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

by Georgia London

  She shook her head. This was not happening; this could definitely not be happening. She crunched the letter up in her hand, tears began to gather in her eyes as she raised them to look at her parents, at the smugness her father couldn’t hide.

  Her mother sat in her usual armchair beside the huge, marble fireplace and looked down at her hands, so Samantha couldn’t see her expression. She had supported Samantha throughout, ever since the engagement her mother had appeared to be on her side, even while trying to gently convince her that Simon was not the right man for her.

  Even since the day of the wedding, she had been able to go to her for comfort, but she’d never actually come out and said she was sorry for her. Samantha thought it likely she didn’t want to go against her husband; she was old fashioned that way.

  But something was wrong and she knew it, even if they didn’t. She crunched the letter up into a ball as she grabbed her bag and her car keys from the side cupboard and headed towards the door.

  “Where are you going?” Her mother called after her.

  “I’m going to stay with a friend,” she called back. “I cannot stand to see his smug face everywhere I look.”

  She didn’t have to elaborate on whose face; that was obvious. He had won; he had finally found Simon’s price and now he could look forward to knowing it.

  “You shouldn’t be driving that car,” her mother shouted. “Not in that state! Please.”

  “Tell him,” Samantha called back just before she slammed the door. “He bought the damned thing.”

  Sarah Montfield was probably right, Samantha had to admit. She hated this car even in the best of moods, and the way she felt right now, she would be safer in a space capsule. But she wasn’t about to let her father know that.

  She started the ignition and rammed the gear lever into first, took off along the coast road without a clue as to where she was going. Staying with a friend, she had told Sarah, but that wasn’t her intention at all. She didn’t want to tell her friends what had happened; she didn’t think they would be smug about it, but you never knew. Secretly, she was sure, they had been just as suspicious of Simon as Jason had, although they never said so. It was human nature for a person to be pleased when they were proved right, wasn’t it?

  She could go to a hotel for a few nights. Then she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone, wouldn’t have to admit to anyone that she’d been made a complete fool of. She remembered all the expensive gifts she’d bought for Simon since she’d known him, remembered that she had put a huge chunk of her own allowance into his business.

  He’d said he didn’t want anything, but she had insisted. She wanted him to succeed and the loan he would have needed from the bank would have crippled him before he started. That was a secret between her and Simon; she never intended her parents to find out about it.

  She pulled up in a layby on the cliff’s edge and pulled her handbag onto her lap, opened it and looked into her purse. A few pounds in cash and a whole load of credit and debit cards. And if she used any one of those, Jason would be able to track where she was. He had enough clout to persuade anyone to do anything.

  She got out and slammed the door, walked around to the front of the car and looked down at the beach far below. Far out to sea was one wave which was higher than the rest of the ocean, a wave which would be enormous when it reached the shore. It would be great for surfers, but there weren’t any about at this time of year.

  There was a woman down there, a dark haired woman with two enormous, fluffy dogs, one black and one brown, playing in the waves like children.

  “Charlotte,” she murmured to herself.

  Suddenly she felt better; not much but definitely better. Charlotte had been kind to her, had believed her when no one else would. Perhaps she would let her stay for a few days, let her pour out her heart and advise her of the best way to move forward.

  She was waiting when Charlotte returned to the house with her dogs, who came hurtling towards her to say hello. Samantha knew by now that they would not knock her over, that they didn’t jump up and would stop when they got close and she reached out her hands to stroke them both. They were wet and smelly from their paddle in the sea.

  Strangely enough, until she met Charlotte, she had no idea she liked dogs. She’d never had one, never wanted one, but if it wasn’t for the hair and the drool, she could have lived with one of these giants.

  “Come in,” Charlotte said as she opened the front door. “Did you bring a change of knickers or do you need to go shopping?”

  “How did you know?”

  Charlotte shrugged.

  “I just do. Something drastic has happened and I’m the only one you’ve come across in this miserable business who believes you.” She paused and gestured to Samantha’s swollen face. “Besides, you’ve been crying again.”

  She found Charlotte something of an enigma. She wasn’t sure whether half of what she said was psychic ability or just observation, but it hardly mattered. She’d proved right so far, all except Mandy’s ghost anyway. That couldn’t be right, could it? Not considering the contents of Simon’s letter.

  Samantha pulled the crushed up note from her handbag where she’d put it when she arrived, along with its envelope, and tossed it onto the kitchen table, while Charlotte switched on the kettle to make them hot drinks. It was getting chilly now and was really cold down on the beach, but the dogs loved the cold.

  She’d had time to look around the house properly, to see what Aunt Florrie had left and how much there was to explore, and she knew she would be happy here.

  She gave Samantha her coffee and sat down with her tea. She pulled the paper straight, pressed it out with her fingers and read it. She felt sorry for Samantha, but there was something wrong with this letter and she was reluctant to say so. She needed time to study it, to feel the energy left behind by the writer. She didn’t want to build her hopes up, but there was only one way to learn the truth and Samantha would have to face it.

  “Tell me,” she said. “When I asked you who Miranda was, you said she was always called Mandy. Did Simon call her Mandy, or did her use her full name?”

  “Mandy,” she answered. “I don’t think he even knew her full name.”

  “Then why would he write it as Miranda in this note?”

  Samantha shook her head.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps it was what she wanted. What difference does it make? It means my father was right all along and it means that you were wrong. Mandy is not dead; she is enjoying herself with my fiancé, spending the quarter of a million pounds my father paid him to go away. I was a fool, a stupid, lovesick, helpless idiot and I shall never trust a man again as long as I live.”

  The tears began to gather again as Charlotte studied the letter more closely. Mandy, Miranda, whatever her name was, she was no longer in this world and Charlotte was certain of that.

  The dogs finished their water and came to their mistress to have their mouths wiped, then they headed for the hallway and took up their position at the bottom of the stairs.

  “They’re doing it again,” Samantha said.

  “Yes. She’s back.”

  “But she can’t be. She’s alive and well and somewhere with Simon.”

  Charlotte shook her head.

  “I don’t think so. I’m sorry, Samantha; I don’t want to build your hopes but I know for certain she is now in spirit and she is trying desperately to tell me something.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was Freya who abandoned her surveillance of the staircase to race toward the front door and bark. Fritz followed, but kept silent. It was always the way; she was the guard dog of the two, if one could ever call a Newfie such a thing.

  Charlotte looked out of the front window and sighed wearily.

  “Who’s that?” Samantha asked. “Is it my father?”

  “No. It is my ex-husband.”

  She opened the door and the dogs ran out, their tails wagging happily as they pressed their furry bodies clo
se to Peter. He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. They were still damp and he obviously didn’t want them too close. When they moved away from him, he began to walk toward the house, toward Charlotte.

  “What are you doing here?” She asked.

  He gave her that smile, the smile that used to be able to melt her heart and persuade her to anything. She was relieved to find it had little effect. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but thankfully took the hint when she pulled her face away.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Why? Have you sold the house? You need me to sign something? You could have posted it.”

  “Not yet, no. I’ve had a few thoughts about that and I’d like to talk to you about them. Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  “It wasn’t my intention, no.”

  “Come on, Charlotte. I’ve come a long way; I could do with a drink.”

  He eyed Samantha’s Porsche appreciatively. It didn’t seem like the sort of car Charlotte would buy, especially as it wasn’t big enough for her precious dogs, but you never knew. He freely admitted he knew little about her really. She had accused him of trying to mould her to his ideas and she was right. That would all change now.

  “Nice car,” he said. “Florrie must have left you more than you expected.”

  What the hell was he talking about? Charlotte allowed her gaze to follow his and she grinned, but did not correct him. Let him think the Porsche was hers; it wouldn’t do her any harm.

  Inside she poured him tea from the pot already made and handed it to him.

  “Don’t you have anything stronger?” He asked.

  “The only alcohol in our house was the stuff you bought,” she answered curtly. “Or was that something else about me that went over your head?”

  “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot, Charlotte. That television producer phoned, wanting to know if you’d be prepared to sign up for another TV show. I told him you wouldn’t be interested.”

  “You did? Why? Did you think perhaps I wouldn’t be, or is that what you wanted?”

  He looked about the kitchen with the same appreciation in his eyes that he’d had for the Porsche. Take out this enormous table and this kitchen was easily big enough to cook for more than just a family. They could fit a big, catering sized cooker in there, get a bigger fridge. It was ideal.

  His glance fell on the enormous garden at the back that dropped down to the beach at the end. And there were the castle ruins. He’d forgotten about that. Those ruins would draw in more visitors.

  He could see it all taking shape in his mind. It would be a five star hotel and it would get into the top hotel guides and they could charge a fortune for a room. They wouldn’t have any riff raff, would they? Not at those prices. Oh, this was going to be so good.

  “Well, we don’t need it, do we?” He said at last, dragging his attention back to the call from the television producer. “This place is worth a fortune. I told you that before but you weren’t in the mood to listen. Have you had it valued yet? You should, if only for the insurance.”

  We don’t need it?

  She hated to admit that he was right about the insurance, and not something she had thought of. If, God forbid, there was a fire, it would be a major disaster and some of the fittings and furniture went back to the fourteenth century, from the original castle.

  As soon as she managed to get rid of him, she’d find an insurance company on the internet and get it sorted.

  “Anyway, Charlotte, I’ve been giving the matter serious thought. If you don’t want to sell the place, and I can understand that, think what a great hotel it would make. All that history, even the castle ruins in the back garden and right on the beach.” He drained his mug and put it back on the table. “What do you think?”

  Charlotte opened a drawer behind her and pulled out a heavy piece of paper, tossed it across the table to Peter.

  “You see that?” She said. “That is headed Decree Absolute. That means there is no ‘we’, there is just you and me, you in London me three hundred miles away in Cornwall. You can be content in the knowledge that your wife will no longer embarrass you, talking to dead folks and making a fool of herself.”

  “Charlotte, please. I came all this way hoping we could start again. With the money we could make, running our own hotel here, you’ll have plenty of time for those two.” He nodded toward the hall, to where Fritz and Freya had once more taken up their position at the bottom of the stairs. “We could even start a family.”

  Charlotte laughed out loud at that. Peter had never wanted children, something else he didn’t bother to tell her before they married, but now he was thinking of getting his feet back under the table he was prepared to offer even that. He wouldn’t go through with it, of course. Once he got his way, he would find reasons to put it off. Not that she intended to give him the chance.

  She was rather surprised to find that she cared nothing for him anymore, that the love she had once had for him had dissolved over the years of his continual efforts to make her suppress what she really was.

  “Peter, I don’t want to argue with you. There’s a good hotel about a mile away where you can probably get a room for the night, being as it’s out of season, then you can drive back to London in the morning.”

  “But we need to talk.”

  “What about? The only reason you’re suddenly interested is because of Aunt Florrie’s inheritance. I’m not going into the hotel trade and I’m not coming back to you. It’s time for you to move on.”

  “Not without you.”

  “Where does whatsername fit into this plan of yours?”

  “If you mean Rachel, she doesn’t. When the divorce came through she wanted us to get married and I suddenly realised I didn’t want to be married to anyone but you. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  “Yes. It tells me you’ve missed your chance. Now go, please, before I lose my temper.”

  A whoof from Freya sent Charlotte to the window once more. What now? All she wanted was time alone with Miranda’s ghost, to try to get more information out of her, but it seemed that was not to be.

  Samantha had politely taken herself off when Peter arrived and Charlotte had no idea where she was, hopefully exploring the house or the grounds, somewhere safe.

  Standing on her doorstep this time was Jason Montfield, wearing a face like thunder.

  “I want my daughter,” he demanded.

  “Really? I don’t think she wants you, but I will ask.”

  “I’ve already phoned the police, so you can forget trying to hide her.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes at the sky.

  “Don’t the police have anything better to do than run around after you?” She turned toward the staircase, saw that Miranda was still there, still looking worried, and called up the stairs. “Samantha! Your father has decided to join the party.”

  She hadn’t bothered to shut the door. She knew that Fritz and Freya would never let anyone through the door unless she had invited them and now they stood on the threshold, barring the way. She noticed Jason Montfield didn’t try to force his way passed them and that made her smile. It always surprised her how many people were afraid to cross these two purely because of their size.

  She didn’t want to invite this man in, but it seemed the easiest way.

  “You may as well come in,” she said.

  Immediately the two huge dogs turned to Charlotte and sat themselves in front of her. It was their way of protecting her, so she concluded they sensed a threat of some kind. But her attention was immediately drawn to the phantom on the half landing, who was growing more and more agitated as Jason Montfield passed the dogs as he made his way across the hallway.

  She was pointing at him, her eyes wide and frightened, her mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

  Whatever had happened to Miranda, Charlotte was sure this man had something to do with it.

  “Father, what do you want?” Samantha passed through Miranda’s im
age to reach the bottom of the stairs then brushed passed the dogs to stand in front of her father.

  “You lied to me,” he said. “You said you were staying with friends. I phoned every one of them before I found out you’d been hanging around with this charlatan.”

  Charlotte raised an eyebrow. She’d been called worse and his opinion was of no interest to her.

  “Charlotte is my friend,” Samantha said. “She is the only one who would listen to me.”

  “Why? How much is she charging?” He turned an angry face to Charlotte, his fists clenched. “I can see how it was. She arrived here, heard the local gossip about the wedding and thought she could make a few bob out of it. How much have you paid her so far?”

  “Nothing,” Samantha said. “She has charged me nothing. In fact, I probably owe her for all the free meals she has provided.”

  “Well, you wait and see,” Jason insisted. “It won’t be long before she cons you into making a donation.”

  He took a threatening step toward Charlotte as he spoke but he got no closer. Fritz and Freya positioned themselves closer together, their huge heads resting just above her waist, and stared at him. He moved back, looking fearfully at the dogs, then he turned back to Samantha.

  “Come on,” he said. “You’re coming home with me.”

  The sound of a car on the driveway caught Charlotte’s attention. It seemed she was not to be allowed any peace, but this visitor was no threat to her.

  “Did you say something about phoning the police, Mr Montfield?” Charlotte asked. “I think they have arrived.”

  That is when Peter decided it was safe to show his face. He emerged from the kitchen and went to open the front door, to let the police inside. Did he think Charlotte wouldn’t notice that he only got involved when there was police back up.

  The dogs didn’t leave Charlotte to go to the door, not this time. They obviously thought their services were needed here.

  ***

  Detective Sergeant Paul Middleton was not in the best of moods when he pulled up in the driveway of Castle House. Anyone else would have got a uniformed constable, if anyone at all, but Jason Montfield snapped his fingers and the whole damned police force were supposed to respond.