, before they were satisfied that the place had closed up for the day.

  “Appears empty,” said Kate, looking up at the well-preserved ancient residence that, according to the bronze plaque next to the door, housed the offices of the Bruges Chronicle.

  “Looks like,” agreed Lauren. “This should be a cinch.”

  Passing by a fourth time, they were even more gratified to find no visible sign of activity in or around the premises. If this had been their own home turf, they’d simply come by car, parked across the street in order to put in at least a couple of hours of surveillance, and make absolutely sure the coast was clear. Unfortunately, they were not in that position, so after fastening their bicycles to a street lantern, they decided it was time to make a move.

  Looking up and down the street and finding that nothing stirred, not even in that navy blue Toyota Corolla parked just across the road, Lauren took out the small pouch she’d bought, and proceeded to work her magic on the ancient lock.

  Biting her lower lip while Kate tried to look as innocent as possible keeping an eye out for passersby, the lock finally clicked open, and Lauren heaved a long sigh of relief.

  “And it’s open,” she whispered. “Your call, Miss Harper.”

  “Thank you, Miss Huckleberry,” w
hispered back Kate.

  “Do you have your flashlight?”

  “Yep.”

  “Your safecracking tools?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then go for it, honey. I’ll be here if you need me, okay?”

  “Great. See you in five. Or ten. Or—”

  “See you when I see you,” said Lauren, and held up her fist. Kate took a deep breath, and bumped it with her own.

  “Wish me luck,” she said.

  “Luck,” grinned Lauren, and gave her a wink.

  Watching Kate disappear into the house, Lauren casually crossed the street—just a tourist out on an evening stroll, enjoying this part of the ancient town. She walked round the Toyota Corolla, and parked herself against a plane tree, then thought better of it and stepped inside the portico of a house. She crossed her fingers.

  * * *

  The moment Chris had entered the building, he started having second thoughts about the way he’d conceived this venture. Since his father had urged him time was of the essence, and the best time to steal those pictures was now, he’d skipped a crucial step in the execution of any mission: the preparation and intel-gathering stage.

  For one thing, he didn’t even know where this Gnat kept the stuff. His dad had assumed the safe, but in this digital age, people don’t keep pictures in a safe anymore. They store them on a computer hard drive, or worse, in the cloud. And Chris might be a lot of things, but a hacker he was not.

  Then again, Alfonso Gnat was an old guy who, as far as Chris knew, still ran the Bruges Chronicle along the lines of pre-internet days, with only a paper edition being published.

  Picking his way past what looked like the reception area, he shone his flashlight into a second, much larger space, where two wooden desks made up the entirety of what he assumed was the newsroom and heart of the newspaper. Trailing the beam along the wood-paneled walls, the dozens of cupboards and the ancient coffeemaker, he was disappointed not to find the elusive safe he’d been hoping for.

  A door announced the office of ‘Editor-in-chief A. Gnat’ and Chris silently made his way over, eased open the door, and poked his head in. Shining his light around the sparsely furnished office, his heart skipped a beat when beyond a sturdy desk—a mahogany contraption laden with file folders, one ancient-looking computer, one potted plant and one picture of what he assumed was Mrs. Gnat—he suddenly spotted a good old-fashioned safe, complete with combination wheel and lever.

  He quickly rounded the desk, and crouched in front of it. One look at the interior of the Bruges Chronicle GHQ had increased his hope that an operation as ancient as the one Gnat was running, would still keep its clandestine pictures safely locked up. He ran his eyes along the three feet high iron box that sat before him and heaved a contented sigh. Cracking this aged relic of a bygone era would pose no difficulty whatsoever.

  Deftly, he unearthed from his backpack the small pouch he kept for occasions such as these. Positioning his flashlight so its beam gave him ample illumination, he cracked his knuckles, then his neck, and then lifted his fingers to select from his safecracking tool kit just the right instrument.

  And he was just about to extract a very promising tool from his kit, when a harsh voice sounded in his rear.

  “Stick ‘em up!”

  Instantly, Chris stuck ‘em up, for the voice had sounded like it meant business.

  “Move away from the safe!”

  Chris inched sideways, his back still turned to his anonymous assailant.

  “Be quick about it! Move! Move! Move!”

  Chris shuffled in the direction of the desk, wondering how he was going to extricate himself from this particular imbroglio.

  “Stop! Don’t move!”

  “Well, what is it?” said Chris, peeved. “Do I move or not? Make up your mind already, will you?”

  The voice remained silent for a spell, and Chris wondered if he’d pissed it off. His former boss, the police commissioner, had often deemed it necessary to point out a rebellious streak in Chris, which had irked that rotund man a great deal. Like the night Chris had broken into the commissioner’s home after an anonymous tip had hinted at marijuana plants in the basement. The only thing he’d found was a very irate commissioner and a one-month suspension without pay.

  “Turn around slowly,” next spoke the voice, and now he noticed for the first time it belonged to a woman. And what was more, it sounded strangely familiar.

  Turning around—slowly, as indicated—he found himself face to face with… no one. Whoever was addressing him kept herself in the shadows next to the door.

  “Keep ‘em up, chump,” the muffled voice sounded once again. “Lemme see your face. Oh, Christ!”

  This last exclamation followed a close scrutiny of Chris’s face by the stranger after blinding him with a flashlight.

  “Not Christ. Chris,” murmured Chris, unable to refrain from making silly remarks.

  “Chris!” yelled his assailant.

  “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” said Chris with a levity he wasn’t feeling. Inwardly, he groaned. Why couldn’t he just keep his trap shut? Now he’d revealed his name to this harbinger of bad news. As far as he could ascertain, the masked marauder was either a cop or a security guard on Gnat’s pay role. Either way, he was done for. And where the hell was Kirt?

  To his surprise, his unknown assailant suddenly stepped out of the shadows into the soft light streaming in through the window from the street.

  Now it was Chris’s turn to gasp in shock. For he found himself gazing into the lovely face of the only woman he’d ever loved, the woman who’d stolen his heart and had promptly reduced it to ground beef, leaving it to whither and die.

  He gulped like a stricken bulldog puppy, then finally said, in a raspy voice, “Kate!”

  Chapter Twelve

  It hadn’t taken Kate long to realize she wasn’t alone in the building. Even before venturing deeper into the compound, the flickering light from a torch warned her of other trespassers on the premises.

  “I should have known,” she muttered under her breath as she surreptitiously crept closer to the source of the light.

  If this Alfonso Gnat was even half the blackmailing fiend her father had made him out to be, there were probably countless other victims out there, dying to get their hands on his private collection. If the idea of raiding his safe had occurred to Kate, it had no doubt occurred to the others as well.

  Taking position behind the door, she watched the kneeling figure in the dark for a spell, noticing with some satisfaction that her theory proved correct: the guy had laid out his pouch of tools, and was now about to pick the lock of the safe. For a moment, she wavered between letting him open the thing for her, and then intervening, or taking him down straightaway.

  She decided on the latter course of action as the most fair and square. She was, after all, a big girl, and didn’t need anyone to open her safes for her.

  “Stick ‘em up, buster!” she yelled. For even though she wasn’t in the possession of a gun, her opponent didn’t know that. Her plan was to induce this competing burglar to take a hike, and then, once the coast was clear, to go about her business undisturbed.

  She had to hand it to him: her competitor sure was one muscular specimen. As he rose to his feet, his back turned, she admired his strong build. It reminded her of Chris, the man who’d broken her heart. He, too, had been built along the lines of a Sherman tank, with his powerful shoulders, broad chest, massive arms…

  “Move away from the safe!”

  Though athletic, the guy moved at a snail’s pace, obviously stalling for time. Did he have a gun concealed in his belt?

  “Be quick about it! Move! Move! Move!”

  Her opponent had reached the desk, and she realized this was not a good thing. At all. He could easily dive behind it for cover, and take a shot at her.

  “Stop! Don’t move!”

  “Well, what is it?” the other said. “Do I move or not? Make up your mind already,
will you?”

  Strange, Kate thought. The voice of this fellow sounded oddly familiar. Sounded, in fact, just like Chris’s voice. No. It couldn’t be…

  “Turn around slowly,” she said, dying to take a good look at the man. Urging him to keep his hands raised, she shone her light straight at his upturned face and gasped in shock. “Christ!”

  “Not Christ, Chris,” said Chris.

  It was him! “Chris!”

  How could this be? Where had he suddenly sprung from? What the hell was going on? For a moment, the floor which, until now, had seemed so strong, wobbled under her feet, and she almost lost her balance, her knees shaking, her legs buckling, just like they had back at the Bouquets & Nosegays that morning.

  There was no point in keeping up the charade, and she stepped out of the shadows to reveal her own face, wanting to confront Chris with open visor.

  He gasped in shock the moment she revealed herself to him, and gazed at her, eyes wide.

  “Kate?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her brawny attitude had melted like ice before the summer sun, and she felt weak and vulnerable as Chris’s eyes raked over her, drinking her in.

  “I’m… on a job,” he said curtly, regaining his composure. She stiffened. Was that all he could say? Once again, he was so formal it infuriated her. This man, the man she once felt so close to, acted so distant and cold she hardly recognized him. His behavior slashed across her heart, opening the old wound again. But two could play that game. She wouldn’t let him see how much it hurt to see him like this.

  “A job? Burgling houses? What are you, a thief?”

  “I already told you this morning. I’m a detective now.” Chris said morosely, refusing to meet her gaze. “The question is, what are you doing here?”