“Guys,” I say, not taking my eyes away from the spot where the light appeared moments earlier.
“What?” Esme asks, materialising at my side.
Mitch pushes into the room and stands at the window. “What is it? Did you find something?”
“More like see something,” I say cautiously. What if I imagined the light? What if I get this wrong and send us off on a wild goose chase when we don’t have time for such things? I point into the gathering gloom. “Look, there, at that spot.”
We fall into silence as we watch and wait. Then the light appears again, for slightly longer this time.
“Where is that?” Esme asks, her voice high with excitement.
“You see it too? The light?” I check.
“It looks like it’s in the middle of the lake,” Mitch says, roughly pushing aside the plush curtains, looped back with a gold brocade rope, which frame the window. “There are islands out there. It could be from one of them or a boat.”
I edge closer to the windowsill, trying to peer around Mitch who is now blocking some of my view. My hand brushes against something and I look down. Tucked behind the curtain is a half unwrapped gift. My heart thuds. This must be the present Lottie gave to Poppy.
I pull it from its hiding place and peel back the remainder of the shiny silver paper.
“What’s that?” Mitch asks, spotting the package in my hands.
“A gift,” I say, as bits of various clues start to fall into place in my head. “I think it’s from Lottie for Poppy. A pre-wedding present. I found the card for it amongst the stuff on the bed.”
“It’s perfume,” Esme says, peering over my shoulder as I finish unwrapping it. “What does it say on the box?”
I trace my fingers across the gold lettering embossed in the purple box. “La Isla Del Mar,” I say. “The perfume is called La Isla Del Mar.”
“Isn’t that the perfume the bride said she hated?” Mitch checks, and I can see he’s got all the pieces of the jigsaw now too.
I nod. “Yes, she did. So why did Lottie buy it for her?”
“Perhaps out of spite or because it has greater significance than just being a gift. It’s also a clue, isn’t it?” Esme says. “Right?”
Mitch replies, “Yeah, could well be.”
“In Spanish it means island of the sea, remember?” Esme says, frowning. “But there’s no sea around here. We’re surrounded by lakes and mountains. The nearest coast is about thirty miles away.”
My mind whirs as we all turn back to the window and the pinprick of light shoots through the gloom once more. “This is all something to do with the island in the lake though, isn’t it? That’s where the kidnapper could be keeping Poppy? It’s got to be. David is one of the culprits and he might or might not be in Spain. The bride has a perfume she hates with a Spanish name which points to islands. We see a light out there, where there shouldn’t be one. It’s all coming together, isn’t it? Are we right about the islands?”
“Why would the connection be via a perfume name which refers to islands in the sea though?” Esme muses. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Do we know what the lake is called?” Mitch asks, already halfway to the bedroom door, off to investigate further. “Perhaps that has something to do with it.”
“Hang on!” Esme calls after him. “We had a bit of a search round in the staff quarters yesterday when we were looking for flashlights and amongst the stuff we found was a map of the area. It’s on the shelf in the kitchen. We could check names for the water and also find out if there are any structures or properties of any kind on the islands. That might help us.”
“OK, first we’ll check the map, then we’ll go and steal a boat to get out on the lake.” Mitch disappears out of the room and we can hear him running down the corridor. We sprint after him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Time now: 16:15
Time to deadline: 1 hour and 45 minutes
“There!” Mitch says, pointing with a finger to one of the smaller islands on the map we’ve got spread out on the kitchen table in the staff quarters. “According to the map the long, thin stretch of water between the group of islands that sits across from the hotel is bizarrely called Green Island Sea. It must be one of those weird names that go back centuries and nobody can remember how they originated. The map also shows that there’s a boathouse on one of the islands in that group.”
“That’s got to be the place,” I say, peering in for a closer look at the map. “Let’s go and check it out.”
Outside the growing darkness closes in around us as we dash towards the lake, the rain heavier now and drenching us in seconds. “How are we going to get out to the islands?” I ask, managing to speak as I run, and silently thanking James for putting me through all those fitness improving exercise regimes these past few months. Though, at the time, I seem to recall that my thoughts about him weren’t quite so kind…
Behind us the sound of a transit van being revved full throttle causes Esme to come to a screeching halt in front of me, meaning I cannon into the back of her. “Oommph!”
“Sorry,” she says, grabbing my arm as we both fight to stay upright. “I just thought how we can get out on the lake! That noise must have been one of the builders leaving for the day. If Lee is still working on the renovations in the spa then I can get him to take us out in his boat!”
“I think I’d rather swim to the island,” Mitch retorts. “By the state that boat of his is in, we’ll probably all end up dumped in the water when it sinks anyway!”
“It’s got to be worth a try,” I say, nodding at Esme and throwing a questioning glance at Mitch. “Right?”
Reluctantly he nods. “OK, go and see if you can find him. We’ll carry on down to the lake and try to pinpoint exactly which of the islands the light is coming from, and whether it fits with the location of the boathouse we found on the map. Be quick!”
Esme races off towards the back of the hotel and the spa. I follow Mitch down to the edge of the water. As we crouch in the damp and cold my skin bristles with goose bumps and I hope and pray we’re on the right lines with this investigation. We have less than two hours before our deadline.
Charlie’s words from earlier pop into my head. He said he was going fishing on this lake. He said it’s a fantastic spot. He said you can catch anything around these islands. A flicker of alarm runs through me. Did Charlie know who had kidnapped Poppy and where they were holding her? Was he trying to help me by feeding me clues? Clues which are against the rules? We could both get into so much trouble if that’s what he was doing. It would jeopardise my opportunities of employment with the agency and might land him on disciplinary, a formal warning for his behaviour. He told me he wouldn’t interfere, but it looks as though he just couldn’t help himself! Typical Charlie! The question now is, do I tell Mitch what Charlie said to me as possible further evidence that we’re thinking along the right lines with investigating the lake’s islands? No. It’s probably best to keep my mouth shut about this. For now, anyway.
“I think it’s that smaller island off to the right,” Mitch says from his position crouching beside me. “Where’s Esme and that builder guy? We need to get over there and check out this island fast!”
A rustle in the trees and bushes makes us both look around and I spot Esme pulling builder Lee along by the hand towards us.
“Are you guys for real?” Lee asks as he stumbles to a halt beside us.
“If you mean are we really deadly secret agents out to catch a kidnapper,” Mitch says, unfolding from his crouched spying position to his full six foot plus height and fixing Lee with a menacing glare, “then, yes, we are. And I happen to know several ways to kill you using just my little finger.”
Esme bats Mitch on the arm. “Cut out the macho man stuff, we need his help! We want his boat, remember?”
“Hey! I’m the one in charge here. I’m the one leading this investigation!” he retorts. “Don’t you have any respect for the chain of comm
and?”
“Oh, put a sock in it, Mitch! We’re a team. Stop pretending to be so full of your own importance! I know what you’re up to and we’ll discuss that later. Now can we get on this boat or what?”
Lee is ahead of us on that one. He’s already climbing aboard the Lady Charlotte and preparing to cast off the ropes - is that the right term for a boat this size? As we all join him on the deck, another thought manages to push into my mind, through all the others which are whirling around in there. This boat is called the Lady Charlotte. Is that its real name or is that a clue too? Maybe David, the jealous ex-boyfriend, isn’t the kidnapper after all. Perhaps the woman-scorned bridesmaid Lottie - short for Charlotte - is the one behind Poppy’s disappearance. My heart is racing as my head tries to make sense of everything.
We might all be eager to get across to the island to explore the boathouse but unfortunately the Lady Charlotte doesn’t share our enthusiasm. The engine splutters, coughs and fails. Esme and I exchange frantic glances.
“Does this wreck even work?” Mitch demands of Lee.
“I have been doing some repairs on her,” Lee admits, looking as though he has all the pressures of the world on his shoulders as he tries to start the boat again. “The boatyard I usually moor her in closed some of their docks for refurbishment, so I needed somewhere else to keep her for a week. As I was working here and the hotel was shut they agreed to let me tie her up on these moorings. When I was moving her here though, she started playing up. I think it’s something to do with…”
“Spare me the mechanical analysis,” Mitch interrupts, holding up a hand. “Just get the bloody thing started!”
“If I keep trying the engine it might flood. I’ve got to give it a second,” Lee replies, sounding annoyed now.
“We don’t have a second!” Esme says, walking over to Lee and resting a hand on his shoulder. “Can you try her again, pretty please?”
She shoots him a flirtatious smile and he reluctantly nods, trying the starter. We all hold our breath as the engine whirs but doesn’t catch and start.
Great. I’m thinking we might have to attempt to steal one of the other boats when the engine finally springs to life. We heave a collective sigh of relief as Lee slowly guides the boat out from its mooring.
As the Lady Charlotte chugs surprisingly quietly onto the dark lake, panic rises up in me and threatens to bubble over. What, and who, are we going to find on this island? Are we even in the right place? If we’ve got this all wrong, then we don’t have much time for a plan B.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Time now: 16:30
Time to deadline: 1 hour and 30 minutes
Lee steers the boat into a small cove on the far side of the island, the area where the map showed there should be a boathouse.
“Won’t they hear the boat’s engine?” Lee asks nervously. Poor guy. When he’d flirted with Esme yesterday he probably thought the next time he’d see her would be over a drink in one of the local bars. Being persuaded to take three crazy people across a dark lake in his boat so they could search an old boathouse for a kidnapper was not, I’m sure, a part of his plans.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mitch replies, throwing him a look which I’d interpret to mean, ‘shut up and drive the damn boat’.
“Why doesn’t it matter?” Lee checks, clearly not put off by Mitch’s grumpiness.
“If this were a real investigation then it would matter, but as it’s not, the kidnapper is not going to hightail it out of here when he realises we’ve found his lair,” Mitch retorts.
Lee frowns and cuts the engine. “It’s not a real investigation? But Esme said…”
Mitch smirks at him. “Yeah, I bet she did. Looks like you’ve been had, mate!”
“Can we easily reach the shore from here?” Esme interrupts, peering across the small stretch of dark water between the Lady Charlotte and the edge of the island. “It still looks a little way and we don’t know how deep the water is.” She moves to Lee’s side and links an arm through one of his. “Can you get the boat any nearer to the island for us?”
“No, I can’t,” he replies, looking miffed, presumably about Esme’s earlier fib regarding the seriousness of the situation. OK, we’re not dealing with a real kidnapper here, but we are dealing with the future of three people’s lives and whether or not they will get to do the jobs they love.
“Well, I’m not swimming over there,” Esme says, sounding a bit put out herself now.
“No need to,” Mitch replies. “There’s a tiny rowing boat attached to the back of the Lady Charlotte. I’ll climb down and untie her; you and Amber can follow me down.”
“What about me?” Lee asks, raking a hand through his hair. “What do I do?”
“Stay here in case we’ve got this completely wrong and need to get out of here fast,” I suggest as I cross all my fingers. Please don’t let us have got this completely wrong. We don’t have the time for such luxuries.
I climb over the edge of the Lady Charlotte and Esme helps me into the rowing boat. Mitch wasn’t kidding when he said it was tiny. I’m not sure I can squeeze myself in between Mitch and Esme. The rain has eased a bit now thankfully, making it marginally less tricky to navigate the rope ladder in the dark. My bottom has only just touched the wooden seat when Mitch starts rowing and we quickly cover the twenty or so feet of water between us and the island. Once we’re close enough I stand up, balancing precariously, as I reach towards the bank. I finally manage to grab hold of a sturdy tree root and haul the boat near enough for us all to clamber out and up the bank. Mitch ties the boat to the tree and we help him onto the island.
“This way,” he says, pointing off to the right.
We walk, single file, along something which might just pass for a muddy path of sorts. We think the boathouse is where Poppy is being held, but do we know for certain who her kidnapper is? I’d love to feel sure I have everything straight in my head but right now, I don’t. We thought the clues pointed to David Smith being the one who whisked Poppy away, but it could also be Lottie.
Suddenly the rain-sodden bushes part and in the clearing ahead of us, we spot the boathouse. It looks as though it’s making every effort to stay upright but starting to feel the effects of its years in the middle of a Cumbrian lake battling all weathers. The wooden shutters are almost closed, meaning a chink of light is visible, but we can’t see who or what is waiting inside the boathouse for us. My stomach dives and somersaults and my mouth goes dry. I remind myself why I’m here. I love the thrill, the adventure, the sense of elation I get from helping to catch the bad guys. Even if it is scary at the same time.
“Come on,” Mitch hisses, beckoning for us to follow him around the side of the boathouse, through loads of prickly undergrowth. He stops after thirty feet or so of fighting through the brambles and crouches down. Esme and I do the same. “It looks as though there’s a door round the back.”
I peer at the far corner of the rickety boathouse and can just make out a small wooden ramp leading to a door.
“I’ll go and check it out,” Mitch says. “You two stay here.”
“No way!” Esme and I both protest at the same time.
“We’re coming with you,” I add.
“This is not the time to argue,” Mitch hisses, a stern look on his face.
“Exactly, so let’s stop wasting time bickering and get on with checking out this boathouse,” Esme says, heading for the wooden building.
Mitch shakes his head and sighs. “OK, but let’s try and do this as quietly as possible.”
Being sure to keep low, we edge our way around to the ramp and the back door.
“What now?” Esme demands. “Do we just storm the place or what?”
Before Mitch can answer, the boathouse door swings open and light spills out, its glow highlighting our presence.
“Nice of you to join us at last,” a voice says.
A voice I recognise.
Charlie stands in the doorway, a rifle in one hand. Behin
d him I can see Poppy, tied to a chair, a scarf around her mouth so she can’t scream. She’s wearing a wedding dress, the bottom of which is torn and muddy.
My mouth falls open and my breath catches in my throat. Charlie is the kidnapper?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Time now: 16:45
Time to deadline: 1 hour and 15 minutes
I’d figured the kidnapper, with the clues we’d discovered, could have been Lottie or David. Charlie had definitely never been on the suspects list though. Is that why he really turned up at the Roseby? He wasn’t here to see me. He was here to kidnap Poppy?
No. It can’t be…
“Please, come in, take a seat,” Charlie says, stepping back so we can all enter the boathouse.
Mitch stomps inside. Before Esme follows him, she shoots me a look of shock and mouths, Charlie? at me.
I still can’t believe Charlie is the kidnapper. It just doesn’t…well, it doesn’t fit with the Charlie I know. OK, this is all pretend, but even so, it still doesn’t sit right with me.
There’s a rough wooden bench along one wall of the boathouse and I join Esme there. Mitch paces in front of us until Charlie points to the bench with his rifle and says, “Please, sit.” Reluctantly Mitch does so. Across the room a wide-eyed Poppy is still tied to her chair. I divert my gaze, uncomfortable at the sight, and then chastise myself. This is all fake. I’m going to have to toughen up if I do get offered a job with the agency. If.
“You know, you really should be more careful when you’re creeping up on people and checking out potential hideaways, searching for the bad guy,” Charlie says to us. “A bit more discretion would be good. Well, from your point of view. The bad guy would be pleased with the way you bowled up and accepted my invitation inside without so much as a moment’s questioning. This all could, of course, have been a trap.”
Amber Reed Mysteries Volume One: Romantic Comedy Mystery Series Box Set (Amber Reed Celebrity Crimes Investigation Agency Mystery Box Set Book 1) Page 29
