Page 41 of The Little Porto Book Club

Chapter Twenty-Three

It’s Sunday and time to meet the book club to see what they’ve unearthed. We gather at Mercado de Bolhão, a historic market in the centre of Porto. Hazy sunlight spills across colourful displays of fresh produce and local delicacies, and the sound of so many voices echo around the cavernous space. It’s my idea of hell but anything for my new friends, right? Shoppers use pull-behind shopping carts that roll over my feet with alarming regularity, while vendors yodel at full volume about having the freshest fruit and vegetables.

There’s the clink of the metal scales, the rapid fire of Portuguese accents haggling over prices and the briny scent of seafood in the air, but it’s a shopper’s dream, if you don’t mind all of that. Chaos. All the better for us to hide amid it, as we tackle the Curious Case of the Missing Book Club Member. And Zephyr has to pick up some groceries and asked us along for the ride to help her practise her basic Portuguese language skills.

Old Albert arrives, taking a swizzle from his hip flask. ‘Good morning. Quite the crowd, eh? I had to go through all of this yesterday when my wife spent the better part of an hour bargaining over the price of chouriço and cheese.’

Zephyr appears, tapping Albert on the shoulder. ‘And I bet you had no problems eating it later?’

Old Albert’s eyes crinkle in the corners. ‘Oh, there she is, my conscience, always ready to remind me I’m a misogynist. Or was it sexist? All of the ists.’

Zephyr laughs. ‘Someone’s got to. Anyway, we don’t have time for the boomer in denial thing today.’

Tiago arrives with his usual wide grin in place. It’s interesting knowing there’s more behind that grin, it masks his grief, his displacement. The comforting hug we shared lingers in my mind, that moment where time stood still and I hoped to radiate through touch alone that I understood, probably better than anyone.

‘Did you tell them what we found out?’ Zephyr bounces on her toes as she snatches old Albert’s hip flask from him. ‘We talked about this. It’s not good for you.’

‘You sound just like my granddaughter back home.’ Old Albert’s rheumy eyes glitter as if his new friend makes a good stand-in for a granddaughter he misses. These two constantly surprise me with their banter. ‘And no, I most certainly did not blurt out our find. I figured we’d share that with the book club together.’

‘Speaking of –’ Tiago scans the crowd – ‘no Thomas?’

‘No.’ Zephyr’s mouth turns down. ‘I sent him a message just in case, but he reiterated that he was busy today.’

I send her a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry, in a whodunnit the sceptic usually comes around.’ What I don’t mention is it could be possible that he’s the twist, a part of the plot. In this case, I just don’t see it, but red herrings abound in whodunnits, so I reserve judgement.

‘I don’t think I can handle any more drama.’ Zephyr laughs. ‘Anyway, can I have a drum roll …’

‘It’s just not feasible,’ I say since we’re standing around in a huddle in the middle of the market being constantly bumped into by shoppers.

‘OK, no drum roll.’ Zephyr cocks her head as if I’m the strange one. ‘Lucinda owns Pastelaria História.’

I gasp. Interesting …

My mind snaps back to the Wednesday when Tiago surprised me with the rapid expansion of our book club and the waitress offered me Jésuita as thanks for the extra afternoon patrons. I asked her if the pastelaria was a family-run business and she replied: It’s my aunt’s place, we run it for her. She stays mostly out of the way. And then the waitress side-eyed Lucinda and I thought nought of it.

I share this with the book club. ‘Foreshadowing, and it blew straight past me.’ My shoulders slump. Are my detective skills so sorely lacking? How could I miss such an obvious clue? What else might I have missed? Social anxiety has a lot to answer for. I’d been so worried about our book club bulging out to six humans that it’d all been white noise.

‘Well, you weren’t to know,’ old Albert says, giving me a supportive smile.

‘How did you get the waitress to spill the beans?’ Tiago asks.

At a nearby stall the frutária calls out, ‘Get your juicy peaches!’ and his rival yells back, ‘Come to me for the plumpest peaches in Porto!’

Zephyr grins at the memory. ‘We complimented her about the pastries and how you can tell the difference between mass produced and family made, and it was a wonder they weren’t busier since their range was clearly baked in-house.’

‘Well, this got her to talking about her aunt, who won’t let them renovate the interior. Won’t let them make any changes at all and that she doesn’t understand why, but that the aunt won’t listen to reason. Wants the place to stay as it is, quiet, even if she loses money. Isn’t that strange?’ old Albert says. ‘Those peaches do look plump.’ He slowly wanders closer. Stuck between the two men who now vie for his attention, calling plump, juicy, luscious, freshest!

‘So how did it come out that Lucinda was the owner?’ Tiago asks.

Old Albert wanders back. ‘Zephyr picked up on it. Most people flock to the busier cafés on the Cais da Ribeira by the Douro River, or along Avenida dos Aliados, so who would want their own business to remain quiet? An introvert, that’s who.’

‘And you suspected Lucinda?’ I ask.

Zephyr shakes her head. ‘Not at first. I suspected someone like us, someone who wanted to stay off the beaten track and enjoy the quiet. As our chat continued, the waitress mentioned that her aunt had been coming in more often recently to do some work, and then to relax. So, mostly joking, I asked if it was one of us from book club and she said yes! But made us promise not to breathe a word of it to Lucinda, because she values her privacy above all else.’

‘Wow,’ I say, impressed. ‘Is the waitress worried that Lucinda is missing?’

‘We did mention how weird it was that she’s suddenly missed book club and the waitress completely shut down after that. Got a bit squirrely, actually.’ Old Albert pulls a face. ‘As if she regretted telling us so much.’