The Missing Party-Girl: A Rags-to-Riches Cozy Mystery Romance

by Nhys Glover

  “Did you tell the officials that?” Adie persisted.

  “I did. And they discounted it. They said I couldn’t have known. He was constantly evaluated, and nobody picked up how close to the edge he was. They thought it was me suffering survivor’s guilt. They wouldn’t believe me. And because I wouldn’t move pass it, I was given an honorable discharge with a purple heart and told to get help. They didn’t have a fucking clue!”

  He was yelling by this stage and his voice echoed down the dark, quiet lane and out over the fields like a bomb exploding.

  “If you’d told someone what you suspected, would it have made a difference?” Adie asked, kicking herself for continuing when Cage was so obviously close to the edge.

  She knew he’d never hurt her, but she might push him too far and make him quit. They’d come close before.

  “Maybe. He’d passed all his evals, so I’d have to have pushed. And letting a good dog go before it was used up was economically unsound. It cost a lot to train sniffers like King. The US government wanted their money’s worth from every dog. It was fucking cruel to see a dog’s spirit broken. They’re man’s best friend, so what do we give them for their loyalty? A life on the edge and then death when they’re no longer useful. Or that was how it was. Now they’re rehabilitated and retired to loving homes. But not back then. It was wrong. All wrong. And I was a part of it.”

  Cage dropped to his haunches and wrapped his arms around his head. Deep guttural sobs filled the air. Adie edged Jig close to the man, and the dog did what all loyal pets did. He snuggled in, nosing Cage’s shoulder and whimpering.

  At first the man ignored the dog. However, bit by bit he softened, until he finally wrapped his arms around Jig and cried into his shaggy fur.

  The wracking sobs brought tears to Adie’s eyes. Seeing a strong man broken like this was intolerable. She had no idea what she needed to do. Should she place a hand on his shoulder, or should she leave him to his private pain and walk home?

  In the end she said what was in her heart.

  “It seems to me that if you had reported your suspicions, it wouldn’t have mattered. It’s easy enough to have 20/20 hindsight. Everyone can point to where the mistakes were made when something goes wrong. But how many of those mistakes occur when nothing goes wrong? How many dogs were close to the edge and were still able to keep doing their job?

  “King broke suddenly and unexpectedly. It cost lives. But so did bombs and suicide bombers and mines, and God knows what else. War costs lives, and it would be so good if there were no wars, so innocent dogs and men didn’t have to die. But as you said only a few days ago, you can’t give bullies a free pass just because you don’t want anyone hurt. It doesn’t work that way. Bullies just keep wanting more and more. That’s what you said. Right? This war on terror is one you believed in enough to put your life on the line, right?”

  He nodded, listening. His sobs had lessened now and she desperately wanted to hug him. But he wouldn’t accept it from her. Only Jig could give him the comfort he needed.

  “Because you didn’t want the Taliban or whoever dictating how women were treated. Or what God the people should believe in. Or how they should worship. Our country was built on freedom. Maybe it isn’t always that way in reality, but that doesn’t take away from the aspirations we hold at the core of our national identity. If protecting our freedoms and stopping the bullies costs some lives, human and animal, then it’s worth it. I think you know it’s worth it.

  “You blame yourself, I get that. I can see why you looked back, after it happened, and saw where you thought you went wrong. But you couldn’t have known.

  “Cage, I know you! You would never have risked men’s lives to keep your dog alive a little longer. You wouldn’t! You read the signs, after the fact, and they were glaring and obvious. But before…? Nobody, not even you, saw how close to the edge King really was.”

  Cage was silent for a long time, his hands rhythmically moving through Jig’s long fur, soothing himself and the dog.

  “I don’t know anymore. And it doesn’t matter,” he finally said, his voice flat and dead.

  “It does matter, because you’ve painted your soul black because of it. I know I have no clue about any of this. That I wasn’t there and can’t say for sure who was at fault. But if your superiors, who were there and did examine the whole situation, said you weren’t at fault, then maybe it’s time to believe them. Let yourself off the hook on this one at least. You weren’t responsible for King’s failure just as you weren’t responsible for Jig taking a bait. Give yourself a break!”

  “You sound too much like Dad right now, you know?” he choked out on a shaky laugh.

  “Must run in the family then. Good sense, I mean,” Adie joked.

  Cage lifted his head from Jig’s back and smiled at her. She read embarrassment and gratitude in that smile.

  “Come on. Who knows when someone will drive along this lane and run us over. Now that will be your fault!” she joked again, beginning to stride off towards home.

  She wasn’t surprised to hear his heavy steps catching up with her a moment later.

  For the first time, Adie let out a sigh of relief. Her decision to push had not ended in disaster. And maybe, just maybe, Cage would start seeing the truth about himself. She hoped so. With all her heart, she hoped so.

  Chapter 13

  Too hyped-up to sleep, Adie took her laptop to bed with her and began a Google search for roly-poly Roland in Lewes. It had to be a long shot. But it was an odd enough name, and he was some kind of titled big-wig, so maybe there was a chance he’d have a cyber-presence.

  Immediately she got asked if she meant Rowland. It wasn’t how Minerva had spelled the name but she couldn’t exclude the possibility that she had made a mistake. She searched for both versions of the name.

  About half an hour in, amongst the pages for local businessmen and historical figures, she found what she was looking for.

  Roland Hughes, Viscount of Lewes, had recently attended a gala in London. Once she had a name, she set to work finding all she could on Hughes.

  By dawn her eyes were as red and dry as a desert, but she had more than enough information to go on.

  Roland Hughes was born in 1944. He was the eldest child of the previous Viscount, who died when Roland was eighteen. Roland packed his mother off to Australia to live with his married sister shortly after claiming his title and inheritance. He then began a life of decadence, which ended in 1970 when he married Lady Lauren Prescott, a woman six years his senior.

  Reading between the lines, Adie concluded that his wife was a hard-headed businesswoman, who not only kept Roland on a tight rein, but also took control of the purse strings. She bought into Microsoft and Apple in the early days, bolstering Roland’s waning finances significantly.

  Lauren had died in 2015. Since then Roland had been travelling the world and generally enjoying his last years of life in much the way he’d enjoyed his first years as Viscount.

  There was a lot written about their country seat in Sussex, a grand stately home five miles out of Lewes. It was built in the early Victorian era by a well-known architect and had, for the last ten years, been open to the public. Or some of it was. The family had their own apartments, which were off-limits to the public.

  From the look of the place, Adie could quite imagine Georgie being impressed. It wouldn’t have mattered that Roland was overweight and years younger than she was. His position and wealth would have been enough for her. And clearly Roland had a thing for older women, because his name had been tied to a line of much older celebrities, at home and abroad, from the time he was eighteen until he married Lauren. After that, either he was a loyal husband or he was more discrete. Adie was tempted to say it was the latter, if his behavior since her death was anything to go by. Good grief, the man was older than Minerva and yet still partying like he was twenty years old!

  He was still alive, at least. Which meant they could find out whether Georgie had
come to him that Saturday or not. Of course, if he was the murderer, he might not tell them. But Adie was pretty sure she could see the truth on the man’s face, one way or the other.

  When she heard Cage moving around in the morning, she let Jig out and took a shower she hoped would resuscitate her a little. It did, but coffee would do more.

  When she got downstairs the coffee was already brewing and Cage was outside with the romping Jig. Tiredly, she leaned against the French window and watched the troubled man put her beloved dog through his paces.

  Cage was loving but firm with the young animal, and Jig responded with adoration and loyalty that only dogs could display. When Cage put a dog bowl filled with meat in front of him, Jig simply watched his master for the word or gesture to eat. The long pause had Jig wriggling in place but not giving in to his desire to eat.

  Finally, Cage gave the word, and Jig fell on the food like a starving beast. Had she not personally fed the dog the night before, she would have believed Jig hadn’t eaten in a week.

  When the coffee was brewed, she poured herself a cup and called to Cage that it was ready. Cage and Jig came to the door immediately and, not for the first time, Adie was glad the kitchen was not carpeted. Jig’s paws were muddy, as were the boots Cage toed off.

  “He’s doing really well, isn’t he?” she said by way of greeting as she handed him his coffee.

  “Yep. Real good. I plan to leave food out for him today and see if it’s still there tonight. It’s something I should have done before we left for London.”

  “He was fine while we were away. And there were no security breaches. Maybe Winsley has what he wants now, and he’ll leave us alone.”

  “Maybe. He’s sure used the police file to fuck with us.”

  “And failed. I’ve got another lead, by the way.”

  Cage looked at her closely for the first time. “Didn’t you sleep?”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t. So I got stuck in. I now know Roland Hughes, Viscount of Lewes, is likely the man seeing Georgie all those years ago. And he’s still alive.”

  “Huh, all that from an old mink coat. Who’d have guessed.”

  “And the power of the internet. Don’t forget the mighty Google.”

  “Yeah, but we would have had a way harder time trying to track down a Roland in Sussex than a Roland in Lewes. That ticket was a godsend.”

  Adie grinned in triumph. “All because I felt sorry for the cute little mink critters.”

  Cage laughed, before taking a sip of coffee. “I can give Hugo a call to see if he knows anything about this guy. If he’s involved in her disappearance, then having some leverage might be useful.”

  Adie nodded. Hugo was an excellent resource, and as long as they didn’t use him too often, she was okay with making the most of his contacts and knowledge.

  After breakfast, Cage placed the call and put it on speaker for Adie to hear.

  “Cage and Adie? Good to hear from you. How goes it?” Hugo said in his Sean Connery voice.

  “The files you got for us were also accessed by Winsley. He got to the main players still alive before we did. Luckily, though he bribed and threatened, he didn’t change the results. Which unfortunately led nowhere. The prime suspects were innocent.

  Hugo let out a disappointed little grunt.

  “Now this is where it gets interesting. Adie found out from Minerva’s journals about a fur coat Georgie owned. She left it in the flat when she disappeared, and somehow Minerva got it. Adie says Minerva wanted a coat like Georgie’s, so it made sense she kept it after her friend left. We found the coat yesterday, and in one of the pockets was a train ticket from March 1965. It was a return ticket to Lewes.

  “What on earth has Lewes got to do with anything? It can’t have been for the day she went missing, so what other significance does it have?” Hugo asked in obvious bemusement.

  “Minerva mentioned a rich boyfriend who lived in the country. She’d been to house-parties there. And the date on the ticket was the date of one such party,” Adie spoke up excitedly. “And the guy’s first name was Roland. So I Googled him last night and discovered a Roland Hughes, Viscount of Lewes, who has a stately home in the Lewes area.”

  “Hmm,” Hugo said. “Don’t know the name, but I can do a little snooping, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “Yes, please,” Adie said.

  “But be careful who’s around when you do it. Unless Winsley has somehow got ahold of Minerva’s videos, which I highly doubt, he found out some other way that you were after the files on Georgie’s disappearance,” Cage said.

  “Oh dear,” Hugo muttered. “I may have asked my contact at the Met about getting access to the files over drinks at the club. I didn’t think anyone would be listening. People tend to mind their own businesses at gentlemen’s clubs. Many deals are made over a few drinks there. But if Winsley got the files ahead of you, then unless one of his men leaked the information, it probably happened then. I will be more circumspect from now on. Winsley is turning out to be rather a nuisance.”

  “Nuisance? He nearly killed my dog! That’s more than a nuisance. And he was heard saying he’d never let me get my hands on his money. He was ranting about it to some tech specialist over the phone, while he was in the village.”

  “The videos are not stored anywhere a techie could find them. And you said you’ve hidden yours, so I think we’re safe in that regard,” Hugo assured Adie.

  “I know. The point I was making is that he’s not going to stop. He thinks of the money as his, and he’ll do anything to stop me getting my hands on it. Bribing and threatening possible leads is only the beginning.”

  “I understand, Adie. I do. And I apologize again for Minerva’s poor judgment. This is turning out to be far less fun that she wanted it to be.”

  “It’s nerve-wracking, I’ll give you that. But we seem to be getting somewhere, which I didn’t expect. So it’s actually not too bad. I can’t say I’m enjoying it, but it is engrossing.”

  “Good, good, that’s the ticket. I’ll start looking into this Roland Hughes immediately and get back to you. I assume he’s in his seventies or eighties, if he’s still alive?”

  “Born in 1944 and his Wikipee entry gives no date of death. Not that Wikipee is always accurate.”

  “Wikipedia, I assume you mean? I have little knowledge of it. I will use more conventional methods to get answers.”

  Those answers came that afternoon.

  Adie had made the most of the nice weather to take Jig for a long walk, before confining herself to the front bedroom with her pictures of furniture that correlated with the descriptions on the receipts. Her walk in the cold spring sunshine had given her just the energy boost she needed to get back to it. As the hours passed, so did the number of stickers that appeared on tables, closets and armoires.

  The cell phone rang just as Adie began to flag again and was thinking of another boost of caffeine to keep her going.

  The staccato ring tone had her following the sound with hasty steps. She found Cage in the kitchen, working on his laptop, Jig at his feet. As soon as he saw her, he moved the phone from his ear to the table

  On speaker phone yet again, Cage exchanged greetings with Hugo and asked if there was any news.

  “Have you ever heard of the National Science and Media Museum in Bradford? I expect not,” Hugo said. “Your Roland Hughes has. He’s a big supporter of the museum, thanks to his shares in Microsoft. He was asked to open a new exhibit there this coming weekend. He’ll be staying at the Morville Apartments Friday night. I’ve arranged for you to meet him in the boutique wine bar next door at 6 pm. The drinks will be on you.”

  “Did you tell him what we want?” Cage asked.

  “No, I kept it general. I said you were the niece of Minerva and she had mentioned him to you just before her death. It piqued his curiosity. And his pride. Minerva was well known in social circles. The fact she spoke of him to you makes him feel special.” Hugo’s cynical grunt made it
clear how ‘special’ he considered the man.

  “Thanks, Hugo. If we find anything out, we’ll let you know,” Adie said.

  “The sooner the better. I want Winsley to lose. It’s not good sportsmanship to try to rig the game.”

  Adie laughed as Cage hung up. Sportsmanship didn’t seem to have anything to do with what they were doing. And if the old boys club was involved, then it was never going to be fair.

  Chapter 14

  By Friday, Adie was a bag of nerves. They were getting close, she knew it. She could taste it. The only problem she could see was whether Roland Hughes would own up to his crimes just because they asked it of him.

  Cage hired a town car to take them to Bradford, which was only 15 miles away. Dressed as they were, they didn’t want to fight commuters heading home from work.

  Adie had dressed up for the occasion, determined to look the part of Minerva’s niece, a multi-million dollar heiress. Her classic knee-length black sheath was low cut enough to make her look sexy but still classy. And she fitted into it easily, without the help of constraining underwear.

  She’d had to fight the urge to wear Georgie’s mink coat. Even though she swore she’d never support the fur trade by wearing such a thing in public, it had felt right to wear Georgie’s to meet her ex-boyfriend. But good sense and morality won out. Instead, she topped the little black cocktail dress off with a cashmere coat of silver grey.

  Wearing her hair loose was what she did to please Cage. Several times during the journey into the city she caught him about to touch one long, brown lock. It attracted his eye as much as her cleavage did. Female pride bolstered her nerves.

  The upscale wine bar occupied part of the first floor of a grand old Victorian building. Wonderful polished stone columns occupied the atrium, which was now the entry to a complex of boutique stores.

  An old fashioned frosted glass door led off the atrium into the wine bar. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Adie was accosted by an old world charm that perfectly matched the rest of the restored building. The Victorian gaslight fixtures and dark polished wood gave the room a slightly sinister feel, though, like something out of Conan Doyle or Agatha Christie mystery. Or maybe that was just her worries about possibly coming face-to-face with a murderer.