The Missing Bridegroom: A Charlotte Chase Mystery (The Charlotte Chase Mysteries Book 1)

by Georgia London

  These rumours seemed to start out of thin air. Just because the house was so old and a listed building, people made up their own minds what should happen.

  Samantha showed no interest at all, still stared at her keypad, still deep in thought and hoping the phone would bleep with a reply from Simon.

  “Charlotte Chase,” Kim answered at last.

  “Charlotte Chase the TV medium?” Finally, Samantha looked up at Kim and her eyes showed some animation.

  “That’s the one,” Kim answered. “Apparently, she was Miss Mason’s niece and her only relative, so naturally she’s inherited everything. She moved in a couple of days ago.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Our cleaner saw her arrive with two of the most enormous dogs you ever saw in your life. You know, she used to clean for Miss Mason and she went down there on the off chance, to see if anyone had taken it over yet.”

  “Will she be cleaning for the new owner then?” Sophie asked.

  Kim shrugged.

  “Not sure. She said she wasn’t cleaning up after those two hairy beasts, but I expect she’ll change her mind if the money and the gossip’s good.”

  Samantha got to her feet, pushed her chair back in the same motion and grabbed her bag.

  “Where are you going?” Kim asked.

  “I am going to introduce myself to our new neighbour. Perhaps she can tell me what has happened to Simon.”

  She ran out of the café and back to her car before they could stop her. Suddenly there was a chance and she was anxious to take it.

  There had to be someone who could help her, someone who would take her seriously and not think of her as the poor, deluded girl who had been jilted at the altar.

  She didn’t believe her father’s claim that Simon had taken his money. He had offered Simon money before, in ever increasing amounts, but he had never taken a penny. Father said that was because he wanted the lot and he would only get that by going through with the marriage.

  That’s when he had suggested the pre-nuptial agreement, expecting both Samantha and Simon to refuse to sign it. But he was wrong; they had both been willing to sign it. They had gone further and agreed that should she die first, her fortune would go into a trust for any children they may have or, if no offspring were forthcoming, she named certain charities to which to entrust it.

  She would have done anything to prove to her father that Simon loved her, not her wealth and she would not believe he had simply taken the money and gone.

  Now she had sunk to a last resort, to consulting a medium of all things. She believed most of those people were charlatans, but she had watched Charlotte Chase’s TV show and she was very convincing. She was still sceptical, but what had she got to lose?

  The coast road was narrow and windy and Samantha was really a little scared of this car. It was her father who had insisted on buying it for her, when she really preferred something less powerful and she had always planned, when she married, to give this to Simon and get something a little more to her liking.

  Her father had made his money through sheer hard work and guile, with little education and even less capital, and he always wanted to show off by buying expensive toys for his family, whether they wanted them or not.

  Castle House was only about ten minutes from the main town. It was one of those typical Cornish places, big enough to be a small town but without the benefit of a town hall or its own mayor. There was a winding, cobbled road going down a steep hill to the beach on which no one but the disabled and residents were allowed to drive during tourist season.

  Samantha lived in a big house just outside the town, another of Jason Montfield’s acquisitions, bought specially to show his status. She didn’t really blame him; after all he had come from working class people in east London, had always had to work to help support the family and to have made the millions he had was an achievement not to be downplayed. However, his insistence that every man Samantha was ever attracted to was only after her money was insulting. Why couldn’t he see that?

  She applied the brake changed into second gear as the road led steeply downhill and around a sharp bend to reveal the gates which had once been electric, but which Miss Mason had given up on years ago. Samantha wondered if they still worked but it was hardly important.

  She drove between the massive gateposts and around the circular drive to the front door, where she stopped the car, switched off the engine and got out, mentally preparing herself for more scepticism when she explained her case.

  She stood gazing at the house, looking for any sign of habitation and from deep within she heard the sound of a barking dog, an echoing, thunderous bark, obviously not from a small dog. Her friend had said the new owner had arrived with two enormous dogs, so it should have come as no surprise.

  She almost turned away then, got back in her car and left. She shouldn’t have come. The poor woman had only just arrived and just because she had briefly hosted a television series did not give Samantha leave to disturb her. She was probably still mourning the loss of her aunt, as well as unpacking and finding her way about the enormous house.

  That was what came of being brought up wealthy; you tended to think your money gave you the right to do precisely what you wanted. That is what her father believed; at least it seemed that way to Samantha, but she had a little more finesse.

  He was brash and forthright, showed his working class East End roots every time he opened his mouth, and she loved him for it, but the schools to which he had sent her gave her something of a social advantage.

  That was when the door opened and brought forth two massive dogs, one black and one brown and both looking like giant, animated teddy bears. They ran towards her and she feared they might jump up and knock her over so she pushed herself back against the car in anticipation. But they stopped when they reached her and just sniffed at her hands, making sure they would recognise her again.

  It was a good thing she had no fear of dogs, despite her father only ever keeping guard dogs who lived in kennels in the grounds.

  “Hello,” Charlotte said.

  Samantha raised her eyes from the dogs who came up almost to her chest to see their owner standing on the porch, a curious look in her brown eyes, her short and wavy dark hair in disarray.

  She made no excuses for the dogs’ proximity to her visitor, gave no reassurance that they were harmless, which Samantha would have expected, especially given their size. But she supposed she was the intruder here, a total stranger arriving without invitation or notice on the doorstep of a television personality. Why should she give any such assurance?

  Samantha put out a hand to the head of the black dog to stroke him, then she smiled, for the first time since the wedding that never was.

  “What magnificent creatures,” she said. “What are they?”

  “They are Newfoundlands,” Charlotte replied. She stepped forward and touched the head of the black one. “This is Fritz.” She reached out her other hand to the brown dog. “This is Freya, his sister.”

  Still she didn’t ask what her visitor wanted, which was odd. Samantha wondered if her gifts were as good as the television would have it and that perhaps she already knew.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I am Samantha Montfield. I live close to the town and I heard that you had taken over the Castle House, that you were Miss Mason’s niece.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I came to welcome you as a neighbour,” Samantha said quickly, suddenly afraid of disclosing her real reason for the visit. “That is, if you are planning to stay.”

  Charlotte smiled then, a warm smile but somewhat amused just the same. Samantha had grown accomplished at identifying sceptical smiles, not just over the past week but since she got engaged to Simon really. Nobody believed in him but her.

  Charlotte stepped aside and gesture toward the door.

  “Please, come inside. The place is thick with dust and cobwebs and all I’ve had time to do is unpack, but I expected that.
Aunt Florrie couldn’t do a lot and the cleaner she had was pretty useless.”

  Samantha caught her breath. Of course, she knew the woman; she cleaned for all the well-off families in and around the town.

  “Why do you say that?” She asked.

  “She didn’t touch the upstairs,” Charlotte replied. “Aunt Florrie moved downstairs a few years ago because of her arthritis so there was no one to oversee the woman. She took advantage.”

  “She cleans for us,” Samantha said.

  She expected Charlotte to be embarrassed, to wish she hadn’t spoken her thoughts on the subject.

  “Really?” Charlotte answered. “Perhaps you should check the places that are not much used.”

  Just as with the lack of apology for the dogs, Samantha was again surprised. Charlotte didn’t look at all put out that her guest knew the subject of the conversation, nor did it seem to have occurred to her that she could be someone close. She didn’t seem to care a lot.

  She followed Charlotte inside to where the dogs had taken up a position at the bottom of the old oak staircase, staring up, focussed on something halfway up, something Samantha couldn’t see. She shivered, felt goose bumps erupting over her skin. There was something eerie about this house, a house Samantha had always wanted to get inside and explore.

  Charlotte looked up and smiled, but didn’t call the dogs away. She led the way into the kitchen and plugged in the kettle.

  “Tea?” She asked.

  “Coffee, please.”

  “Sorry, I don’t drink the stuff. I usually keep a jar for guests but I haven’t had time to go shopping yet.”

  She turned back to the big, country kitchen table and gestured to a chair, which Samantha pulled out and sat on.

  “Now, my dear,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me the real reason for your visit and if it has anything at all to do with the phantom who has taken up residence on my staircase.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Her forthright question took Samantha by surprise and her mention of a phantom gave her the shivers. Why, she could not have said. After all, the woman was a medium, supposedly in contact with the dead, but she didn’t expect her to talk about a spirit the same way she would about a breathing, living being.

  What did she expect? A round table, gold gossamer or silk table cloth, lots of people sitting around it holding hands, knocks and bumps and ‘is anybody there’? Perhaps a crystal ball and a pack of tarot cards. Probably.

  Why didn’t the woman know already why Samantha had come? If she was any good, surely she would know, wouldn’t she?

  “Don’t you know?” Samantha challenged her.

  Charlotte sat at the table and sighed.

  “Ah,” she said. “It’s going to be one of those conversations is it?” She closed her eyes, emphasising the motion, then reached out and took Samantha’s hand. “You have had a recent heartbreak over a man. I feel there have been a lot of arguments over this man. You are wealthy; he is not. That has probably upset your father who thinks he is only after your money, money he made through sheer hard graft and a nose for an opportunity. Am I right so far?”

  Samantha’s eyes widened. How did this stranger know so much about her, about Simon and her father? It seemed she was just as clever as everyone said she was.

  “How do you know all that?” She said.

  Charlotte sighed again. Everyone asked, always. They knew she was psychic; that was why they came, but still they were surprised to be given the simplest and most obvious information.

  “Do you really want to know?” Charlotte replied. “Or would you rather keep your illusions?”

  “You know things about me, yet we have never met before. Do you really see those things?”

  Charlotte smiled, shook her head slowly.

  “Your car is what? Fifty thousand pounds’ worth? Yet your ring, while not cheap, is not top of the range. That is how I know that you are wealthy but your fiancé is not. It follows, therefore, that your father would not be happy about the marriage and might suspect the young man of being a gold digger. I imagine he would have tried many times to talk you out of it, might even have tried to buy him off. That would be my guess. Your eyes are puffy, telling me you have cried a lot recently and your finger beneath the ring is red and sore, which tells me you have been twisting it constantly for at least a day or two. That, in turn, tells me the cause of your distress is the fiancé.”

  “Oh,” Samantha said, her heart sinking. She did not expect to be so easily duped. “That doesn’t explain how you know about my father, how he made his money.”

  Charlotte reached out to a pile of post and junk mail which she had dumped on the table when she arrived after skimming through it. She tossed the parish magazine toward her guest.

  “There is an article in here about him. Apparently he has been generous enough to pay for a new church roof. There is a nice family group picture to go along with the write up. You take a lovely photo.”

  Samantha blushed and looked down at her hands again. She felt embarrassed now, having been fooled by this woman. She wondered how many other people had fallen for a medium who was really nothing but exceptionally observant.

  “Do you have some perceptive way of telling me the name of my fiancé?” Samantha demanded.

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “No. I only know his name begins with an S.” She pointed to Samantha’s bracelet from which hung a charm with two Ss entwined. “Something else I don’t know; who is Miranda?”

  Samantha felt her heart leap. There could be no trick to this, no extra perceptive observance. She looked down at herself, just to be sure that she had nothing that would indicate how the name could be of any significance. She knew, of course, there was nothing.

  “How do you know about her?”

  “Ah, well, that is another matter. You recall I mentioned the phantom on my staircase?”

  Samantha spun around in her seat. She could see through the kitchen door to the hallway, to where the two dogs were still staring, their gazes fixed, towards the stairs.

  “She is Simon’s ex-girlfriend,” Samantha answered, turning back. “But you can’t have seen her ghost. She is not dead.”

  “Tell that to the baby bears,” Charlotte said, gesturing to the dogs in the hallway. “She is there all right, no doubt about that, and she started to point and get quite agitated when you walked in. She can’t say a lot yet, but she managed to tell me her name.”

  “Mandy,” Samantha replied. “She was always called Mandy. Simon went out with her for about six months and she got quite obsessed, started booking venues for their wedding and everything. He found her quite creepy and he had broken it off when he met me.”

  “And how did that come about?”

  “You mean how did a millionaire’s daughter meet and fall for a mechanic?”

  “Ah, a mechanic. I imagine he repaired your car.” Charlotte looked over her shoulder to the shining silver Porsche on the driveway. “But not that car. That car’s brand new.”

  “I think that’s why my father bought it,” Samantha replied. “Because he knew Simon would never be able to repair it. It’s got computerised and micro chipped everything. He certainly didn’t buy it for me; I hate the thing. It goes too fast, it is too low down and there’s no room to give anyone a lift.”

  “So, what’s been happening?” Charlotte asked. “Why have to come to see me?”

  “I thought you might have heard. I’m sure the whole village is talking about it, if not the whole of Cornwall.”

  “Well, I only just got here. I had no idea Aunt Florrie was going to leave this place to me, but I’m very glad she did. I do feel that you have been frustrated, that your efforts to convince everyone of something have met with scepticism.”

  “You’re right. Our wedding day was last Saturday, but Simon didn’t turn up. He left me, riding around and around the church in a brand new Rolls Royce like an idiot. But no one has seen him since and I can’t get any re
ply from his number. I went to his flat and his phone was there; he hadn’t taken it with him, wherever he went. He wouldn’t have done that to me; I know he wouldn’t but can I get anyone to believe me? No. My friends, my family, even the police all think I am trying to save face.”

  So that was the wedding that had held Charlotte up on her way here.

  “So Simon has gone missing and you are worried about him?”

  Samantha nodded feeling at last she had found someone who wouldn’t dismiss her concerns as nothing more than an embarrassed, jilted girl trying to pretend it didn’t happen that way.

  She could tell by the compassion and concern in Charlotte’s dark eyes that she believed her.

  “You believe me, don’t you?” Samantha said with a note of relief.

  “I do. You knew Simon better than anyone, after all, but you will have to face the possibility that he was no more than a clever con artist, after your father’s fortune. Some of those people are very convincing.”

  Samantha shook her head.

  “No. He loves me; I know he does.”

  “Let’s start with Miranda. There is a reason she is here and you tell me she is still in this world. I can tell you without doubt that she is not, she is in spirit and desperately trying to tell someone where to find her.”

  That was when the dogs came into the kitchen and started toward their huge water bowls, now set into the high stands so they could drink without bending down too far and without being tempted to paddle.

  “She’s gone,” Charlotte said. “She was only waiting for us to recognise that her body was lying dead somewhere, but she’ll be back.”

  “How do you know she’s gone.”

  “The dogs have come in, stopped watching. They always watch the phantoms who come to visit. I don’t know why, whether they want to be sure they don’t intend any evil or what I don’t know.”

  “I thought animals were frightened of ghosts.”

  “Not necessarily. They know a malevolent spirit when they see one and then they will run and hide somewhere, but any other sort they are just curious about.”