The Gin Shack on the Beach

by Catherine Miller

  Olive went to type her next plan of action so they’d know what she was up to, but soon realised she didn’t have the foggiest idea how to investigate Matron. She wouldn’t be able to get into the office while she was in there and she wouldn’t be able to disguise herself as one of the cleaning ladies to go poking in her bins. Matron didn’t use the break room like the other members of staff, so there was no point checking there, and Matron’s living quarters were out of bounds. Even if she wanted to break in, she wasn’t sure where she should go. Maybe that was the answer, though – she just wasn’t sure she’d be able to tackle it alone. They could consider it, if for nothing else than to shed light on who the culprit was.

  As these were the main areas where Matron hung out, Olive was short on ideas, but then a flash of inspiration hit her. It was unlikely to provide any answers, but Matron was known to visit the beach hut. Perhaps she might find some answers there and, if she was honest, the idea of visiting somewhere familiar in the midst of all this chaos was an appealing idea.

  I’m going to check the beach hut.

  Olive thought she might end up needing help to get hold of the keys, which were now held at the front desk, but it turned out the desk was unmanned (a rarity and an oddity all at the same time) and she was able to grab them without getting Randy or Veronica to pretend to faint in the lobby.

  It had been far too easy getting them for Olive to feel in any way at ease as she headed to the beach hut. For weeks, she’d wanted to come to this place and hadn’t been able to of her own free will, and now she was managing to flounce out of the building with the stolen – no, borrowed – keys in hand without anyone trying to stop her.

  Olive did her best to act relaxed and normal as she wandered the familiar route along the Royal Esplanade. She missed doing this. She shouldn’t have let them take the beach hut off her hands so easily. And maybe she should talk to Richard about it now he seemed to be taking onboard that she wasn’t an entirely delinquent old bat.

  It was a lovely evening as she wandered along the promenade. One where everyone was out enjoying the late summer sun. It had brightened up this week so the beach-hut brigade, along with their families and friends, were taking advantage. It made for a lovely atmosphere – a low hum of music, children from different groups coming together for a game of volleyball, the sound of laughter filling the air. She missed the get-togethers at her beach hut and, although The Gin Shack was an excellent outcome of everything that had happened, she still wanted to see the children and feel the sand between her toes as often as she used to.

  The beach huts in her row were all locked up and it was possibly the only section of beach with no visitors. It was a side effect of The Gin Shack’s success and the fact that the whole Salter family were involved that she wasn’t the only one experiencing less time at the beach.

  Olive’s hut was less well looked after than usual. She liked to give it a clean at least once a week and even from the outside it was clear it wasn’t as well kept as usual. Opening up the hut wasn’t so different, apart from none of her chairs having been put away properly and it all being a bit of a mess. It was amazing how a few things out of place in such a small space made it look chaotic. For a while she set to straightening up the place, entirely forgetting the purpose of her visit. Having moved the chairs back to where they should be tucked away, it was time to get reacquainted with the ottoman. If she didn’t get the beach-hut lease back, she was going to reclaim her favourite piece of furniture at the very least.

  Annoyingly, it looked like someone had been careless enough to set down either mugs or glasses (or both) without a coaster, and there were some watermarks splattered across the top. It was rather disrespectful given that they were borrowing this place for the benefit of Oakley West.

  The lid creaked as Olive lifted it open. It sounded like they might have got the hinges wet as well, and that made her even angrier. It was her own fault for not having made sure this chest was protected and removed when they took over the hut’s use. Because it wasn’t just the fact it stored her gin that made it precious; it was also one of the few mementos she had of her daughter’s childhood. The place where blankets and toys were once stored. And whenever she opened the lid, it wasn’t the smell of gin that struck her, but that time of innocence. The time when all it took was a hug with Mum and a blankie to restore all that was wrong with the world.

  Olive closed her eyes and tried to breathe it in now. The scent of damp salty hair and fresh linen. Both were absent. Even the gin wasn’t permeating her nostrils. Instead there was an earthly scent that was altogether out of place. It made her open her eyes to concentrate more on the here and now. Not whatever shadows were clouding her past.

  At least her sense of smell hadn’t left her. The gin that had once been there was missing and in its place were plants. Three neat rows of plant pots with seedlings sprouting out. No wonder it smelt funny.

  Olive had no idea when they’d turned the beach hut into a gardening shed, but there was one thing the ottoman wasn’t for, and that was to house pots of mud. Not wanting to leave them in there and risk further damage, she fished them all out and placed them on the side. She would have tried to lug the ottoman back herself, but there was no way she’d manage the weight of it by herself. She would have to ask Randy, and maybe Richard would help as it didn’t strike her as a one-person job.

  That was confirmed when she tried to shift the heavy box to one side so it would no longer be used as a coffee table and jack-of-all-trades unit. Cleaning up the place was hardly going to conceal the fact she’d been here, but she was no longer worried about that, seeing as they’d not been treating her property with the respect it deserved. Figuring it was pretty evident she’d been here, it wouldn’t hurt to leave a note on the ottoman asking them not to use it any more. It was a bit of overkill, considering she was hoping they would be able to collect it in the morning, but there was every chance that wouldn’t happen with the rate at which things were changing recently. Deciding it was best to play it safe, Olive went poking around in the odds-and-sods draw hoping she’d be able to find both pen and paper.

  It was when she’d located both and had started writing that she realised the gin was gone. It should have been the first thing that struck her, but she was so put out by finding pot plants germinating seeds, she’d got caught up in what was there, not what was missing.

  Fortunately, the key for the cupboard was in the same place as usual and Olive was able to poke about to see where they’d got to. But of course they weren’t in the cupboards, the space not big enough to house them, hence the ottoman being there in the first place. Even the extra mixers they’d purchased when they’d initially started their club at the hut were depleted.

  As everyone else was doing it, Olive figured the final stone to unturn was going through the bin. Olive wasn’t sure it would unearth anything, but as it seemed to be the trendy thing to do, she was going to join in.

  The small bin in the beach hut had barely anything in it. There were remnants of soil and a few sweet wrappers, but that was all. Disappointingly, it told her nothing, but then she hadn’t really had any great expectations for the trash. Especially when the hut wasn’t in use very often these days.

  Leaving the note on the ottoman, Olive locked up the beach hut again. It had been a rather fruitless search and had left her disheartened. Moving to Oakley West had been meant to make her life easier, but she couldn’t help but feel she’d lost a little of herself in the process. Not just because the beach hut had been taken off her, but because she’d not stood her ground and allowed it to happen. It made her realise she didn’t want to stand for it any more. For as long as she was capable of making her own decisions, she would continue to do so.

  Checking her phone, Olive checked the progress of Randy and Veronica. It was a relief to find Veronica was out of Mavis’s room, but was now heading for the staffroom in the hope it was empty so she could poke around in there. No doubt in a bin.<
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  Do either of you know Matron’s surname?

  Randy’s message was more intriguing and, thinking on it, Olive didn’t have a clue. Matron always made them refer to her as Matron. She’d known her first name at one point, but would only be able to remember that if pushed at gunpoint. Wasn’t it Helen? But no, as far as she could remember she’d never been told Matron’s surname.

  I don’t. Why?

  Olive typed the message in the box and pressed send. It was worrying he was asking the question, but not letting them know what he was up to. Putting her phone away, it was definitely time for her to get back, having discovered no clues here as to who the toilet-blocker was. She wanted to make sure her friends were okay. And with the possibility that they had an enemy living at Oakley West, the prospect of sleeping alone didn’t appeal. Was it too late in life to suggest a sleepover?

  Remembering she was giving up worrying what others thought, a sleepover should be on the cards. That way they wouldn’t only have safety in numbers, they would be able to discuss what they’d found out and if they were any closer to knowing the truth.

  Passing the café, Olive decided to take the steps round the back. There was less chance of bumping into anyone that way as everyone from Oakley West tended to use the slopes.

  As she took that route, she passed the large industrial bins, one of which was labelled GLASS.

  It made her pause. Was there really any chance, as it was recycling, that it wasn’t emptied as often and might contain some kind of clue?

  Realising it might look like the height of eccentricity, she decided to go for it and swung the large bin lid up. The bin was a communal one, not just for the café, and the contents were testament to the height of summer enjoyment and it would soon need emptying.

  In among the brown beer bottles and clear wine bottles, two bottles distinctly stood out. One was frosted glass with trees sweeping across. The other blue with golden leaves. They were a layer or so down, so Olive had to move some bottles and tried to ignore the sticky dew coating her fingers. Both bottles were empty. Both bottles were definitely hers, their rarity ensuring the fact.

  Picking them up, Olive opted to bring the sleeves of her tunic down so she wasn’t adding prints or rubbing any off. If this was their one bit of evidence she needed to treat it as such. Because there was every possibility Matron wasn’t as innocent as the police wanted to believe.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  There wasn’t much chance of sleep considering there wasn’t enough space for them all to kip. In Olive’s room there was only her single bed, the reading chair for sleeping upright and a small sofa not long enough for anyone to lie on. Instead they decided they wouldn’t sleep, and if anyone ended up needing to catch some shut-eye, they would take it in turns.

  The other reason they didn’t want to sleep was because they’d come up with a plan for trying to get into Matron’s office. Randy was convinced it would help them in their investigations. Olive thought it was going to get them in trouble, but she preferred to be doing something proactive rather than sitting around not sleeping.

  ‘Why do you want to know her surname?’ Veronica asked as the three of them prepared to leave.

  They looked as daft as three brushes in their pyjamas, dressing gowns and slippers. Each of them had a small bag and were packing the essentials like they were the Famous Five off on a picnic. Olive did wonder if Randy packing a Stanley knife and torch was a step too far, but those things were always good to have on hand, so she tried not to question quite why they might need them to get the information they were after.

  ‘I might be wrong, but I think Matron and Melanie are related.’ Randy zipped up his washbag. He was opting for that as his survival-kit disguise. ‘I’ve been trying to get my head round why Melanie might have sabotaged the toilet, but when I thought about it, I wondered why she was the only other member of staff who resided here permanently. She’s always said it was one of the perks of the activities coordinator role. It just made me think there’s a possibility they’re related. It would make sense.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Olive had never even considered the possibility. It seemed like a bit of a random line of thought.

  ‘I’ve always considered it odd that Matron insists on everyone calling her Matron. I mean, it’s not even her proper job title. It’s care-home manager or something like that.’

  ‘Not as catchy, though, is it?’

  Randy laughed. ‘No, but my point is, I think it’s deliberate. She only ever uses her first name because she doesn’t want people knowing she’s related to one of the staff.’

  ‘Her first name is Helen. That’s all that’s on her name badge, but she hardly ever wears it,’ Veronica said, looking rather funny in her fluffy pink dressing gown.

  ‘I found a letter to Melanie in the bin in the library. I didn’t think much about it at first – it’s only to do with ordering some equipment. But it had her full name. Melanie Helen Lotte-Jones. It made me think there might be a connection.’

  ‘Because her middle name is Helen?’

  ‘I said it was a loose link, but at the moment it’s all we’ve got.’

  ‘Possibly not.’ Olive hadn’t told them about the bottles she’d discovered in the recycling bins at the beach hut. ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with the loo blockage, but I do think Matron isn’t as innocent as she wants the police to think. My entire gin stash from the ottoman has gone and I found some of the bottles empty in the glass recycling. I got them out and stored them back in the ottoman. I didn’t think returning with an empty bottle in each hand was the best idea, especially if Matron caught me at it. I thought we could go back in the morning and collect them along with the ottoman.’

  ‘We might have something on her then?’ Veronica said. It was bad that they already thought of her as a criminal even though she might be perfectly innocent. They were breaking some of the first rules of policing, so it was a good job they were as far from that occupation as they could be.

  ‘I’ll talk to Richard to see what he says. She might not have committed an offence, seeing as the keys had been handed over to her, but if she has, then maybe the police could check the bottle for fingerprints. Even if it’s not a crime, it’s extremely bad manners.’

  It still didn’t bring them any closer to knowing why someone was trying to sabotage The Gin Shack, but it would prove Olive wasn’t wrong in thinking Matron wasn’t the do-gooding woman she liked to make out she was.

  When they were all ready with everything they thought they might need (and, yes, there were snacks packed), they left one by one to head to Matron’s office. They were spacing the timing out as well as taking different routes. That way, if they did bump into anyone in the hallways, they could claim they were having problems with the water in their room. And as that could be a systemic problem, it might not look quite so suspicious if they were all out at the same time.

  Randy left first, with Olive next and Veronica ten minutes after that. Olive’s route was down the staircase towards where Veronica used to make her Tuesday-morning exits. Then she would need to loop round towards Matron’s office where hopefully Randy would already be inside making progress.

  Veronica had the hardest route, going down in the lift. It was the one where they would most likely be spotted, but they’d figured it would be the best route to use last. That way, if anyone was about ready to catch them, Veronica could divert them back to her bedroom and supposed water issues.

  The stairwell was eerily quiet and much darker without the early-morning light. Olive took her time and stepped cautiously as she made her way downstairs. They were living in hope the door to the office would be open, but Randy was going to have a go at picking the lock if it was shut. With any luck he would have cracked it by the time she got there, so they weren’t congregated in a communal area.

  When Olive reached the correct hallway, Randy wasn’t there tampering with the door so she figured he must
have managed to open it. Before heading in, she gave a sweeping glance to check there was no one about and then, as quietly as possible, turned the handle and slipped into Matron’s office.

  What she hadn’t expected was for the room to be empty. No Randy. No Matron. No sign that anyone had been there in the quarter of an hour since Randy had departed.

  ‘Hello,’ Olive whispered, hoping it would encourage Randy to pop out from somewhere.

  No response. Not even a rustle in any quarter of the room to indicate he was there.

  Crap. This was not good. And Olive had no idea what to do. They had a plan and it was a simple one at that. They were coming in here to find out what Matron’s surname was and, as it seemed to be the done thing at the moment, have a good old sniff in the bins. But that was it. In. Get what info they could. Out.

  It was plain. Simple. People were not supposed to disappear. Especially not Randy, who was essentially the brains of tonight’s operation and, out of all of them, the least likely to get lost.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe he’d come out at the wrong floor or taken an incorrect turning and was trying to break into a storage cupboard while Olive had managed to sail through an unlocked door. It had to be something like that. Some rational kind of explanation. She mustn’t panic. She wasn’t panicking. It was just, what the hell was she supposed to do? Other than panic, that is.

  It was then that the door handle behind Olive started to turn and she was near to a heart attack with the shock it gave her. What should she do? As things stood, she didn’t have time to hide even if she’d had wanted to.

  ‘Randy?’ Olive said it before the door fully opened, the panic rising to the point she wasn’t able to stop the hope forming on her lips.

  It was Veronica. Of course it was Veronica. It was roughly ten minutes since Olive had left the relative safety of her room, and she was due to join the staggered party. Only not all of their number had arrived.