We shine our torches around the barn’s interior. There are twenty or so hatchback cars parked along one wall. A couple of expensive-looking sporty numbers, plus a flash-looking Range Rover are parked in the middle of the floor.
“Right, ladies, let’s get searching these vehicles. We’re looking for anything which could be a potential clue. Notepads, rope, knives, guns, scraps of wedding dress which might have been caught on something and ripped, dropped items of jewellery which could have fallen off in a fake kidnapping struggle. Basically, we’re looking for anything suspicious.”
A part of me is hoping that the cars will be unlocked, perhaps the agency are going to help us out a little, with time so tight. However, as we check door after door, it’s clear each vehicle is securely locked. The agency is not feeling generous then. Heading back into the office we search high and low for keys to the cars. There’s no sign of them. What we do find though, is a metal safe.
“Are either of you any good at getting into these things?” Mitch asks, with an as-if laugh as he crouches in front of it, shining his torch on the metal box which looks pretty firmly fixed to the floor.
“Nope,” I reply.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Esme says gamely, pushing Mitch aside.
“Be my guest.” He stands up and folds his arms, a bemused expression on his face.
Esme leans in close, pressing her cheek against the front of the safe.
“What are you listening for?” Mitch asks her.
She glares at him. “Just shut up and let me concentrate!”
I rest my backside against a desk and wonder if Esme really can crack the safe. She’s looking at it intently now, head tilted to one side. Mitch sighs and steps forward. “Just admit you don’t know what you’re doing!”
Esme gets to her feet. “OK. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing but I’m willing to give it a try. OK?”
“Highly commendable,” Mitch nods, taking her place in front of the safe and starting to fiddle with it, adjusting knobs and checking numbers. A few moments later there’s a click and the safe door is open.
“You knew how to do it!” I exclaim, punching him on the shoulder.
“I never said I didn’t,” he replies, pulling a metal loop with a load of keys on it from the confines of the safe. “I just asked if either of you knew how to.”
What a prat.
“How do we know which key is for which car?” Esme asks, looking more than a little irritated at Mitch’s joke. “There are loads of cars and loads of keys, it will take us all night to go through checking each one and matching them up.”
She’s right. It will take ages. I glance around the office, looking for anything which could help us out on that particular front. I spy a clipboard hanging from a nail on the wall and I scoot closer, shining my torch over it. It appears to be a list of the cars in the garage, along with a number for each. Does the number relate to a hotel room or to a key? Turning to Mitch I check the loop of keys in his hands. Each one has a yellow tag on it with a number. “I’m guessing the numbers on the keys relate to the numbers on this clipboard.”
Mitch grabs the clipboard from the wall. “Good thinking. Let’s get to work.”
A few hours later we have explored, examined and searched the insides of all of these vehicles, every single inch of them. And it was mostly a monumental waste of time. We did find a piece of rope in one of the cars – a little yellow VW beetle. We’ll need to check who owns the car. Mitch sent an urgent text to agency support asking them to run it through their records and get back to us. It could turn out to be relevant to the case – after all, a kidnapper would probably want to tie Poppy up with something to restrain her. Mitch reckons it’s probably just an old car tow rope though.
If the garage didn’t give us much in the way of potential clues, then the spa is even worse – zilch.
Back in the staff kitchen, we sit and ponder our next move. It’s three o’clock in the morning and we’re no nearer to solving this case. Despite all the anxiety and adrenaline coursing through me I’m starting to flag a little. I love and need my sleep. Lots of it. Charlie can go days on just a few hours’ sleep, but not me. I become forgetful and grumpy. Neither of which is going to help me pass this test.
Pushing aside dreams of a nice comfy bed, and negative thoughts about failing to solve this case and having to go home jobless, I instead read through all my notes and make sure I haven’t missed any potential clues. Now is definitely not the time to lose focus. Anyway, if we don’t manage to track down the kidnapper there will plenty of time for wallowing in self-pity later. When I’m home alone as Charlie jets off on another investigation and I’m left desperately trying to find a job.
CHAPTER NINE
Time now: 08:00
Time to deadline: 10 hours
“Wake up, sleeping beauty!” Something nudges my foot and I jolt awake, head pounding and neck and back aching like crazy. Forcing myself into an upright position, I realise I fell asleep on the sofa in the corner of the staff dining room. A very uncomfortable sofa at that.
“Want a coffee?” Esme asks me from the kitchen area.
I nod, feeling groggy. “Yes, please.”
“Guess we all dropped off for a while,” Mitch says from his position standing next to the sofa, holding a mug in his hands. Hmm… it must have been Mitch who just woke me up by kicking my foot. Charming.
“Here you go,” Esme says, passing me a blissfully hot and very welcome drink. “We all ended up sleeping in here last night.”
I sit up and gratefully sip my coffee, burning my tongue in the process. Sugar – that hurt.
“Have I missed anything?” I check.
Esme perches on the arm of the sofa. “Agency support texted back to say that the yellow beetle with the rope in the boot is registered to one of our bridesmaids.”
“Not Lottie?” I gasp.
“No,” Esme replies, picking at piece of mud on her jeans. “Connie.”
Frowning, I struggle to my feet and get my brain into gear. “The one who’s mad at Poppy for getting the job she wanted for herself.”
“The very same,” Esme nods.
“Anything else?” I blow on my coffee, trying to reduce its temperature to below scorch-the-roof-of-my-mouth levels.
“Yeah,” Mitch replies. “Turns out Poppy’s old boyfriend Leon Black has a possible criminal record for stealing from his employer. He’s currently suspended without pay whilst the matter is being investigated. The guys back at HQ did a bit of digging but nobody knows where he is at the moment.”
“Which means he could well be in Cumbria trying to stop his ex-girlfriend from marrying somebody else,” Esme chips in.
I nod, taking in all the information being fired at me and wishing my notebook was to hand. Will I remember all of this, especially in my aching, half-awake state?
“As soon as you’re done with that coffee we’re up and at ‘em,” Mitch says, finishing his own drink. “First stop this morning, the dining room in the hotel and a little chat with the groom.”
I put the unfinished drink on the table. “Let’s get started.”
Taylor is sitting in front of a table laden with breakfast food goodies but he clearly hasn’t eaten a morsel. This man is such a good actor. He’s really into his role of a groom worried sick about his kidnapped fiancée. He spots the three of us walking towards him and leaps to his feet.
“Any news?” he asks, looking at each of us in turn.
Mitch shakes his head and takes a seat, uninvited, at Taylor’s table. “Sorry, nothing yet.”
“You have to find her,” Taylor insists, flopping back into his own seat and pushing a hand through his already messy hair. He’s definitely got that sexy indie rock god look about him. “Preferably today,” he adds, with a pointed look at the metal clock adorning the far wall of the hotel’s dining room.
So, he knows about the deadline too. Today is our last chance to
do the necessary legwork to solve this case. Otherwise, I’m going home a failure with no agency job offer.
“We will,” Mitch says, helping himself to coffee. “Now, is there anything you’ve remembered which could help us locate Poppy? It might seem irrelevant but you’d be surprised what snippets of information can make the jigsaw puzzle of a case fall into place.”
“I don’t think so,” Taylor replies, looking agitated. “Shouldn’t you all be out there,” he gestures out of the floor to ceiling window framing a picture perfect view of the lake and hills. “Looking for Poppy, instead of sitting in here talking to me.”
“It helps if we know where to start looking for her,” Mitch replies, with a slight edge to his voice. “Had you and Poppy fought at all before the wedding?”
Taylor shifts in his seat. We all stare at him and he eventually nods, looking uncomfortable. “Don’t all couples, you know, with the pressures of organising a wedding? It was nothing serious.”
“So what did you fight about?” Mitch continues, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“Poppy was a bit insecure sometimes. I guess it goes with the territory. In my line of work I have a lot of female fans and well, Poppy could be a bit possessive and jealous on occasion.”
“Did she have anything to be jealous about?” I ask, sure to keep my eyes on Taylor and not on the delicious-looking croissants on the table in front of me. I’m starving. We didn’t bother with breakfast this morning as time is so tight to try and successfully complete this assignment.
There’s a beat of silence and Taylor just shrugs.
“So, she did have something to worry about on that front,” I continue. “Would that have anything to do with how close you and her bridesmaid Lottie seem to be? I saw her comforting you in the marquee when we first arrived and then the two of you seemed pretty close when you left the bar last night.”
More silence.
“So, you and Lottie have been involved recently?” Mitch chips in.
Taylor sighs and eventually nods. “OK. Yes. I did have a bit of a fling with Lottie, but it was all because of Poppy.”
Esme leans forward fixing Taylor with a stern gaze and he shrinks back in his chair. “Let me get this right. You’re blaming your fiancée for the fact you were unfaithful to her?” she asks him.
“She was freaking out all the time,” he replies, looking defensive. “It was driving me insane. She was always nagging me about my music, my work and women. I needed a distraction and Lottie was more than willing, so we got together a couple of times.”
Esme draws in a breath, irritation evident on her face, but manages not to lose it with Taylor. “I see.”
“Just to clarify, did Poppy know about you and Lottie?” I ask.
Taylor shakes his head. “No, I don’t think she did know about us. Look, to be honest, I’m not really sure. I think she suspected there might be…someone.”
“But not that the someone in question, was her bridesmaid Lottie?” Mitch asks.
Taylor fidgets and looks flustered. “I loved, I mean, I love, Poppy.”
“Funny way of showing it,” Esme mutters under her breath, earning herself a glare from Mitch.
“So,” Mitch says, getting to his feet. “I think we have some work to do.” He throws a glance at Taylor. “If you do think of anything useful, you’ve got my mobile phone number. And, obviously, time is of the essence.”
Out of the dining room window the view of the lake includes the boat jetty. “You don’t happen to know who owns that battered blue boat tied up at the dock, do you?” I ask Taylor.
“No idea,” he replies, buttering a croissant. “That thing is a complete and utter eyesore; it shouldn’t be moored outside a hotel like this.”
“What next?” I spin round and ask Mitch as soon as we’re out of the dining room.
“Let’s go and find the hotel manager and see if he can shed any light on a few things,” he replies, striding off towards reception.
With the hotel closed for refurbishment there’s nobody manning reception. I ring the bell and we wait for somebody to appear from the office. As luck would have it the person who does appear is the manager we are in search of. Gerald Dickinson looks harassed enough as he bustles through to the reception desk, but when he spots us he looks even more fraught.
“Can I be of assistance?” he asks, straightening to his full six-foot-plus height.
I imagine he would usually be dressed in some designer suit, presenting an immaculate appearance to the hotel’s guests, but today he’s in black jeans and a jumper, the sleeves pushed up to the elbows.
“Everything OK?” Esme asks him.
“The renovation work and the spa upgrade the builders are working on is well behind schedule. The Roseby is due to re-open to our understandably demanding guests at the weekend. We have bookings. Everything has to be finished and it has to be perfect. Even if the builders and interior designers have to work day and night to get it finished. Now, was there something I could do for you?”
“We want to speak to you about the investigation,” Mitch replies. “Can we talk in the office?”
I notice he doesn’t ask if the manager has time for us, Mitch simply expects him to make time to talk to us.
“Excuse me! Can I get some help here please?” a voice cuts in.
We turn around to see a man make his way to the reception desk looking as though he hasn’t slept much.
“I need better pillows for my bed,” he explains to the female who has just appeared in reception, summoned by his call. “The ones I have are like sleeping with my head on a rock. I need soft pillows, ones with real feathers in them.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll get housekeeping to sort that for you immediately,” the receptionist replies as she makes a note on a desk pad.
“Thank you,” the man says, heading off towards the dining room.
And that’s when I see his face. I look to Esme and she gives me the slightest of nods to acknowledge she recognises him too. It’s the guy who was making out in the car park last night with the woman who worked at the hotel.
“I thought you were closed to guests,” I say to the manager, wondering who the man is.
For just a second there’s a flash of irritation in his eyes, then it’s gone, replaced by a professional smile. “We are, but that gentleman insisted we let him stay. He said he didn’t mind putting up with the renovation work,” Gerald responds. “Why don’t we all go into the lounge? We can talk more privately in there.”
We follow him through to the elegant room and Esme and I take a seat on a sofa.
“Can I order you all coffee?” he asks, ever the host.
“No, thanks,” Mitch replies, remaining standing, as though he’s eager to get away and crack on with the case. “What was your impression of the bride and groom?”
Gerald frowns. “Impression?”
“Yes, what did you make of them?” Mitch asks. “You must see loads of people, lots of guests, staying here, planning parties and weddings at the Roseby. Many of them are celebrities, so you must be used to their particular demands. So, what did you think of Poppy and Taylor?”
“They seemed,” the manager pauses, as though searching for the right word. “Subdued. For a young couple on the verge of marriage they didn’t seem very excited or happy.”
“The groom mentioned they were a bit stressed out with the wedding. You know, finalising all the little details,” Esme says. “Was it that, or something else, which had them subdued, do you think?”
“I have no idea,” Gerald replies, fiddling with the sleeve of his jumper. “I just didn’t get the impression they were a couple deliriously in love, that’s all.”
“But why else would they marry?” I ask.
“Was she pregnant? It could have been a shotgun wedding,” Mitch says, his eyes lighting up as though he might finally have found a crumb of evidence which could lead us down the path of solving the case.
/>
“Perhaps the groom is really in love with Lottie, who he’s having a fling with, but he was marrying Poppy out of obligation,” Esme chimes in, her eyes shining with excitement. “He could have planned this whole thing. Got a friend to kidnap the bride, so the wedding has to be called off.”
“That doesn’t help matters once the bride is found though,” I reason.
“Maybe he never intended for the bride to be found,” Mitch replies, giving me a look of superiority.
“Is there anywhere on the hotel property that the kidnapper might be hiding Poppy?” I ask the hotel manager; wanting to be sure we haven’t missed anything. “Are there many outbuildings? Do you have a boathouse down by the lake? We didn’t see one yesterday, but it could be around the other side of the hotel grounds.”
“There are some outbuildings up the track at the back of the hotel, hidden amongst the trees. We use them for storage mainly. We don’t have a boathouse here. It’s something we’re looking into building. There are garages for our guests’ cars though. I’ll call Billy, who is the valet; he’ll take you round there so you can inspect them.”
Little does he know we have already inspected them extremely thoroughly, but we can hardly say that to him, can we?
He glances at his watch. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes, there’s a battered old boat moored up on the hotel jetty. Do you know who owns it?” I ask him.
“I think it belongs to one of the builders,” he replies. “Usually we wouldn’t allow something like that to be on our moorings on the lake but, as we’re closed to guests at the moment, I thought it would be fine to let him use the boat jetty.”
“Which builder?” Mitch immediately steps in and asks.
The manager shrugs. “I have no idea. Look, I’m sorry, I really need to get back to the interior designers and sort a few issues out. I’ll ask Billy to take you round to the spa, where the builders are working at the moment, once he’s shown you around the garages. You can speak to the men and see who owns the boat.”
On Trial Page 8
