Madam Tulip: (A Madam Tulip mystery - Book 1) by David Ahern

Author:David Ahern [Ahern, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, mystery, thriller, suspense, female protagonist, amateur sleuth, crime fiction, Humorous
ISBN: 9780993544811
Publisher: Malin Press
Published: 2016-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

16

At five minutes before seven, Derry and Bruce were standing with their backs to the towering wall of the oldest brewery in Dublin. The roadside was lined with vintage carriages, each harnessed to a patient horse. The jarveys sat relaxed, perched on their high seats, exchanging banter amongst themselves. A small knot of tourists was emerging from the brewery gates, the last of the day. Some, obviously keen on a city tour, stood looking enquiringly up at the drivers, only to be ignored. Soliciting fares was obviously beneath the dignity of any self-respecting Dublin cabman.

Two hours since Derry had phoned Fitz, and meanwhile she had cleaned and tidied every inch of her apartment. After an hour and a half of making the bed, hanging up clothes, sorting out the contents of drawers, throwing grubby bras into a refuse sack, dragging cobwebbed and dusty books out from under the bed and vacuuming the whole place, she pronounced herself satisfied. The apartment was gleaming, every surface pristine, every dish dried and put away. She had even dusted the lampshades. Derry was embarrassed to notice just how much more light the bulbs seemed to give out.

‘They’re not going to give you marks out of ten,’ said Bruce. ‘Jeez, I thought I was house-proud.’

‘If I’m going to be lying on the floor for an hour with my face in the carpet, I want the carpet to be vacuumed. What if I sneeze and they shoot me? Anyway, I feel better now. And I didn’t find any more packages. So that’s something.’

But there had already been packages enough. As Derry leaned against the cold brewery wall, waiting in silence for Fitz, she was forced to face the truth. Somebody meant her harm. Watching the lazy line of carriages and the tourists with their backpacks and parkas, their smiling untroubled faces, Derry found it hard to believe in such malevolence. She might have dreamt everything, except there, right beside her, Bruce was leaning quietly against the wall. And creeping slowly past the carriages, was a gleaming black limousine.

As the car crept closer, its motor whispering, Derry stepped to the edge of the pavement. Bruce hovered, not too close, not too far. Through the car’s tinted rear windows it was impossible to make out who sat in the back, but Derry could see the driver. She had red hair.

The car stopped. The rear passenger door swung open.

‘Hop in,’ said Fitz. ‘Smartish, if you don’t mind.’

The car was huge. A Bentley? A Rolls-Royce? A glass screen, its centre pane lowered, separated the driver from the spacious rear compartment. Fitz sat on a small jump seat facing backwards. No sooner had Derry and Bruce sunk into the enveloping leather than Fitz had pulled the door closed, and the car was gliding forward.

‘Perhaps,’ said Fitz, ‘we should get the introductions over with?’

Derry’s mouth was dry. She had to cough to clear her throat.

‘Bruce, this is Fitz—an old friend.’

Fitz stiffened. Perhaps others wouldn’t have noticed, so controlled was his usual demeanour, but Derry saw immediately.

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