Stardust: A Sam Smith Mystery (The Sam Smith Mystery Series Book 10) by Hannah Howe

Author:Hannah Howe [Howe, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Goylake Publishing
Published: 2017-03-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Another day, another Euro. While Saskia tapped up her contacts and tried to arrange a meeting with the Zusterschap, I walked the streets of Amsterdam with Velvet. As ever, Mac blended into the background, his keen eyes observing everything. Even though Mac possessed highly distinctive features, he had the ability to transform himself, like a chameleon, and remain hidden.

Velvet and yours truly walked through the markets, pausing occasionally to eye the wares. The stalls contained a variety of items, from chocolate to flower seeds, from beer to cheese; from old maps and prints to ceramics, from jewellery to bric-a-brac. Velvet took a passing interest in the merchandize and seemed in better spirits today.

“You feel rested?” I asked.

“I feel better,” she said.

“You can stay at the hotel, for now.”

“Who will pay for me?”

“Loudon.”

Velvet frowned. She wrapped her arms around her midriff and hugged herself tight. “Won’t he be angry?”

“Possibly,” I said. “My guess is, his anger will dissipate, if we return with the briefcase.”

We wandered away from the market, to a canal. There, a large green barge dominated the view, its tall slim mast competing with the canal-side trees. The trees were bare while the cobblestones under our feet were slippery, a reminder of the icy conditions, of winter’s arctic grip. A number of bicycles lined the canal, their front wheels canted to one side. I also spied an elegant rusty lamppost, clearly a relic from a bygone age.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Velvet asked. As she spoke, she shivered, maybe from the cold, maybe because of her predicament.

“What would you like to happen?” I asked.

“I want to sing,” she said, her tone plaintive, mournful.

“We need to get you home first; then you can sing.”

“If I return home,” she said, “Mr Loudon will inform the police. They’ll arrest me.”

“Not if we return with the briefcase.”

We walked along the canal, keen to keep moving, to generate some warmth. At one point, I gazed across the canal to a tall seventeenth century building. The building struck me as peculiar because its windows, twelve of them, dominated the facade; the facade was a sheet of glass with hardly any brick visible.

With her gaze lost in the canal, in the nebulous reflections cast on the water, Velvet said, “Even if we return with the briefcase, what about the money I gave to Slick?”

“That is an issue,” I admitted, “but I think there’s more to the briefcase than money.”

“What if we can’t find the briefcase?”

“We revert to Plan B,” I said.

“What’s Plan B?” Velvet frowned.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I haven’t thought of it yet.”

Velvet continued to shiver. So, we ducked into a coffeehouse in search of sustenance and warmth. As we entered the coffeehouse, I reminded myself that the Dutch offered two types of establishment, those that sold cannabis and those that didn’t. Thankfully, through more luck than judgement, we’d selected the latter.

Inside the coffeehouse, we discovered a number of ladies chatting, sipping coffee, eating cake. Clearly, this establishment catered for the well-heeled in society, with price tags to match.

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