Murder on the Spanish Seas by Wendy Church

Author:Wendy Church [Church, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Does he know who?”

“He didn’t say.” We were interrupted by a small team of waiters with our meal. It was a remarkable array of small plates, and we put our discussion on hold while we focused on the food, which did nothing to controvert the notion that the Basque Country was home to the world’s best cuisine.

We started with the lobster carpaccio, followed by a cold anchovy lasagna that tasted better than it sounded. Next was the omnipresent rice dish, in this case some kind of creamy mushroom risotto. The main seafood dish was fresh bass with roasted potatoes, and then for the finale, Euskaltxerri rib with a beet reduction. The pork rib was one of the more famous dishes in the Basque Country, often served as a pinxto. I wondered if this pig had come from Ander’s family’s farm. Whether or not it had, the entire meal was astounding. And filling. Even with the small portions we were stuffed and skipped desert, settling for iced espressos. We paid our tab and left.

Mattin was waiting by the curb to take us to the Guggenheim, but it was less than a half mile away and it was sunny out, so we told him we would walk and call him when we were done. As expected, he was fine with the change in plans, and drove away with a smile and a wave.

We walked down the street and turned on to Heros Kalea, one of the major throughways in Bilbao, slowing frequently to avoid groups of people on the sidewalk. As usual, my head was on a swivel, taking in everything around me. The street was a mix of old and new construction, bracketed on each side with buildings that were four or five stories high, with shops underneath and apartments above them. Many of the shop signs displayed a distinctive blocky lettering that seemed common in the city.

We kept our conversation going while we walked, which consisted primarily of Sam grilling me for more details about Ander. When we reached Abandoibarra Avenue and the stairs that led down to the museum, I stopped. Looking pointedly toward the museum, I said, “Sam, hang on.”

“What is it?”

“Do you remember when you were at the quay, when you boarded in Barcelona? The group of men who were causing a problem?”

She nodded.

“Don’t turn around, but I think I see one of them. He’s been following us since we left the restaurant.”

Sam looked a little skeptical but knew better than to question me about anything I’d seen. “What should we do?”

There wasn’t anything to do about it at the moment, so I said, “Let’s keep going.”

It was hard, but we did our best to avoid looking behind us as we walked down the stairs and toward the museum entrance. It got a lot easier not to look back when we got to the plaza at the museum’s front entrance and were faced with one of the most spectacular structures I’d ever seen.

The Guggenheim complex was massive.

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