Amber Reed Mysteries Volume One: Romantic Comedy Mystery Series Box Set (Amber Reed Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency Mystery Box Set Book 1)

by Zanna Mackenzie

  As soon as the door closes behind her Mitch addresses Lottie. “Why didn’t you tell us you were involved with the groom?”

  Her hands flutter to her mouth and guilt flashes in her eyes. As she lifts her hand the sleeve of her top falls back a little and I instantly recognise the bracelet on her wrist. It’s gold with rubies and the last time I saw it I’m certain it was on the dressing table in Poppy’s bedroom when we searched through the place.

  “Because it’s not relevant to Poppy disappearing,” Lottie eventually replies to Mitch’s question, her voice not much more than a whisper. “I’m not proud of going behind Poppy’s back and being weak enough to give in to a little fling with Taylor. He was so stressed out with the wedding and Poppy’s crazy behaviour that I couldn’t resist comforting him and well…one thing led to another.”

  She pauses, looking down at her lap, her hands fiddling with a linen napkin. “I know this looks bad but I’d never do anything to hurt Poppy. She loves Taylor and she wants to marry him. I couldn’t break her heart by telling her that Taylor was carrying on behind her back. Some women prefer to know the truth about their men before they marry them; others will go through with the ceremony no matter what. They just want to marry the guy regardless. Poppy was one of those women. She’d have still married Taylor anyway, so what was the point in me telling her the truth about our little arrangement? I knew she wouldn’t be able to cope with the life ahead of her if she had married him though. It would have all ended in disaster. Maybe, in a way, I was just trying to protect her.”

  I fidget in my seat and try to avoid sniffing or looking at the delicious food arranged on the table. It’s reminding me, once again, how hungry I am. “How do you mean?” I ask Lottie.

  “Being married to a rock musician is a tough life,” Lottie says with a shrug and then sighs. “People think it’s all glitz and glam, but it’s not. There’s all of the touring, the time apart, all the fans who clamour after their idols. Working in the public relations business you’d think Poppy would know all of that, but she seems to have turned a blind eye to it. She’d have cracked before long; the pressure would have been too much. Doesn’t the way she’s been behaving in the run up to the wedding prove that?”

  “How do you feel about Taylor?” I ask her, noticing Mitch has gone quiet for once and is letting his trainee support officers take the lead on these questions.

  “I love him,” she replies with great sadness tingeing her voice. “I think I always have, from the first moment I met him. It’s too late for us now though. Too late for anything more meaningful or permanent between us.”

  “Why? Because he’s in love with somebody else and not you?” Esme checks.

  Lottie nods. “Our little fling was my only chance to be with him - however briefly.” She gets to her feet. “I’m not feeling very well. It must be all of the stress. I’ll be in my room if you have any further questions.”

  As soon as the door closes behind her I say, “That bracelet Lottie is wearing, I swear it belongs to Poppy. I noticed it on the dressing table when we were in her room.”

  “Maybe they have identical ones,” Esme suggests. “It could be a kind of friendship bracelet thing.”

  “No,” Connie surprises us by interrupting. “She’ll have stolen it from Lottie’s room.”

  “What?” Mitch scowls at her.

  Connie reaches for her orange juice and smirks. “And bracelets aren’t all she’s been pinching from Lottie. We can add fiancés to that list as well now, can’t we?”

  I remember we never did get around to interviewing Connie after she left the marquee last night. Lottie pointed the finger of suspicion at Connie then, saying she was mad about losing out to Poppy with the work promotion. Now, Connie is pointing the finger at Lottie, suggesting she isn’t quite the best friend she makes herself out to be.

  “Lottie always wants whatever Poppy has,” Connie continues, setting her glass back on the table. “She’s a back-stabbing little witch.”

  “She mentioned you and Poppy were both up for the same job promotion recently,” Mitch says, watching her intently. “She said you were really mad to have missed out. You ladies wouldn’t be tittle tattling on each other and generally being bitchy by any chance, would you?”

  “Of course not!” Connie retorts, looking put out at Mitch’s suggestion.

  “OK, I think we’re about done here for now,” Mitch says, looking first at me and then at Esme. “Ladies? Any further questions for our bridesmaid?”

  We both shake our heads.

  He gets to his feet. “Then let’s get on with the rest of our list of things to check out, shall we?”

  We sit around the table in the staff kitchen allowing ourselves ten minutes to grab a coffee, compare notes and decide on our next move.

  Mitch’s phone buzzes and he checks the message. “At last! Agency support has just sent me the contact details for David Smith’s family in London. I’ll give them a call right away to check if he’s still in Spain and the status of his relationship with the bride-to-be.” Mitch gets up and walks outside.

  I notice Esme’s gaze following him as he wanders off. “I can’t help getting the feeling there’s some chemistry between the two of you.”

  “What? Neanderthal Man? Seriously?” she answers, far too defensively.

  I shrug. “Just a feeling, but I have been known to be wrong before. Many times.”

  Esme reaches for a chocolate biscuit from the packet on the table. We sit in silence as she munches on her cookie and I sip my coffee.

  “OK,” she eventually admits. “Maybe there is…something.”

  I knew it!

  “Well, the something, whatever it is, is mutual, I think.”

  She turns to me. “You think so? Really?”

  I nod.

  “Do you know anything about him?” she asks. “I have no idea if he’s involved with anyone or what. We haven’t really talked, other than about this assignment. I don’t know if we ever will, you know, once the case is sorted. He doesn’t strike me as being in a relationship. I haven’t heard him making any calls or mentioning any likely names of girlfriends. Have you?”

  “I don’t know anything at all about his relationship status, sorry.”

  “Would Charlie know?” she asks, shifting awkwardly on her wooden dining chair. “Or would he be able to find out? Oh, I can’t believe I’m even saying this to you. The priority is this last assignment and trying to get a job offer from the agency. What on earth am I doing trying to figure if there’s a chance of a date with Mitch? I must be mad! He drives me insane but at the same time…those eyes and…”

  “The heart wants what the heart wants,” I interrupt before she starts saying things I really do not want to hear about Mitch, who still gives me the creeps a little. I rub her arm and beam her a smile. “And I can totally understand the attraction. I mean, to an agent, not Mitch specifically. I remember when I met Charlie - the whole special agent thing is quite enticing. I mean, it’s much more than that with Charlie now obviously. I can see why you might develop feelings for Mitch though. You know, if you go for guys like him.”

  “Like him?” she frowns.

  How do I put this without offending her? “Well, the macho kind of guy,” I say tentatively.

  “Ah, you mean the chauvinist pig type of guy, but you’re too polite to say it,” she laughs with a cheeky smile. “Yeah, he is a bit of a challenge, but I do like that in a man. I think there might be an element of him putting it on as well, to make our task more difficult. Guess I share the same affliction as Poppy in that I’m drawn to the bad boys and the arrogant ones.”

  The door bursts open and Mitch strides back in. “OK, an update.”

  Esme leans forward, planting her elbows on the dining table, seeming eager to hear Mitch’s news.

  “David Smith definitely left the country days before the wedding but it’s not as straight forward as that.”

  “Why not?” I ask, curiosity bubbling inside
of me. “Did he leave the UK officially and then slip back in unofficially?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Mitch says, grabbing the last of the chocolate chip cookies from the packet and siting down.

  “So why is it more complicated then?” Esme demands. “Are you going to tell us or just sit there stuffing your face with biscuits?”

  Mitch smirks and leans back in his chair, cramming the biscuit into his mouth whilst Esme fumes.

  “Right,” Mitch says at last, wiping crumbs from his face with the back of his hand. “David Smith has a twin brother. An identical twin brother.”

  “And it was his twin brother who left for Spain, creating a potential alibi for David. Meanwhile, David heads up to Cumbria and kidnaps Poppy, putting a stop to her marrying Taylor, because David wants her back and is still in love with her!” I say, my mind whirring and the words gushing out of me.

  “Or,” Esme adds, “David did actually leave for Spain, but he arranged for his twin brother…” she clicks her fingers at Mitch. “What’s his name? The brother?”

  “Arthur,” he helpfully supplies.

  Esme flicks him a look of surprise. “Arthur? Seriously? We’re in pursuit of a kidnapper called Arthur?”

  “Apparently he goes by the name of Artie,” Mitch says with a shrug.

  “OK, so David leaves the country and Artie kidnaps Poppy,” she finishes triumphantly.

  “Could be either option,” he says. “Or it could be neither of them.”

  “Meaning what?” I ask, feeling a little confused. I thought we’d got our list of suspects. Is Mitch now adding somebody else to the equation?

  “Well, I’ve been mulling over some of the stuff Ms. Randall said about the divorce. There is another possibility. The kidnapper could be Poppy’s father. Think about it - he’s annoyed his daughter cut him out of her life. He finds out she’s getting married via a family member or friend. He decides enough is enough. Angry he’s not the one walking her down the aisle, he races up here and kidnaps her.”

  “That’s a bit far-fetched,” Esme scoffs.

  Mitch smirks. “But, at the same time, entirely possible.”

  Brilliant. Now we have another potential kidnapper and not much time left to investigate him.

  “But to add to the complication further,” Mitch continues. “I asked agency HQ to run a check on the registration number for that green BMW which appeared in the garage in the early hours of this morning. The car is registered to David Smith.”

  “What? So what do we do now?” I ask, getting to my feet, slamming a hand onto the table in frustration. “You’re saying he’s here? Not in Spain? Time is getting on, Mitch! We can’t sit here and chat about this endlessly. We need to take action.”

  “We have no idea where he is. He didn’t check into the hotel, I’ve already looked into that,” he says matter-of-factly.

  When did he have the chance and the time to do that?

  Should we admit about seeing the man with the BMW car last night? “Look,” I say, treading carefully. “I don’t mean to question your, er, investigating process, but are you sure he hasn’t checked into the hotel? Maybe under a different name or something?”

  Mitch narrows his eyes at me. “I think I know how to do my job.”

  Esme steps beside me, offering her support and revealing our news. “It’s just that last night we saw a guy making out with a member of the hotel’s staff against the side of the green BMW in the car park.”

  “And that same guy was at reception this morning demanding soft pillows for his room,” I finish.

  “So, you’re telling me that you think the guy is David Smith but he’s staying here under a different name.”

  This isn’t rocket science, people must register at hotel’s using fake names all the time, so why is Mitch acting like this is beyond his comprehension?

  Mitch crosses his arms, looking annoyed. “If Smith was here, we assume it’s to try and stop his former girlfriend getting married, right?”

  I nod. “Right.”

  “If he was so in love with the bride-to-be, why was he making out with a member of the hotel staff last night?” Mitch says, looking pleased with his reasoning.

  Well, he does have a point I suppose. Well, kind of… “What if the guy making out in the car park and complaining about the pillows was Artie, rather than David?” I say tentatively. “That would make sense.”

  “Yes, it would,” Esme chips in. “So let’s go and talk to him!”

  We head to reception and ask the harassed-looking receptionist if she knows where we can find the man who complained about his pillows.

  “He left. Checked out right before one of the bridesmaids. Sorry, I don’t know where he’s gone to,” she replies, looking as though she has a million and one real things to do and would rather not debate details of some fake investigation with us.

  “What?” Mitch demands. “One of the women has left as well? Why didn’t you tell us? Which one was it? Connie? Deedee? Lottie?”

  “Constance Merryweather,” she replies haughtily. “And I saw no reason to relate that particular piece of information to you.”

  Esme leans on the reception desk. “Forget about the bridesmaid. What’s the guy’s name?”

  “I’m afraid our hotel policy is not to give out personal details on guests,” she replies as though she’s reading from a rules and regulations manual.

  “A name is classed as personal information?” I check.

  The woman nods. “I’m afraid so.”

  “What do your rules say about giving out details to an officer of the law?” Mitch asks, flashing her his special agent badge.

  The woman frowns at the badge Mitch is holding. “Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency? I’ve never heard of you. You’re not the police.”

  Mitch leans in intimidatingly. “No, we’re not the police, we’re better than the police. Tell me the guy’s name.”

  Clutching a large leather book I assume to be the hotel register to her chest, the woman slowly shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll end up getting fired.”

  “I want to speak to the manager!” Mitch demands. “Right now!”

  “He’s in an important meeting with the builders, the project manager and the planning people from the local council regarding a complication on the renovation of the spa,” the woman responds.

  “Then get him out of the meeting!” Mitch retorts.

  “He said he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. The work on the spa has to be completed before this weekend otherwise we’ll have to cancel bookings from real guests,” she says, getting to her feet and looking as though she’s squaring up for a war of words.

  “This is crazy! I don’t have time for this. I have a kidnapper to catch and a deadline fast approaching. Failure is not an option!” Mitch makes to grab the register but Esme pulls him back.

  “Leave it for now,” she says, a hand on his arm. “The guy is probably using a false name anyway.”

  “Would it help if we check if the BMW is still in the garage? If it is, then he hasn’t gone very far. Can you do that for us?” I ask, turning to the receptionist and beaming her a smile of encouragement.

  She throws a look of daggers at Mitch but amazingly she picks up the phone. I hold my breath as Mitch seethes and paces up and down.

  “Billy? It’s Carla, can you look if a green BMW is still parked in the garage for me?” She eyes Mitch, annoyance etched on her face as she waits for Billy to check. “It is? Thanks, you’re a love.”

  “The car’s still there?” I check.

  “Yes, it is. So the man you’re looking for must have walked somewhere or he could have gone out on the lake.”

  “So, basically, he could still be anywhere. Somebody might have picked him up in their car, or anything. Let’s go and check through the missing bride’s room again for now,” Mitch says, still looking mad, and obviously trying to regain some degree of control over the investigation. “Time is not on our side
.”

  Time now: 16:00

  Time to deadline: 2 hours

  Poppy’s room is exactly how we left it, with items strewn all over the place. “Let’s switch from how we searched yesterday,” Mitch says, walking towards the door of the ensuite. “I’ll check through the bathroom this time. Esme, you do the drawers and wardrobe. Amber, check the rest of the room - the stuff piled on the bed, underneath it, behind the curtains, the windowsills, even inside the lampshades. OK?”

  We both nod to acknowledge the instructions. Maybe Mitch was acting at being Mr. Grumpy Chauvinist as part of the assignment, or maybe he’s finally realised we’re serious about wanting to work for the agency and not two airheads out to make his life difficult.

  As Esme opens the wardrobe and starts sifting through the various items of clothing, Mitch disappears into the bathroom and I hear the sound of toiletries being swept from shelves. Right. Down to work. Systematically I sort through the jumble of clothing, paperback books and cards of congratulations about the upcoming wedding. I sit on the edge of the bed and open and read each card. There’s one from Lottie.

  I wish you every happiness in your new life as Taylor’s wife. I hope you enjoy my little present. I know it’s his favourite. X

  I put the card down and scan the area around me, even checking under the bed. What present? There’s no gift wrapped parcel in sight. I can’t even spot any cast aside ribbon or scrunched up paper to hint at an unwrapped present. What happened to the gift from Lottie? What did she give to Poppy? Dropping to my knees I check underneath the bed again. Nothing. Not even any dust bunnies. But then I suppose you wouldn’t expect to find any in a hotel of this standard. So, where else to look? My eyes are drawn to the window. It’s growing dark outside thanks to some heavy rainclouds having chased away the earlier sunshine. I squint at the view. Is that a pinprick of light I can see? Is that what caught my eye in the first place and drew me to the window? I walk across, resting my hands on the edge of the deep wooden windowsill. There’s nothing out here to create a light. No neighbours. No roads for car headlights to pierce the late afternoon dusk and drizzle. Holding my breath I wait. There. Again. I can see something. A dot of light in the middle of nothing.