Page 27 of Hupotasso
“What restaurant?”
“The bar we were in with Isabel’s parents. The menu looked interesting, and naturally I wasn’t permitted to stay there and dine.”
“It’s not Michelin starred,” she frowns.
“I couldn’t care less,” I shrug. “It’s what I want.”
“Well... you’re not pregnant, so I guess it doesn’t matter what you eat…”
I try to look as nonchalant as I can as she picks up her phone and places a call to the bar. But inside, my stomach’s churning. The bar was owned by Isabel’s parents. I’d noticed their name on a small timber plaque in the corner within the first ten minutes of our arrival. By now her mother would have read my note. I know it’s a long shot, but I’m hoping that my food order will give them an idea, or an opportunity, to somehow help me. I have to hope that’s why she mentioned the food.
Caroline speaks rapidly in Spanish, so I can’t tell what she’s saying, but after a minute she reverts to English to repeat the menu to me. She won’t let me take the phone to order for myself, so this pantomime goes on for a few minutes with me asking back and forth what each meal is. Eventually I order a seafood paella with black rice, a white sangria, and a small custard tart for dessert. She orders a red sangria and makes some joke to me when she hangs up about it being the second for the night as we watch security fold the dead girl into a laundry basket and whisk her away.
I don’t laugh at Caroline’s jest, but when my meal arrives and I find the tiny note and vial inside my custard tart, I’m hard-pressed not to burst into maniacal cackles.
22
The feeling that’s been building inside me ever since I’d listened to the recording of Angelina talking to Isabel’s family begins to reach a crescendo as I try, once more, to reach Caroline.
Hearing the busy signal again I curse and thrust my phone into my pocket just as the plane door opens.
“Any issues?” I ask the waiting security team gruffly as I reach the car.
“None, My Lord.”
I shake my head in consternation.
Between my call with Caroline and my arrival no more than two hours have passed.
‘Then why has my cousin’s phone been busy ever since? Who could she be speaking to for so long?’
Part of me hopes, as we speed towards the hotel, that a button on her phone has simply been accidentally pressed and nothing untoward has occurred.
Still another part of me hopes Angelina has actioned some plan of Spider’s and this whole charade with The Free Men will be revealed.
And a tiny but ever-growing part of me just wants to see my wife.
23
I don’t pause. I don’t second-guess myself or allow my fears to paralyse me. I simply lean over and tip the contents of the vial into Caroline’s sangria when her back is turned.
But I do squeak in surprise when she drains her glass and drops instantaneously to her knees, her hands to her throat.
I step back fast in case she jumps at me, but her gasps and wide eyes make it clear that whatever was in that vial was made to knock out vampires rapidly.
Groaning, she falls onto her face and lies still.
I don’t know how long I have until she wakes, but I take action quickly while I still have the nerve, dragging her behind the couch before making for the door.
Mid-stride I halt as her phone rings.
“Oh shit.”
I stare down at the offending device.
‘Should I answer? Can I do her accent well enough to pretend to be her?’
I make up my mind when I see it’s a Barcelona number. It has to be the restaurant.
