Madeira Silence: A Portuguese Mystery, #3

By Joyce Summer

BEAUTY IS PAIN

Madeira's ladies are happy. At last there is a beauty farm just for them. Leticia Avila and her friend Inês are also immediately drawn to the temple of beauty. They enjoy mud packs, peelings and massages. But then they make the acquaintance of the unpleasant journalist Sofia Lima, who, following in the footsteps of Empress Sisi, unsettles the island and the staff of the beauty farm.
Meanwhile, Comissário Avila looks after his little daughter and thinks about reducing his work at police headquarters in favour of his family. But when a few days later the journalist's severed hand and shortly afterwards her body are found on the grounds of a former nunnery, he has to make a decision: Does he want to continue playing the househusband or support his team around Subcomissário Vasconcellos - especially since Avila knows the main suspect better than he would like.
 

This cosy crime series is a must-read mystery full of heart, humour and the longing place Madeira – perfect for fans of Richard Osman, Louise Penny and The Appeal.

 

Praise for Madeira Silence

"An entertaining and suspenseful thriller with a twisty, coherent plot, interesting and pictorially told, with sympathetic protagonists and once again a beautiful, impressive setting."–starred review.

"Murder hunt and island flair - a beautiful and entertaining third part of the series."–starred review.

"I can recommend this cosy crime novel to anyone who likes suspense, feel-good moments and a wonderful island feeling. I was captivated by the story from the first moment."–starred review.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joyce Summer
• Release date: Jul 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215479087

Joyce Summer

Born in the Nibelungen city of Worms, Joyce Summer has been fascinated by stories and legends since childhood. What could be more natural than to devote herself entirely to writing at some point? After years of working as a manager in various banks and large corporations, she knows enough about politics and intrigue: so it was not difficult for Joyce to leave this life behind and go on a murder hunt with paper and pen. "In my previous job, you had to be prepared for someone to stick a knife in your back. In that case, I'd rather live out my own murderous desires and fantasies in beautiful crime novels - and I can give my readers a treat as well."

Book preview

Directory of Persons

Brigada de homicídios and other police forces:

Comissário Fernando Avila—heads the Brigada de homicídios department and otherwise struggles with his new role of a father.

Subcomissário Ernesto Vasconcellos—his right-hand man with a weakness for womankind, nicknamed Belmiro.

Aspirante a Oficial Filipe Baroso—youngest member of the team.

André Lobo—Director de Departemento, head of Avila and his team, is also called the wolf.

Doutora Katia Souza–coroner in charge and godmother of Vasconcellos.

Sargento Manuel (Manel) Fonseca—Galina's handler and master.

Intendente Costa –the principled new head of the Polícia de trânsito, the traffic police.

Other persons:

Leticia Avila—wife of Avila, Catalan and mother.

Inês Lobo—wife of Avila's boss and Leticia's best friend.

Romario Palmeiro—owner of Palmer's Winery and hotelier.

Aleen Lamont—owner of an orchid nursery and landlady of Vasconcellos.

Nuno—Aleen Lamont's old gardener and plant expert.

Carlos Santos—Garbage man, gardener and man for everything in Garajau, friend of Avila.

Sofia Lima—journalist and guest at the Quinta da beleza.

Isabel Delgado—owner of Quinta da beleza.

Clara Pinto—Quinta da beleza beautician.

Dunja—beautician from Quinta da beleza.

Abadessa Benedita—former abbess of the convent Mosteiro de Santa Maria-a-Velha.

Jaimy Dias—brother of Clara Pinto.

Engenheiro José Cunha—responsible for the water supply around Camacha.

Persons in 1893:

Baroness Anna Concini—Lady-in-Waiting.

Countess Janka Mikes—Lady-in-Waiting.

Countess of Hohenems

Constantin Christomanos—Greek teacher.

Gabriella Andrade—grandmother of Aleen Lamont.

There is no need to seek a poetic death when you have such a beautiful death before you.

Empress Elisabeth of Austria looking at Cabo Girão, Madeira

Prologue

With a gurgling angry splash, the clear water broke against the rubbish that prevented it from taking its usual path. In search of a new bed down in the valley, the cool water of the levada seeped into the ground.

Krxxxx.

The tip of the curved little rake scraped across the uneven stone of the water channel. José's scalp tingled unpleasantly with the sound.

Merda, crap. Why am I doing this, anyway? Where are these fucking Levaderos? Why am I doing their work here? he grumbled to himself. He reached into his trouser pocket to take out his telemóvel, his mobile phone. In mid-motion he paused. Bolas, oh no. That thing is still on the bedside table at home. How many times am I going to forget and fall for that today?

For a moment, he wished he would have stayed in bed, only to correct himself immediately afterwards. No, better not, because his wife was also at home and he didn't want to see her at the moment. She had made a big scene this morning because he had had a few too many poncha with the boys in the Camarão bar the night before. Why couldn't she let him have even the slightest bit of fun? She had no idea how stressful his days were.

He was on the road from morning to night to make sure that the farmers in Camacha and the surrounding area got their hour of water. Especially this summer, when the hot winds of the Sahara had started blowing much earlier than usual, everything depended on his work. And now this. When he had walked from Palheiro Ferreiro to the Levada dos Tornos this morning, he had already suspected that something was wrong. The levada had completely dried up. He immediately wanted to reach for his telemóvel, only to find that it was not in his pocket. Cursing, he set off on the climb towards Pico Alpires. If he was lucky, one of the farmers had already noticed the missing water and called Pascoal, the foreman of the levaderos. But his phone was probably ringing off the hook at his house right now and his wife would have even more reason to be in a bad mood tonight. He followed the levada around a bend and saw Senhora Baroso limping towards him from a distance. The old woman had rented a plot on the levada to supplement her small pension with lettuce and other vegetables.

"Engenheiro, I have already tried to reach you! Meu deus, my God, it's a disaster, the water is gone! She pointed to her field. See how wilted my lettuce looks? If it doesn't get something to drink today, I won't have anything to sell at the Mercado dos Lavradores in Funchal on Friday." She looked at him with narrowed eyes, as if he was to blame for the empty levada.

Senhora Baroso, I'll go and see what's going on! There  have probably been rockfalls somewhere that have blocked the levada further upstream. Have you perhaps already tried to reach Pascoal? he continued.

But you told us to call you if the water didn't come, Engenheiro, the old woman replied. Does that no longer apply?

"Desculpe, excuse me. You did everything right. I assure you, you'll get your water." With a quick nod of his head, he said goodbye and trudged quietly up the levada, grumbling to himself.

Senhora Baroso was not the only one to reproach him that morning. His path along the levada was like running the gauntlet past the waiting farmers. He breathed a sigh of relief when the course of the levada left the fields and climbed up through a patch of laurel forest. There was still no water in the small channel. The cause had to be further up. Soon the branch of the Levada da Serra do Faial had to come. He wondered if it was also affected. As he went around the next bend, he passed a blossoming red foxglove, however, he had no eyes for its beauty today. Then he saw it. It was just beyond the fork. A large pile had formed in front of the grating that was supposed to catch branches and leaves and thus make the levaderos' work easier. The levada had dammed up in front of it so that it was already flowing over its bed, which was about eighty centimetres deep. Cautiously, he bent over the watercourse to take a closer look at the debris. It was no use, he had to try to remove the obstacle by physical means. If he left now to reach Pascoal, too much time would pass and the angry farmers would end up calling his boss. Cursing, he took off his shoes, rolled up his trousers and climbed into the dammed part of the levada. Caramba, damn, the water is cold as shit. He pulled the curved tine rake from his waistband, which he usually used to clear the small stones from the levada's branches to the fields to regulate the irrigation. He didn't have anything better. With the tine, he picked dead branches and broken fern twigs out of the rubble. He threw the dead wood and branches in a high arc towards the laurel trees. Still the water made no attempt to flow through the grate on the other side. Again, he dug the rake into the debris and something bigger came loose. This had to be the culprit. He reached into the water. His hands enclosed something soft that felt somehow sticky. Que diabo ...? What the hell?Stunned, he stared at the object he had just pulled out: a hand with chipped nail polish. Where once there had been the arm of a woman, there was now only a frayed stub. With a cry, he dropped the hand back into the dammed levada. It plunged into the clear, cold water.

Three days before the find

Feel my skin. Leticia Avila held out her right hand to her friend Inês.

Like your little Felia's skin! What kind of treatment did you have? I need that too!

I had a sea salt hand peel followed by a seaweed mask. Don't tell Fernando, but I immediately bought a big jar of the scrub to take home. Sinfully expensive, but I can't remember ever having had such soft hands before.

You don't have to justify yourself to your husband! After all, you spent the last year taking care of Felia. It's about time you treated yourself. Inês shook her head.

I know, but I already have a guilty conscience because this weekend cost so much. Fernando, Felia and I could have flown to my mother's in Barcelona for that amount.

Would you have relaxed? Fernando would have been annoyed by his mother-in-law most of the time and you would have worn yourself out trying to mediate between the two.

Their relationship is not that bad, Leticia protested. Secretly, however, she had to agree with her friend. Her mother Sabrina's last visit to them in Garajau had been a disaster. Fernando had even ended up volunteering to go see the wolf, his boss, to work on old unsolved cases. Only to escape Sabrina's sharp tongue and constant criticism of his fatherly qualities.

Oh, is that so? Inês eyed her, raising her freshly plucked eyebrows. André told me that Fernando came to his office asking for work. Leticia sighed. She couldn't fool her friend. This was not only due to Inês' alert mind, but equally to the fact that her husband André Lobo, called the wolf, was Fernando's boss in the homicide department.

Did you hear what was going on in the gallery in front of the treatment rooms? Leticia quickly changed the subject. I thought there were about to be deaths, that's how loud that journalist was shouting. Unfortunately, I couldn't understand exactly what it was about.

Oh, I can tell you that. Inês briefly looked over her shoulder to check that they were also alone in the resort's lounge area, which was in the open ground-level area of the building. This was where the exclusively female guests met between their treatments for herbal or detox teas or to have their meals. Sofia Lima is not particularly happy with the results of Clara's treatment.

You don't mean the permanent make-up she told us about in such detail at the breakfast table this morning? I'd really be sorry about that. Leticia giggled. Gloating wasn't usually her thing. But in this case … The only downer about their stay here was the fact that Sofia Lima had been seated at their table and they now had to endure the Lisbon woman's endless tirades at every meal. In confidence, she had told her tablemates that she was a journalist. In fact, she was an investigative journalist who worked hand in hand with the police and had solved many cases single-handedly. Right now, she was on a story again. The same old tune at every meal. Fortunately, however, her sleuthing skills didn't seem to be so far off in real life. She hadn't found out that she was sitting at the same table as the wives of the two most important men in the Madeiran homicide squad.

Inês joined in Leticia's laughter.

Oh yes, and I must confess, I'm not sorry at all. If I understood correctly, Clara executed the shape of the tattooed eyebrows differently than agreed. I heard Sofia complain that she now had to walk around with an expression of constant surprise.

I'm looking forward to checking out the results at the table later.

Inês became serious again. I feel sorry for Clara. Sofia threatened to sue her. She said it bordered on assault, the way she's ‘disfigured’ now.

Poor Clara. But I can't imagine that they are not insured against such cases here at the beauty resort. Isabel Delgado gives me the impression of a clever businesswoman. She'll be able to handle it.

The main thing is that she doesn't dismiss Clara. The girl has divine hands. I had a foot reflexology massage with her earlier. I've never been so relaxed.

Two hours later, over dinner, the friends were able to see the result of the tattoo.

Did you see what that little bitch did to me? Sofia Lima immediately started the conversation as soon as Leticia and Inês had taken their seats.

Leticia would have preferred to pretend that she could not notice any change. But in fact, the raised eyebrows caused a surprised expression on the haggard features of the older woman. Surprisingly, Leticia thought it made her look friendlier than before.

I think it looks good on you. It softens your face, she replied carefully.

"Aldrabona! Bullshit! I look like a startled cow!"

If Clara draws the eyebrows a little wider and fills them in towards the bottom …, Inês tried to smooth the waters with a suggestion.

You don't think I'm going to let that incompetent person touch my face again, do you? Sofia interrupted her. No, when I'm done with her, she will struggle to look for a new job. Better still, she will have worked as a beautician for the last time. First thing Monday I'll call my lawyer. To confirm, she showed them both an entry in her diary, which she carried around with her at all times to jot things down. There, the word Advogado was written in capital letters and underlined thickly.

But you would ruin the girl's life with that. Last night you were full of praise, don't forget that. After all, she did give you such beautiful fingernails. Leticia pointed at the journalist's long fingernails, which were decorated with white and pink petals and street elements. Sofia had assured them only yesterday that Clara had indeed not used any prefabricated stencils, but had designed each individual nail like a painting.

I don't care. The result today counts and it's a disaster. In Lisbon, someone like that Clara wouldn't be working for a long time. I can already see the headline: 'Woman disfigured at beauty spa and resort'.

Leticia noticed how she was starting to get angry. That journalist was awful.

I think you're exaggerating. As Inês said, a few small corrections and it will look fine.

Lima stood up abruptly. The chair made a loud squeaking noise on the terracotta tiles and the conversations at the other tables fell silent.

I don't agree with you there! You Madeirans are all in cahoots! But you'll see. I won't be muzzled! She stormed out of the room, head held high, towards the left-hand corridor where the guests' rooms were located. A short time later, she left the resort, covering her head with a colourful scarf.

That's terrible. If Lima writes an article about this incident, the Quinta da beleza will run out of guests. Who knows what kind of filth she'll come up with. The woman has been snooping and nagging around here the last few days. Now it really looks like she's found something to make the Quinta look bad. I don't like journalists! Leticia stated.

Ladies, I am so sorry that your stay has also been disturbed by this little incident. May I give you a packet of our wonderful purifying tea as compensation? Isabel Delgado had stepped unnoticed to their table.

Leticia wanted to refuse immediately, but a painful kick from her friend under the table held her back. Inês nodded enthusiastically.

Yes? Wonderful, I'll be right back with it for you. Isabel disappeared into her office with a swaying step.

Inês, we shouldn't do that! Didn't you see what a pack like that costs?

Of course I did. The tea costs sixty-five euros. But I am very sure that this is not the purchase price. Maybe Isabel even got samples from the company and she's just giving them to us now. Besides, I've been thinking since yesterday about whether I should continue this purification cure at home. A few kilos less wouldn't be bad. Inês pinched her belly, which slipped over the waistband of her trousers in a small crease as she sat.

Five minutes later, Isabel returned with two packets of the expensive tea in her carefully manicured hands. A quick glance at the packaging from Leticia confirmed Inês' assumption. Não vender, not for sale, was written on the box.

I assure you, we will take care of Senhora Lima so that she will have good memories of this stay after all, the young boss said, pushing a strand of hair that had come loose from her carefully pinned chignon behind her left ear. Clara is devastated and we are currently discussing with the team how we can improve the outcome of the treatment.

We're really sorry for you, Inês hurried to say as she stuffed one of the packs into her handbag, which was bulging as usual. We feel very comfortable at the Quinta da beleza and we also plan to advertise you heavily at our golf club. There aren't many places like this here in Madeira where a woman can pamper herself and relax undisturbed.

Thank you very much for wanting to advertise for us. Isabel clapped her hands. We are still establishing ourselves here after opening three months ago. I think you are the first Madeirans to be guests here. So far it's been almost exclusively ladies from the mainland or tourists.

You should try to arouse interest among the English-born expats. The Brits who have immigrated to Madeira are mostly very well off and the ladies will certainly get excited about this little luxury here.

Inês is right. You should focus on the immigrants first, Leticia confirmed to her friend. Silently, she thought: if I had known beforehand how expensive such a long weekend would be, I would not have accepted Inês' suggestion. I won't be able to afford such an extravagance very often. That's how it will be for most people here on the island. Not everyone has as much money as Inês and the wolf.

That's a very good idea! To get back to your golf club: may I give you some flyers to display at the club? I would have them put in your rooms. She looked at the two ladies gratefully. As she had done the last few days, Leticia again noticed the unusual colour of the young woman's eyes. They were almost violet blue. Somewhere she had once read that Elisabeth Taylor was also supposed to have had violet eyes, but had always thought that was a fairy tale.

See, I told you, this Isabel is a capable businesswoman, Inês said as she sat alone at the table with Leticia again. Just look at how she has completely rebuilt this hotel in half a year and turned it into this luxury resort. I know some beauty resorts on the mainland. This one really doesn't have to hide behind that.

I wonder where this young woman got the money from? Do you think there are still some rich investors in the background? Leticia wanted to know.

We will know soon. On this island, no secret is safe for long.

Garajau, Bar Camarão, also three days earlier, 17:03

Urso, stop it! Avila bent down to his dog, who was sitting in the middle of the covered terrace, his head thrown back, and howled.

I see you're here with your little tag-along. Ana came out of the diner and put a bowl of tremoços down for Avila. Urso immediately stopped howling and sniffed her legs. It seemed to him there could be a treat was hiding there for him.

The waitress patted Urso's head. "I'll have something for you in a minute, handsome. We have some chouriços in the kitchen. The cook won't even notice if I steal one for you. But first I'll let your master explain to me what the howling is all about."

Don't ask me, Ana. He's had this quirk for a few weeks now. As soon as a car with a siren goes by, he sits down and plays the wolf howling at the moon. It drives me crazy.

Maybe he copied that from Galina?

Fonseca's trained police dog? She would lie still on duty even if a rabbit jumped over her muzzle. No, Urso came up with the idea all by himself. Thank God it doesn't seem to upset Felia. She sleeps like a rock. He pointed to the buggy he had pushed into the corner of the terrace. Felia's head had sunk onto her chest and the little stuffed bunny she had been clutching tightly just a moment before had slipped to the side.

Let me see your little beauty. Ana walked over to the buggy. Felia lifted her head and looked at her with wide eyes. Sleeping my ass! Your girl gets everything! She stroked the little girl's cheek lightly with her finger. Can I pick her up? When Avila nodded, she unstrapped Felia and gently picked her up in her arms. What soft skin! Plus that baby smell. Oh, babies smell so good. Ana put Felia on her hip, which was met with a delighted squeal. She's grown quite a bit. How old is she now?

She'll be one the week after next, Avila announced, thrusting out his chest.

Is she running around yet?

No, she takes her time. But she can already sit upright on her own and she loves it when you hold her by both hands and make her jump with her legs. Ana didn't need to be told twice and tried this trick with Felia. The two had just covered a few metres when the squeak of a dustbin announced Carlos, Avila's best friend.

"Boa tarde," the rubbish man greeted him after parking the bin on the street to the left of the entrance. As always, he had taken care to place it in such a way that it did not obstruct any of the pedestrians or guests.

Ana strapped the protesting Felia back into the buggy and pressed the stuffed bunny into her arm.

"Two caneca for you? Or do you want poncha?"

"No poncha for me today, Ana. And just a bottle of beer, please," Avila waved it off.

I guess you don't want to put your daughter to bed tonight with that alcohol stink, Ana teased him. "Just a garaffa for you too, Carlos?" He nodded briefly and she disappeared inside the bar.

Avila turned to Carlos, who had silently pulled up a chair and was staring at the table.

"Is everything all right with you, meu amigo, my friend? You are so quiet."

Carlos startled out of his thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair and a slight smile crossed his face.

Busy. Avila knew that Carlos had several small jobs at the same time and was well occupied. Sometimes he looked after the houses of the well-travelled residents of Garajau, then again he earned extra money with janitorial work in hotels or flat complexes. Normally, the rubbish man radiated calmness and never forgot to enjoy the beauty of the world around him. But today was different. Carlos' grey hair was unkempt and stood out in swirls from his head. The usually clean and ironed white T-shirt under his dungarees was wrinkled and he had dirt marks on his neck. Bags had formed under his eyes.

Carlos noticed his friend's cautious scrutiny and raised both hands defensively.

"Don't worry, Fernando. Now that I'm sitting here with you, everything's fine. Tell me, have you