by Poppy Blake
A few moments later, the insistent revving ceased and morphed into a low, steady purr. Her kidnapper had clearly dismounted and made a run for it, leaving Rosie in the hands of the director of her fate.
She glanced around the room and her eyes fell on the toilet roll. Turning her back and using her hands as a lever, she managed to unhook it from the holder. She jumped onto the toilet seat and raised her arms behind her back as high as they would go but, without forcing them out of joint, she couldn’t reach the aperture. She unravelled the tissue and tried to secure it around her mouth and nose but it made no difference. Her head was starting to feel fuzzy and she knew she only had a few moments to come up with something, anything, that might save her life.
She dropped the toilet roll on the floor and, picking it up with her teeth, she climbed back onto the seat, stood on her tip-toes and launched herself forward towards the end of the tube. She missed, but only by a couple of inches. She repeated the action, getting a little nearer each time, and on her fifth attempt managed to plug the loo-roll into the opening. It wasn’t a perfect fit but the fumes lessened considerably.
She cast her eyes around the room again, looking for something else that would help to keep her alive. She had an idea. She raised her foot and kicked the empty loo roll holder from the wall, then slotted the metal hanger under the door and dragged it backwards and forwards to remove the gaffer tape that had been hurriedly applied - now she understood why. The crack wasn’t very wide but she prayed it would be enough. She lay on the floor and stuck her nose and mouth into the gap and inhaled.
The last thing to float through her mind as she succumbed to a dark, all-consuming oblivion was an image of herself, standing next to Matt in a charcoal morning suit and pink cravat in St Andrew’s Parish church. He was one of the most intuitive people she had ever had the good fortune to meet. She sent up a fervent prayer that his exceptional intuition was on duty that evening.
Chapter 16
“Where on earth is Rosie? I’ve called her mobile and left a couple of voicemails. It’s weird that she hasn’t got back to me,” said Matt, screwing up his nose in concern.
“She’s probably over at the vicarage with Grace and Abbi practicing her make-up for the wedding, or making a few more bouquets for the church, or even baking another batch of wedding cupcakes.” Freddie rolled his eyes at the craziness of it all.
“But she promised to meet me here for a drink an hour ago. I offered to cook her one of my famous curries so we could talk about our investigation before going to the police with what I found out this afternoon.”
“Well, there’s your answer!” laughed Archie who had been listening to their exchange whilst changing one of the beer pumps. “How can anything you throw together possibly match up to Rosie’s cooking? The food at the Windmill Café is amazing.”
“Hey, I make an excellent chicken madras!”
“Perhaps Freddie is right – Rosie just popped in to see Grace first, forgot what time it was and is running late.”
Matt checked his watch and sighed. If it had been anyone other than Rosie they were talking about, he could have accepted Archie’s explanation. However, Rosie Barnes was never late for anything. It was one of her most endearing traits. She had told him more than once that, in her view, people who were habitually late clearly assumed their time was more important than their friends’ and that wasn’t on. And anyway, that didn’t account for why she wasn’t replying to his texts or his calls and he had to admit he was worried.
With a flare of realisation, he understood how much he had come to enjoy being with Rosie, not just searching for clues and solving mysteries, but learning to understand her as a person and loving what he saw. If she was with Grace, gossiping over a glass of her beloved French wine then that was her prerogative; after all, she deserved an evening of fun, instead of panicking about the smooth running of the Christmas Carousel competition or raking over the intricacies of their investigation, but what did that mean? Had she rejected his invitation because she feared spending some time alone with him? Or had she decided to go back to London and didn’t want to tell him.
He finished his beer and decided to return home to work through the information he’d unearthed that afternoon, slotting each snippet into the theory he knew was the right one. He had wanted to share his discovery with Rosie before going to the police, but perhaps he shouldn’t wait any longer. The sooner an arrest was made the better.
“I’m off home, Freddie. Got lots to do. If Rosie does show up, can you tell her there’s no problem about tonight? I’ll catch up with her tomorrow.”
“Sure,” smiled Freddie with a touch of sympathy in his eyes.
“Hey, Matt. Hey, Freddie. Mind if I join you for a pint?”
“What can I get you, Dylan?” asked Archie.
“Guinness, please, and whatever you’re having.” Dylan slumped down on the stool next to Freddie, placing his elbow on the bar and cupping his chin with his palm in a dejected fashion. “No Rosie? Thought I might see her in here.”
“What made you think that?”
“Oh, we had coffee and a bit of a chat at Adriano’s Deli this afternoon. We were on our way over to meet everyone in the Drunken Duck when she stopped to take a call, or it could have been a text, I suppose, and she said she’d catch me up.”
Matt opened his mouth to say something, but the mule’s kick to his solar plexus caused the breath to become trapped in his throat. Thankfully, Freddie’s response wasn’t so lethargic.
“What time was this?”
“About an hour ago. I was going to come straight over here, but I bumped into Josh in the car park outside and he wanted a bit of a moan about all the wedding fiasco.”
“An hour ago?”
“Yes. Why? Where is Rosie?”
“Hang on.”
Matt grabbed his phone and called the vicarage whilst the others look on in mute alarm.
“Hello, Carole? It’s Matt, is Rosie with you? Have you seen her at all today?”
“Rosie? No, she’s not here, Matt. Sorry. Isn’t she supposed to be meeting you?”
“Yes, but she hasn’t arrived. Is Grace there?”
“I’ll just get her for you. You’ll have to excuse her, she’s been in a complete tizz all afternoon because she’s misplaced her phone. Can’t find it anywhere. I swear she’s surgically attached to that damn thing!”
Matt could hardly contain his panic. The hackles at the back of his neck were rising and he almost snapped at Carole to hurry up, but fortunately Grace took the phone from her mother in seconds.
“Hi Matt. Sorry, I—”
“Grace? Have you seen or heard from Rosie tonight?”
“Not since I saw her in the deli with Dylan earlier this afternoon. Why?”
“I was supposed to meet her here in the Drunken Duck but she hasn’t turned up.”
“So where is she?” asked Grace, a wobble in her voice.
“I’m not sure. I’ve tried calling her but she’s not answering her phone. If she’s not with you and Abbi, and she’s not here with us at the Duck, then she must have gone back home to the café. What I don’t understand is why, especially as we have well, a date tonight.”
“I’ll call Zara to ask her to go over to the windmill.”
“Zara and Sam have gone to coast with Penny. They won’t be there.”
“What about Theo? Did he go with them?”
“No, he stayed behind to work on his tree.”
“Then I’m calling him!”
Grace disconnected the call, but Matt got hold of Theo first and asked him to sprint over to the café to check on Rosie, insisting he remained on the line until he’d found her. When Theo told him that the windmill was in darkness and there was no reply to his hammering, Matt stomach gave a painful lurch. Did her disappearance have anything to do with their investigation of Theo’s accident? Had she become the next victim?
“What are we waiting for? We have to go out and look for her!” de
clared Freddie, slamming down his pint glass and striding towards the door, his face pale with fear.
“Hang on for a minute, Fred. We need to have a plan first. We should split up and—”
The door burst open and Grace and Josh rushed in, swiftly followed by Abbi, Carole and Roger.
“Matt! What’s going on? Where’s Rosie? What’s happened to her?” asked Reverend Coulson, his voice calm and authoritative, but his forehead displayed parallel lines of worry. “Who saw her last?”
“I did,” volunteered Dylan. “When we left Adriano’s, she got a text from Grace, told me she’d catch me up, and no one has seen her since.”
“But I couldn’t have sent Rosie a text because I’ve lost my phone. Oh, my God! Someone must have stolen it so they could lure her into a trap!” Grace slumped onto a barstool and promptly burst into tears.
“Matt, I really think we should be—” urged Freddie, hopping from one foot to the other like a toddler desperate to visit the bathroom, anxious to be out doing something, anything.
But Matt was concentrating on cross-examining Grace.
“Where have you been today?”
“At home with Mum and Abbi making up the wedding favours for Sunday. Surely you’re not suggesting that Mum or Abbi…?”
“Did you go out anywhere? Anywhere at all?”
“Just to Adriano’s for a coffee.”
“So, someone in the deli could have taken your phone?”
“Well, I suppose?”
“But if Rosie got a text from Grace asking her to meet her, why didn’t she turn up at the vicarage?” asked Freddie.
“I have no idea. Okay. Dylan, can you and Abbi go over to the café and help Theo continue the search there? Roger, can you, Carole and Grace search the area around the church and the vicarage? Freddie, Josh and I will do a sweep of the woodland. If Rosie did get a text asking her to meet Grace, then those are the only three places she would have gone without questioning the arrangements. The café, the vicarage, and Ultimate Adventures. Stay in touch!”
Matt sprinted to where he’d left his SUV with Freddie and Josh at his heels. He had never been more terrified in his life. He was now absolutely certain that Rosie’s disappearance had something to do with Theo’s accident. Clearly the perpetrator thought they were on to them and wanted to put an end to their investigations. He just hoped that this was a stunt to frighten them off, rather than anything more macabre.
They arrived in the car park of the outward-bound centre at such speed that when Matt applied the brakes, a confetti of pebbles flew into the air. As the only light in the compound was from a safety light that had come on automatically, Matt left the headlights trained onto the front door of the reception cabin and jumped from his seat.
All around, the woodland seemed peaceful and serene, the night-time creatures having decided to stalk their prey elsewhere. He was about to dash into the main building to collect the keys to the storeroom when he heard the steady thrum of an engine.
“Do you hear that?”
Matt glanced briefly at Freddie and Josh before racing towards its source. When he reached the door of the storeroom he slowed to a standstill, placing his arm across Freddie’s chest to halt his advance. His heart raged, pumping blood around his body so fast he felt faint which only served to increase the sinister thoughts whirling unchecked around his brain.
“Slowly,” he whispered, as they edged around the side of the wooden shed.
Matt peered through the gloom until he was able to distinguish the outline of the stationary quad bike, its engine purring like a contented tiger. In an instant, his eyes followed the route of the incongruous concertinaed tube all the way up to the hole in the wall, its meaning immediately apparent.
“Oh my God!” screamed Matt, lurching forward to yank the hose from the aperture. “Get inside! Quick!”
When he pulled open the door, the toxic stench of exhaust fumes hit him full in the face and surged down into his lungs. He stretched his fleece over his nose and pushed forward, his brain screaming panic as he fought to open the door to the bathroom.
“Matt! Stand aside!” commanded Freddie, grabbing an evil-looking machete from a hook on the wall. In a single, controlled action, he swung the blade down onto the lock and wrenched the door towards him.
There was Rosie, lying unconscious on the floor.
Matt stooped down and collected her in his arms, her body as limp as a ragdoll’s, and rushed outside where he lay her gently on the ground whilst Freddie hurried back into the storeroom for an oxygen tank. As he attached the mask, horror pounded through Matt’s veins as he tried to deliver some of his own lifeblood into Rosie’s body. Each passing minute seemed to last for hours but he refused to give up.
Oh my God! What if?
A myriad of regrets stormed through his mind, accusing him of being responsible for what had happened to Rosie. Why hadn’t they left things to the police? What if she died? With tremendous effort, he banished the blame from his mind. There would be plenty of opportunity for self-indulgent recriminations later.
That first splutter of breath from Rosie’s lips was the sweetest poetry Matt had heard in his whole life. It was followed by another, and then another, until Rosie succumbed to a lengthy cacophony of coughing. Matt sat back on his heels and allowed Josh to take over whilst he spent a few seconds cramming his emotions back into their box – now was not the time to fall apart.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” said Freddie.
“No. It’ll be quicker to take her to hospital in the SUV.”
“You saved Rosie’s life, Matt. If you hadn’t—”
But Matt wasn’t listening. The fact that he’d saved Rosie’s life meant very little when it was his fault her life had been in jeopardy in the first place. He settled a silent Rosie on the back seat of his SUV and asked Freddie to take the wheel, whilst Josh called everyone to tell them they’d found Rosie, and then called the police.
“Who do you think did this?” asked Freddie, his eyes focussed on the track ahead as they bucked and bounced towards the main road. A muscle in his cheek worked overtime and he was clearly struggling to control his anger.
“I have an idea but I’m not one hundred per cent sure. I think Rosie and I might have overlooked something, or more precisely, someone.”
“So, you reckon the same person who caused Theo’s fall was responsible for this attack on Rosie?”
“Yes. My hunch is that Rosie probably made some throwaway comment about our progress which was overheard. I’m still working my way through an idea that started to niggle when Grace told us her phone had been stolen, but this craziness has to stop now.”
Chapter 17
Saturday morning dawned with heavy bulbous clouds and a sharp nip in the air that threatened snow. From her seat on the white leather sofa next to the French windows in the Windmill Café, Rosie surveyed the gathering. The Windmill Café was one of her favourite places in the world and one which she had thought, for a split second in the bathroom at Ultimate Adventures, that she would never see again.
She had been kept in hospital overnight for observation and the doctor had only reluctantly agreed to discharge her that morning on the understanding that she rested and wouldn’t engage in anything too strenuous or stressful. She didn’t think it wise to mention the deluge of visitors that were expected in the marquee at noon, only two hours away, never mind the preparations for the Willerby wedding of the year and the rehearsal dinner that evening. But she had promised to do as she was told in order to get out of the neon-bright cubicle that was giving her a headache.
Matt looked worse than she did, having spent the night on a row of plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room. She had tried to talk to him on the drive back to the café, about what had happened, about what he had discovered, about the fact that he had saved her life, about their relationship. She wanted him to know that she was staying in Willerby, staying at the café, making her home there for as long as Graham would have
her as his chaos-prone manager. She wanted to tell him that she loved him!
However, when she had started mumbling her effusive thanks, Matt had asked her gently to wait until the whole sorry episode had been concluded before they talked about more intimate matters, and she didn’t blame him – she thought her head was going to burst with it all.
Someone had tried to kill her!
When she had stepped out of the Ultimate Adventures SUV in the Windmill Café car park, she thought her knees would buckle beneath her. As always, Matt had been there to support her, guiding her past the two police Land Rovers and then upstairs to her circular studio so she could take a shower before making an entrance in the café where everyone was now waiting for Detective Sergeant Kirkham to launch into his explanation of who had been causing havoc in the village.
She’d panicked when Matt had accompanied her down the stairs, his arm around her waist. She realised that her batteries had been severely depleted by the trauma of the events of the previous day and that she wouldn’t have the energy to provide their guests with even a cup of tea, never mind the usual surfeit of hospitality the Windmill Café was so famous for.
But she needn’t have worried because a battalion of help had descended. Rosie sent a grateful smile in the direction of Mia, the best friend anyone could ever have, standing next to Carole, Grace and Corinne, who was wearing one of Mia’s quirky aprons depicting lurid green snowmen. She felt like an invalid aunt as they fussed around her and made sure everyone had been offered a drink.
Her gaze landed on Abbi who was curled up on the opposite sofa, her slender body snuggled in close to Dylan’s, her habitual sparkle doused with trepidation as her eyes rested on the policeman and his broad-shouldered colleague stationed at the door. Dylan too emitted an aura of nervousness and, unusually for him, he hadn’t touched the croissants Carole had placed on the table in front of him. Freddie however had no such qualms and he loitered next to the police constable stuffing a pain au chocolat into his mouth and scattering crumbs on his Ultimate Adventures fleece which he brushed away to the floor. Rosie wasn’t surprised that his actions did not ignite her cleaning demons who were too busy sleeping off the effects of her recent turmoil.
