“We spoke to the hotel’s bartender and he overheard Poppy on the phone on the day she arrived at the Roseby. She said something about time running out and then she said, I hate that,” I answer, filling him in on our latest.
“OK.” He nods, and I think I detect the faintest glimmer of approval. “So, what did you do next?”
“We spoke to Dorothea to try and find out what things Poppy hates,” Esme chips in. “She came up with three things - whisky, salmon and a perfume. None of them seems to lead to anywhere regarding clues to help with this though. We’ve checked online. There’s no local connection with whisky distillers or distributors and no salmon smokers, fishmongers or farms, so she isn’t being held at a factory or anything related to fish or alcohol.”
Mitch frowns. “What’s the perfume you mentioned?”
“It’s called La Isla Del Mar,” I reply. “Apparently Poppy is allergic to it, one of her friends, the bridesmaid Lottie, gave her a bottle as a birthday present a while back.”
“The island of the sea,” he instantly translates, and I experience a reluctant twinge of admiration at his linguistic abilities. Most special agents need to speak at least two languages fluently, more is preferable. “Anything else?”
“That’s all for now. So, what should be our next course of action, oh wise one?” Esme asks sarcastically.
Mitch checks his watch. “It’s almost midnight, so I say we all head off to our beds and get some sleep. First thing in the morning, we search Poppy’s room again and question the groom and the bridesmaid Lottie again, right?”
“Plus any other hotel staff we can find who are willing to talk to us,” Esme adds, flashing a look of defiance at Mitch.
He gets to his feet, leaving his coffee mug on the table. “Right, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning for day two of this assignment. Tomorrow is going to be a busy old day.”
As the door closes behind him, Esme and I exchange a look of uncertainty. “Do you trust him to be working with us properly now?” she asks, voicing my own concerns.
“I’m not sure,” I reply, with a shake of my head. “I’m not sure at all, but I’m leaning towards going with it for now and seeing what happens. How about you?”
Esme pulls a face but nods. “Yeah, OK, we’ll go with that. But I’m not ready for bed. I’m too wound up. Besides, should we really be sleeping when we don’t have long to track down the bride’s kidnapper?”
“I know. I don’t think I could sleep either. What can we do in the middle of the night to further this investigation though? It’s pitch black out there. We don’t have any transport or any clue as to where Poppy is being held.”
“A place like this must have outbuildings, surely? Where do they do the hotel laundry or store spare furniture and stuff like that?” Esme muses.
“I think most hotels use an external laundry service these days,” I reply. “Hang on! When we flew in to the Roseby I spotted some buildings half hidden amongst the trees a little way up the drive. We could grab some flashlights and explore those?”
Esme leaps to her feet. “Sounds like a plan!”
We scramble around in some cupboards and find lights, as well as a map of the area, some local guidebooks and camping equipment. Armed with the lights we make our way down the drive, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible and avoiding the floodlit areas, just in case anybody spots us from their bedroom window. Though, what they’d be doing gazing from their bedroom window at this time of night, I have no idea. Once again, we find ourselves skulking in the bushes as we peer out at what looks like a huge barn. The other structure next to it is clearly the hotel spa but the piles of bricks, a cement mixer and various tools scattered outside give it more of a building site appearance.
“Where shall we start?” Esme hisses in my ear.
“The barn,” I reply decisively.
We make a dash for the barn and check the huge doors. If the Gods are on our side, it won’t be locked. Esme tugs at first one door and then the other.
They’re locked.
So much for the Gods being on our side.
“What now?”
“Let’s see if there’s any other way inside,” I suggest, starting to walk around the edge of the building, shining my torch. “There might be a window we could smash with a brick.”
Esme frowns. “What if it sets off the security alarms?”
“We’ll worry about that if we find a window.”
Creeping along the side of the stone barn we find no other doors or windows. OK. Think. I could try lock picking, but I’ve never done it before.
“Evening, ladies!”
We both jump a foot and Esme immediately goes into wrestling manoeuvre attack mode.
Mitch steps from behind some trees. “Not a very nice night for a walk,” he grins, pulling the collar of his jacket up against the drizzle which has just started.
“I thought you said you were going to bed!” I retort a little snappily. My heart is going a mile a minute but I don’t want to show Mitch he freaked me out. I need to give the appearance of being strong and brave here, not wimpy and scared.
He laughs. “We don’t have time for luxuries like sleep. That was a test. To see if you two would go off to get some beauty sleep, despite the ominous ticking of the clock towards our deadline. I’ve got to say, I’m impressed you’re both out here, trying to break into the hotel’s garage.”
“This is the garage?” Esme asks. “It just looks like a barn.”
Mitch’s words about not having time to sleep irritate me and it’s on the tip of my tongue to reply that there wasn’t time for him to swan off tonight eating Indian and drinking beers either. I bite my tongue though, for now anyway.
Mitch walks towards the doors of the building. “Believe me, it’s a garage. Want me to get us inside it?”
“Can you pick locks?” I ask warily, unsure if he’s trying to wind us up or not.
By way of reply he pulls a long metal device from his jacket pocket and, in a second, has one door open for us to slide inside and investigate the garage’s secrets. I’m impressed, but I’m not about to admit as much. We all check the walls near the entrance for any sign of an alarm keypad but find nothing. There’s a small office to our right and Mitch heads over, I presume to check that isn’t where the alarm keypad could be hiding. He walks out. “All clear.”
We shine our torches around the barn’s interior. There are twenty or so hatchback cars parked along one wall. A couple of expensive-looking sporty numbers, plus a flash-looking Range Rover are parked in the middle of the floor.
“Right, ladies, let’s get searching these vehicles. We’re looking for anything which could be a potential clue. Notepads, rope, knives, guns, scraps of wedding dress which might have been caught on something and ripped, dropped items of jewellery which could have fallen off in a fake kidnapping struggle. Basically, we’re looking for anything suspicious.”
A part of me is hoping that the cars will be unlocked, perhaps the agency are going to help us out a little, with time so tight. However, as we check door after door, it’s clear each vehicle is securely locked. The agency is not feeling generous then. Heading back into the office we search high and low for keys to the cars. There’s no sign of them. What we do find though, is a metal safe.
“Are either of you any good at getting into these things?” Mitch asks, with an as-if laugh as he crouches in front of it, shining his torch on the metal box which looks pretty firmly fixed to the floor.
“Nope,” I reply.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Esme says gamely, pushing Mitch aside.
“Be my guest.” He stands up and folds his arms, a bemused expression on his face.
Esme leans in close, pressing her cheek against the front of the safe.
“What are you listening for?” Mitch asks her.
She glares at him. “Just shut up and let me concentrate!”
I rest my backside against a desk and wonder if Esme really can crac
k the safe. She’s looking at it intently now, head tilted to one side. Mitch sighs and steps forward. “Just admit you don’t know what you’re doing!”
Esme gets to her feet. “OK. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing but I’m willing to give it a try. OK?”
“Highly commendable,” Mitch nods, taking her place in front of the safe and starting to fiddle with it, adjusting knobs and checking numbers. A few moments later there’s a click and the safe door is open.
“You knew how to do it!” I exclaim, punching him on the shoulder.
“I never said I didn’t,” he replies, pulling a metal loop with a load of keys on it from the confines of the safe. “I just asked if either of you knew how to.”
What a prat.
“How do we know which key is for which car?” Esme asks, looking more than a little irritated at Mitch’s joke. “There are loads of cars and loads of keys, it will take us all night to go through checking each one and matching them up.”
She’s right. It will take ages. I glance around the office, looking for anything which could help us out on that particular front. I spy a clipboard hanging from a nail on the wall and I scoot closer, shining my torch over it. It appears to be a list of the cars in the garage, along with a number for each. Does the number relate to a hotel room or to a key? Turning to Mitch I check the loop of keys in his hands. Each one has a yellow tag on it with a number. “I’m guessing the numbers on the keys relate to the numbers on this clipboard.”
Mitch grabs the clipboard from the wall. “Good thinking. Let’s get to work.”
A few hours later we have explored, examined and searched the insides of all of these vehicles, every single inch of them. And it was mostly a monumental waste of time. We did find a piece of rope in one of the cars – a little yellow VW beetle. We’ll need to check who owns the car. Mitch sent an urgent text to agency support asking them to run it through their records and get back to us. It could turn out to be relevant to the case – after all, a kidnapper would probably want to tie Poppy up with something to restrain her. Mitch reckons it’s probably just an old car tow rope though.
If the garage didn’t give us much in the way of potential clues, then the spa is even worse – zilch.
Back in the staff kitchen, we sit and ponder our next move. It’s three o’clock in the morning and we’re no nearer to solving this case. Despite all the anxiety and adrenaline coursing through me I’m starting to flag a little. I love and need my sleep. Lots of it. Charlie can go days on just a few hours’ sleep, but not me. I become forgetful and grumpy. Neither of which is going to help me pass this test.
Pushing aside dreams of a nice comfy bed, and negative thoughts about failing to solve this case and having to go home jobless, I instead read through all my notes and make sure I haven’t missed any potential clues. Now is definitely not the time to lose focus. Anyway, if we don’t manage to track down the kidnapper there will plenty of time for wallowing in self-pity later. When I’m home alone as Charlie jets off on another investigation and I’m left desperately trying to find a job.
CHAPTER NINE
Time now: 08:00
Time to deadline: 10 hours
“Wake up, sleeping beauty!” Something nudges my foot and I jolt awake, head pounding and neck and back aching like crazy. Forcing myself into an upright position, I realise I fell asleep on the sofa in the corner of the staff dining room. A very uncomfortable sofa at that.
“Want a coffee?” Esme asks me from the kitchen area.
I nod, feeling groggy. “Yes, please.”
“Guess we all dropped off for a while,” Mitch says from his position standing next to the sofa, holding a mug in his hands. Hmm… it must have been Mitch who just woke me up by kicking my foot. Charming.
“Here you go,” Esme says, passing me a blissfully hot and very welcome drink. “We all ended up sleeping in here last night.”
I sit up and gratefully sip my coffee, burning my tongue in the process. Sugar – that hurt.
“Have I missed anything?” I check.
Esme perches on the arm of the sofa. “Agency support texted back to say that the yellow beetle with the rope in the boot is registered to one of our bridesmaids.”
“Not Lottie?” I gasp.
“No,” Esme replies, picking at piece of mud on her jeans. “Connie.”
Frowning, I struggle to my feet and get my brain into gear. “The one who’s mad at Poppy for getting the job she wanted for herself.”
“The very same,” Esme nods.
“Anything else?” I blow on my coffee, trying to reduce its temperature to below scorch-the-roof-of-my-mouth levels.
“Yeah,” Mitch replies. “Turns out Poppy’s old boyfriend Leon Black has a possible criminal record for stealing from his employer. He’s currently suspended without pay whilst the matter is being investigated. The guys back at HQ did a bit of digging but nobody knows where he is at the moment.”
“Which means he could well be in Cumbria trying to stop his ex-girlfriend from marrying somebody else,” Esme chips in.
I nod, taking in all the information being fired at me and wishing my notebook was to hand. Will I remember all of this, especially in my aching, half-awake state?
“As soon as you’re done with that coffee we’re up and at ‘em,” Mitch says, finishing his own drink. “First stop this morning, the dining room in the hotel and a little chat with the groom.”
I put the unfinished drink on the table. “Let’s get started.”
Taylor is sitting in front of a table laden with breakfast food goodies but he clearly hasn’t eaten a morsel. This man is such a good actor. He’s really into his role of a groom worried sick about his kidnapped fiancée. He spots the three of us walking towards him and leaps to his feet.
“Any news?” he asks, looking at each of us in turn.
Mitch shakes his head and takes a seat, uninvited, at Taylor’s table. “Sorry, nothing yet.”
“You have to find her,” Taylor insists, flopping back into his own seat and pushing a hand through his already messy hair. He’s definitely got that sexy indie rock god look about him. “Preferably today,” he adds, with a pointed look at the metal clock adorning the far wall of the hotel’s dining room.
So, he knows about the deadline too. Today is our last chance to do the necessary legwork to solve this case. Otherwise, I’m going home a failure with no agency job offer.
“We will,” Mitch says, helping himself to coffee. “Now, is there anything you’ve remembered which could help us locate Poppy? It might seem irrelevant but you’d be surprised what snippets of information can make the jigsaw puzzle of a case fall into place.”
“I don’t think so,” Taylor replies, looking agitated. “Shouldn’t you all be out there,” he gestures out of the floor to ceiling window framing a picture perfect view of the lake and hills. “Looking for Poppy, instead of sitting in here talking to me.”
“It helps if we know where to start looking for her,” Mitch replies, with a slight edge to his voice. “Had you and Poppy fought at all before the wedding?”
Taylor shifts in his seat. We all stare at him and he eventually nods, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t all couples, you know, with the pressures of organising a wedding? It was nothing serious.”
“So what did you fight about?” Mitch continues, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Poppy was a bit insecure sometimes. I guess it goes with the territory. In my line of work I have a lot of female fans and well, Poppy could be a bit possessive and jealous on occasion.”
“Did she have anything to be jealous about?” I ask, sure to keep my eyes on Taylor and not on the delicious-looking croissants on the table in front of me. I’m starving. We didn’t bother with breakfast this morning as time is so tight to try and successfully complete this assignment.
There’s a beat of silence and Taylor just shrugs.
“So, she did have something to worry about on that front,” I continue. “Would
that have anything to do with how close you and her bridesmaid Lottie seem to be? I saw her comforting you in the marquee when we first arrived and then the two of you seemed pretty close when you left the bar last night.”
More silence.
“So, you and Lottie have been involved recently?” Mitch chips in.
Taylor sighs and eventually nods. “OK. Yes. I did have a bit of a fling with Lottie, but it was all because of Poppy.”
Esme leans forward fixing Taylor with a stern gaze and he shrinks back in his chair. “Let me get this right. You’re blaming your fiancée for the fact you were unfaithful to her?” she asks him.
“She was freaking out all the time,” he replies, looking defensive. “It was driving me insane. She was always nagging me about my music, my work and women. I needed a distraction and Lottie was more than willing, so we got together a couple of times.”
Esme draws in a breath, irritation evident on her face, but manages not to lose it with Taylor. “I see.”
“Just to clarify, did Poppy know about you and Lottie?” I ask.
Taylor shakes his head. “No, I don’t think she did know about us. Look, to be honest, I’m not really sure. I think she suspected there might be…someone.”
“But not that the someone in question, was her bridesmaid Lottie?” Mitch asks.
Taylor fidgets and looks flustered. “I loved, I mean, I love, Poppy.”
“Funny way of showing it,” Esme mutters under her breath, earning herself a glare from Mitch.
“So,” Mitch says, getting to his feet. “I think we have some work to do.” He throws a glance at Taylor. “If you do think of anything useful, you’ve got my mobile phone number. And, obviously, time is of the essence.”
Out of the dining room window the view of the lake includes the boat jetty. “You don’t happen to know who owns that battered blue boat tied up at the dock, do you?” I ask Taylor.
“No idea,” he replies, buttering a croissant. “That thing is a complete and utter eyesore; it shouldn’t be moored outside a hotel like this.”
Amber Reed Mysteries Volume One: Romantic Comedy Mystery Series Box Set (Amber Reed Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency Mystery Box Set Book 1) Page 26