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

by Georgia London

Fritz, the big black dog, came to sit beside his mistress. She reached for a tissue from the box on the table to wipe away the strings of drool that hung either side of his mouth. It was not a pleasant sight and Samantha hoped he didn’t come near her still drooling. Her clothes were all very expensive and she was quite sure Charlotte would not help her if she insulted one of her precious dogs.

  “They always do that when they’ve been drinking,” Charlotte commented as she grabbed another tissue and called Freya to her side to wipe her mouth as well. She kissed the dog’s head then turned back to Samantha.

  “So, tell me about Miranda. She’s been causing you grief, I expect.”

  “She wouldn’t let go. She kept sending messages to Simon, flowers, kept following him everywhere. Wherever we went, she would appear. She wouldn’t accept our engagement. She even tried to tell me that she and Simon had plotted together, that he would marry me for my money then get rid of me somehow so they could be together.”

  “You didn’t believe her?”

  “No, of course not. If that were true she’d have nothing to gain by telling me, would she? I half expected her to turn up at the wedding, just to cause trouble.”

  “Why do you think she didn’t? Could it have been because she had passed over?”

  “It wasn’t a scenario I considered,” Samantha said.

  “Well, she is definitely in spirit now.”

  “And Simon?”

  “I can’t say,” Charlotte said. “They only come to me when there is a problem. But he has gone missing and his ex-girlfriend, who was apparently stalking him, has passed over. That tells me, and should tell you, that he is not in a position to contact you.”

  Samantha twisted her ring once more then looked up at her hostess. She knew she had a pleading look in her eyes, knew she sounded desperate, but she had given up worrying about that.

  “Will you help me, Miss Chase?” She asked.

  “Only if you call me Charlotte. What have you done so far, to try to find him?”

  “First I was angry, just waited for him to get in touch. So the answer is not much.”

  “Ok, the first thing we do is go to his home. Does he live alone?”

  Samantha nodded.

  “He’s got a flat, just a studio flat over the garage where he works. But I’ve been there already. That’s how I found his phone.”

  “Is it his own place, or does he work for someone?”

  “It’s his. He took out a thumping great bank loan to buy it and get it going. The previous owner just let it go to rack and ruin so he got it cheap.”

  “Well, that’s where we start.”

  ***

  “Do you have a key?” Charlotte asked when they pulled up outside the garage where Simon worked and lived. It seemed to be an old, converted warehouse, with a big sign at the top of the double doors which read: Chandler’s Motor Repairs.

  “Yes,” Samantha replied.

  She pulled it out of her handbag and showed it to Charlotte. They had come in Charlotte’s people carrier as she had refused to get into the Porsche, said it was too low down and there was no room for the dogs.

  “I’m not leaving them,” she said. “We’ve only just got here and I won’t leave them in a strange place.”

  So Samantha had sat in the front passenger seat with Freya peering out of the windscreen, her huge head close to Samantha’s shoulder. Occasionally, she would turn and lick Charlotte’s ear which seemed a bit dangerous to her passenger.

  “I’m sure the experts would say they should be in cages in the car or those silly harnesses, but I think they are better off as they are. They don’t like being restrained.”

  Outside the garage, which was locked up, they all got out of the vehicle and walked around to the back of the building where there was an iron fire escape leading up to the door to the flat. They started to climb, the dogs lay down on the ground beside the bottom step.

  “They don’t do stairs,” Charlotte said.

  At the top of the staircase, Samantha shoved the key into the lock and opened the door. There was post on the floor, just a couple of bills and a card from a friend of Simon’s congratulating him.

  When she’d been here before, Samantha’s father was with her and she was too distraught to think about anything. She hadn’t looked at anything, just found his phone and saw that he was gone. Now she was calmer and able to think about things.

  She went straight to the cupboard in the corner of the small living area and opened the door.

  “His clothes are all still here,” she said. “All except the ones he would have packed for the honeymoon. They were new, bought specially.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. And here’s his case.”

  She picked up the small suitcase which was wedged on the floor of the cupboard and lifted it up onto the bed. She opened it, flipping back the lid and showing the clothes inside, still with their tags on. She rummaged about in the sides of the case, took out the garments and searched in between each layer. She looked disappointed.

  “What are you looking for?” Charlotte asked.

  “The money,” Samantha answered. “My father said he had left a parcel of cash here, the day before the wedding. A quarter of a million pounds.” She flopped down onto the bed and caught back a sob. “He must have taken it with him. That means my father was right, doesn’t it?”

  Charlotte sat beside her and put her arm around her quivering shoulders. She was at a loss as to what to say to this heartbroken young girl, but she was sure her dilemma had a lot to do with the spirit of Miranda.

  “Think about it, Samantha,” she said. “If you were going out, even for a few minutes, you wouldn’t leave that sort of cash lying around in this place, would you?”

  “I suppose not. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that just because the money is not here, doesn’t mean your fiancé accepted it. He could have taken it with him with the intention of giving it back to your father.”

  “And he could have been mugged on the way, carrying that sort of cash around with him,” Samantha said hopefully. “I bet that’s what happened and he is lying injured somewhere. You see? I told you he hadn’t left me.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When they arrived back at Castle House, Charlotte let the dogs out of the people carrier and closed the door.

  “I got some coffee, if you want some,” she said.

  “Yes please,” Samantha replied, nodding eagerly. “Do you mind? I don’t want to go home, not yet. I know what will happen; my father will be gloating, probably even organising a party so he can invite lots of suitable young men to take Simon’s place.”

  Charlotte unlocked the front door and they went inside the house. The dogs went straight through and into the huge kitchen; it seemed the phantom had gone, at least for the time being.

  She plugged in the kettle and spooned coffee into the mug for her guest.

  “It’s instant. I don’t have any fancy machines; as I said, I don’t drink the stuff. You know, that’s what they used to do when this house was built, give huge gatherings to match up their daughters with suitable young men. They called them courts.”

  “That’s where the term ‘courting’ came from?” Charlotte nodded. “If my father had his way, we would still be living in those times. He never liked Simon; he was always convinced he wasn’t good enough.”

  “But you didn’t believe it?”

  Samantha shook her head.

  “No. Simon didn’t care about the money.”

  Charlotte made no reply. It was her experience that when someone said they didn’t care about the money, it usually meant that they had so much of it they didn’t have to care.

  “You’ve been very kind,” Samantha said. “I hope I’m not intruding too much. Will you be making another television programme?”

  Charlotte smiled and shook her head.

  “Not if I can help it. I only did that one to embarrass my husband.”

&
nbsp; “Oh. I didn’t know you were married.”

  “I’m not, not any more at any rate. Aunt Florrie leaving me this place was a godsend as we were stuck with each other until the house sold. Even then he thought he was going to get a share.”

  “So you’ll be staying?”

  “I think so. I’ve always loved this place; it has so much history and it’s been in the family for centuries. Besides, you and Mandy have got me intrigued. I too want to know what happened to Simon.”

  “So you believe me?” Charlotte nodded. “You’re the only one who does.”

  “We’ll have to see what we can do to change that. Being on television has its advantages; people tend to take more notice.”

  Samantha sipped at her coffee. It wasn’t bad, considering it was instant and obviously the best she was going to get from her new friend.

  Now she was really worried about Simon. He hadn’t taken any of his clothes, so he had obviously intended to return to his flat. But what if he had taken the money? He wouldn’t need his clothes then, would he? He’d have enough to buy new ones. She shook herself mentally, feeling like a traitor. He hadn’t taken the money, he hadn’t. She refused to believe it.

  Samantha was certain something awful had happened to Simon. She loved him and she was sure he loved her. She had to cling to that thought.

  “What shall I do now?” She asked.

  “Well, Miranda didn’t come here for no reason. She looked a bit battered about, but that doesn’t really tell me anything. Do you know where she lived?”

  “She has a little cottage in the High Street.”

  “Then drink up and we’ll go there. But be prepared; we might just find her dead body.”

  ***

  It had been nearly a week since Charlotte packed all her things and left their London house and Peter was gradually coming to realise that he missed her. He hadn’t really expected her to go, despite the divorce, and if that silly old woman hadn’t left her Castle House she wouldn’t have been able to.

  That’s what Peter had been depending on, that she would have nowhere to go and would have to stay. He had been secretly putting off prospective buyers; it wasn’t difficult. All he’d had to do was make sure they came to view the house when he was there and Charlotte wasn’t. She was always out in the morning walking the dogs, so he would arrange the viewings then, make sure he left the dog hairs about the place and point out how noisy the neighbours were.

  He’d tell them they were lucky to have come at that time when the people next door were at work because in the evening their teenage son had his awful music going full blast. That was usually enough to send them scurrying back to the agent, with no intention of ever coming back.

  They had bought this house when they married and Peter didn’t want to sell it. That crafty old cow had waited for the divorce to be finalised before changing her Will and leaving Castle House and all her money to Charlotte and she’d done it deliberately so that Peter would have no say in the disposal of it.

  It was worth millions. They could start again with that sort of money, they could pay off the mortgage on this place, take a long holiday, even buy a small yacht to keep on the Thames. He smiled to himself. Now that was a thought; they could rent this place out, move down to Surrey and get one of those big houses that backed onto the Thames. They could keep a boat there, right on the back doorstep and they would be very comfortable. He could give up work and she could forget all this spiritualist nonsense.

  On the other hand, Castle House would thrive as a hotel. He’d mentioned it to her, but only briefly, yet it was a solution if she really didn’t want to part with it. His own job was getting a bit too pressurised just lately, with all the graduates coming in with all the qualifications but no experience. And Peter wasn’t getting any younger. Why, in his profession, mid thirties was practically a senior citizen.

  He imagined him and Charlotte together, entertaining the guests, showing them around the house and pointing out the history. They’d make a fortune. Charlotte was a wonderful cook, even though she pretended she didn’t enjoy it. All women enjoyed cooking, didn’t they? They wouldn’t even need to employ a chef, at least not straight away.

  Without the pressure of his job and in a new place where nobody knew about her, they could make a go of it. Of course, she’d already been on television, but it was unlikely people in that part of the country would have seen her.

  He suddenly felt a flutter of excitement. He needed to see Charlotte, needed to put his scheme to her seriously and make her see how they could make it work.

  He went upstairs, threw a few shirts and pants into a small suitcase and grabbed his car keys. It was Saturday and it was time he treated himself to a long weekend.

  ***

  Miranda’s little cottage was one of those old labourer’s dwellings that had once been part of a large estate. The door opened straight onto the pavement and the windows were low, so that anyone walking passed could see inside. If a person was inside, they would see lots of legs walking past; Charlotte felt depressed just looking at it. It looked deserted, but appearances could be deceptive.

  Charlotte opened the vehicle’s windows for the dogs and told them to stay, then she climbed out of the driver’s seat and turned to her passenger.

  “Are you ready for this?” She asked.

  Samantha drew in a deep breath to give her courage, still not really sure whether to believe that Mandy was dead. She didn’t really want to go inside the cottage, didn’t want to knock on the door and be faced with the girl who had caused so much trouble ever since she met Simon. She had done everything she could think of to try to separate them and she was bound to have heard about the farce that was their wedding day. Now she would more than likely be thrilled to gloat about it and laugh at Samantha’s gullibility.

  Charlotte knocked on the door, using the heavy, metal knocker that looked as old as the cottage itself. There was a presence inside this cottage, Charlotte could feel it even through the closed door, but she was sure it wasn’t Miranda.

  She heard a voice, a voice speaking in old Cornish, a language now dead and mostly forgotten. She couldn’t understand what the voice was saying, but it was a man’s voice. It was probably the spirit of whoever was once the tenant of this cottage, perhaps some two or three hundred years ago.

  She glanced at Samantha. No, she had heard nothing; Charlotte hadn’t really expected her to. Those who had been in spirit as long as this fella were never apparent to the ordinary folk, only to people like Charlotte who had been seeing and hearing them all her life.

  She moved to the window and peered inside, shielding her eyes with her hands against the glass. There wasn’t much to see, just some sparse furniture and a television set. It was a very tiny room and wouldn’t have held much more.

  This cottage was the last in the row so she made her way around the side, Samantha following, to see if there was a back entrance. There was and it was unlocked.

  Inside was tidy, the washing up draining on the wooden board beside the old bucket sink and through a low doorway was the little living room into which Charlotte had peered. Samantha made her way up the narrow, rickety staircase and into the one bedroom.

  She opened the wardrobe and her heart sank.

  “Find anything?” Charlotte called out from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Yes. All the cupboards and drawers are empty; all her clothes have gone. She had no intention of coming back.”

  “Not much to see here then,” Charlotte said. At least not much that was still of this world. “It’s getting late and the baby bears need their dinner. We’ll give up for tonight; it’s possible my visitor might have found her voice and can tell us more tomorrow.”

  ***

  When Samantha got home, the first thing she noticed was the absence of all the wedding gifts. The table that had held them had been folded down to its smaller size, the middle panel dropped down and out of sight. All that remained on its surface was a huge vase of ro
ses which had come for her that morning from an ex-boyfriend, a wealthy one whom her father favoured.

  No doubt he had got in touch with him and others to inform them that his lovely daughter was back on the market, like some object of value for which they could bid.

  “What have you done?” She demanded. “I said I didn’t want them to go back.”

  Her mother got up from the armchair where she had been reading and hurried to comfort her.

  “I know you did, darling, but it had to be done. It was beginning to look bad.”

  “Oh, well, we have to get our priorities right, don’t we?”

  On the marble mantelpiece was an opened envelope, addressed to Samantha. Her mother picked it up and handed it to her.

  “We found this among all the cards that came on the day of the wedding.”

  “You opened it? It is addressed to me, and you opened it?”

  “That’s right,” her father’s voice came from behind her. “We opened all of them. We didn’t want you to be upset.”

  That was too much! They were her cards, her gifts. They had no right to interfere. But she knew they were trying to spare her more heartache so, despite being angry, she accepted it.

  The name on the envelope was written in a hand she recognised but she didn’t want to admit it. It wasn’t a card; it wasn’t thick enough to be a card but she could easily guess what it was.

  She took the envelope and pulled out the letter from inside. Her heart twisted as she read the contents, but there was something about the writing in the letter that was different from that which had written her name on the envelope. Or was that just wishful thinking? It was similar enough to be the same and it was possible it had just been written with more care than usual. She could see no other reason for her doubts.

  Sorry, Samantha, it read. It’s obvious we come from two different worlds and I realised that Miranda was right; I belong with her. Have a nice life and thank your dad for the money. Simon.