Aunt Dimity Down Under (12 page)

“Are you family?” Ms. Campbell inquired.

“No,” I said. “I’m trying to contact Bree Pym on behalf of her relatives in England. I have important information to give her. My friend and I have gone to a great deal of trouble to come here tonight because we expected to find her working at your hotel.”

“I’m sorry to hear that she’s inconvenienced you,” Ms. Campbell said, “but I can’t say that I’m surprised.” Her voice rose in righteous indignation. “She left us without a word of warning after only four days on the job. I
still
haven’t found a replacement. Far be it from me to speak ill of anyone, but I’m forced to say that I found Miss Pym to be thoughtless, irresponsible, and unreliable.”

“One moment,” said Cameron. He reached into an inner pocket of his rain jacket and pulled out the picture he’d printed in Bree’s bedroom. He unfolded it and held it out to the receptionist, asking, “Is this the girl you hired?”

“That’s Bree,” she said curtly. “I never forget a face, especially a face I never want to see again.”

“Thank you,” said Cameron, returning the photo to his pocket. “We’ll go to our rooms now.”

Since there was no bellhop service, Cameron and I carried our bags through the rain, which was falling as heavily as ever, and up an outdoor flight of steps to an exterior walkway. Guest rooms lined one side of the walkway. The other side overlooked the parking area.

“A shame about the weather.” Cameron paused at the walkway’s railing and peered upward. “If the sky would clear, I could show you the Southern Cross. It’s not the biggest or the brightest constellation, but it was so useful to early explorers that we put it on our flag.”

“I don’t think we’ll do much stargazing tonight,” I grumbled. Our failure to find Bree had soured my mood, as had the unrelenting downpour. Though I was yearning to put a solid roof over my head, I crossed to stand beside Cameron. “Do you find it hard to believe? About Bree, I mean.”

“We’ll talk during dinner,” he replied. “Can you be ready in thirty minutes? ”

“Make it twenty,” I said.

My room was simply but adequately furnished. The wall opposite the door was made entirely of glass, with a sliding glass door that gave access to a small balcony. Since I had no desire to step outside any sooner than I had to, I ignored the balcony, changed into a silk blouse, black trousers, and the sling-backs, and placed my wet jeans and sneakers near the room’s heater, hoping against hope that they would dry before morning. I didn’t relish the thought of traveling back to Auckland in squelchy sneakers.

I opened the door at Cameron’s first knock.

“You’re dressed,” he said, looking surprised. “I thought my wife was the only woman on earth who could change for dinner in less than thirty minutes.”

“I’m full of surprises, Camo,” I said, zipping my rain jacket.

“Are you going to call me Camo from now on?” he asked as we retraced our steps to the lobby.

“If you’re lucky,” I shot back.

A young, heavyset waitress dressed all in black met us at the dining room entrance and guided us to a table near a huge picture window through which we could see nothing but gloom. The dining room seemed extracavernous because only two other tables were taken.

“It’s off season,” Cameron explained.

“I’ll say,” I muttered.

I was too disheartened to take much interest in food, so Cameron ordered the freshly caught crayfish and a bottle of locally produced chardonnay for both of us. When the waitress departed, I gazed at the rain-streaked window and shook my head.

“I can’t believe that the girl described by the receptionist is the same girl who lived in Takapuna,” I said. “Bree was a top student. She was the family’s accountant. Her room was as neat as a pin. How could she suddenly turn into an irresponsible slacker?”

“Maybe she’s taking some time off,” Cameron suggested.

“Excuse me.” Our waitress had returned, carrying an ice bucket and the bottle of wine Cameron had ordered. She glanced over her shoulder, then continued in a low voice, “What do you want with Bree? She’s not in trouble, is she?”

“Not with us,” said Cameron. “We’re friends of the family.”

“We’re not upset with her,” I added. “We’re worried about her.” The waitress opened the bottle, poured wine into Cameron’s glass, and waited until he’d nodded his approval before filling my glass. As she slid the bottle into the ice bucket, she seemed to reach a decision.

“You shouldn’t believe everything Ms. Campbell tells you,” she said abruptly.

“What should we believe, Miss . . . ?” Cameron raised an eyebrow.

“Call me Alison,” said the waitress. She glanced over her shoulder again before adding in an urgent undertone, “What happened was, he broke her heart. That’s why she left.”

“Who broke whose heart?” I asked in some confusion.

“Daniel broke Bree’s heart,” said Alison. “He didn’t mean to, but he did.”

“Who is Daniel? ” asked Cameron.

“Daniel Rivers,” Alison replied. “He’s an artist. He lives south of here. Every once in a while a girl lands on his doorstep, hoping to shack up with him.”

“Is that why Bree came here?” I asked.

Alison nodded. “I told her she had as much chance of bonking Daniel as I have of becoming prime minister. Daniel may be an artist, but he’s also a very happily married man.”

“Which is why he sent her away,” said Cameron.

“He tried to let her down easy,” Alison explained. “He had a long heart-to-heart with her, but it didn’t help. She came back from his place in tears. Packed her bag and left the next day.”

“Do you know where she went? ” I asked.

“Sorry.” Alison shook her head. “Daniel might, though. Lord knows what Bree told him.”

“Can you give us his phone number? ” Cameron asked.

“Sorry,” Alison repeated with an apologetic shrug.

“Can you tell us where he lives? ” I asked.

“I’ll do better than that,” said Alison. “I’ll draw you a map. You’ll need one. Daniel lives in the wop-wops.” Her brow wrinkled. “Bree was in tatters when she took off. Someone needs to find that girl before she does something stupid. I’ll be back in two ticks with your crayfish.”

She returned a few minutes later with a roughly drawn map and the biggest crayfish I’d ever seen. She handed the map to Cameron before placing several dishes before us.

“When you find Bree, tell her I’m thinking of her.” Alison smiled sadly, then hastened to wait on another table.

After studying the map, Cameron proposed a plan of action. “We’ll check out of the hotel tomorrow morning and drive straight to Daniel Rivers’s place. If he can’t tell us where Bree went, we’ll have no choice but to return to Auckland.”

“Okay,” I said absently. I couldn’t take my eyes off the humongous crustacean spilling over the edges of my plate. “Are you sure this is a crayfish? It looks like a lobster.”

“You’re accustomed to freshwater crayfish,” Cameron said wisely. “These beauties come from the sea. After you’ve had your first mouthful, you’ll wish they were bigger. They’re succulent, sweet, and altogether delicious.”

Renewed hope had restored my appetite, but before attacking my meal, I raised my glass of chardonnay and proposed a toast.

“To saltwater crayfish,” I said. “And to a fresh lead.”

Cameron waved Alison’s map in triumph as he touched his glass to mine.

M
y first task upon returning to my room after dinner was to telephone Bill. He informed me that all was well on the home front, that Ruth and Louise were delighted to know that they had a great-grandniece, and that they approved of my decision to deliver their letter to her. I explained yet again why I wouldn’t be on the first available flight back to England.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urged. “Just find the girl.”

“I’m trying,” I assured him, “but she’s not cooperating.”

Bill called Will and Rob to the phone, and after they demonstrated that they knew more about New Zealand than Mummy did—“No, Mummy, kangaroos live in
Australia
”—I said good night, plugged the cell phone in to recharge, and packed my “nice” clothes in the duffel bag to get a head start on the morning.

I climbed into bed at nine o’clock, warmed to my toes by a hot bath and filled to the bursting point with sweet, succulent, and altogether delicious crayfish. Though drowsy, I opened the blue journal and brought Aunt Dimity up to speed on my action-packed day.

She was sorry that the weather had prevented me from enjoying the scenery, pleased that I’d met the Lord of the Forest, and gracious in defeat when she learned that Bree hadn’t come north to find her mother but to seduce a married man.

“I think Bree must be having some sort of breakdown,” I said.

“She certainly doesn’t sound like the girl with the dog-eared books, the cute stuffed animals, and the blue gingham duvet.”

“They do,” I said, nodding.

“She just wanted to show him her sketches?” I said with a juicy chuckle.

“I’d blame it on the local chardonnay,” I interjected happily. “It’s superb.”

“Good night, Dimity,” I murmured.

I closed the journal and placed it beside Reginald, who sat beneath the lamp on the bedside table.

“Dimity likes to think well of people, and I love her for it,” I said to my pink bunny. “But sometimes she misses the obvious. It’s pretty clear to me that Bree came here to pounce on Daniel Rivers. I just hope he knows where she went. The Pyms can’t hold on forever, and I can’t spend the rest of my life chasing after a confused teenager.”

I touched a finger to Reg’s snout, turned out the light, and surrendered myself to the soft pillows and the sound of the booming surf.

Since I’d forgotten to close the glass wall’s shutters before drifting off to sleep, I awoke to a sun-drenched room and a view that made my jaw drop as I sat up in bed. A moment later I was on the balcony, drinking in scenery that fulfilled every promise Aunt Dimity had made.

An intensely blue, sparkling bay lay before me, embraced by a broad expanse of golden dunes to the north and a lush green headland to the south. An emerald lawn ran down from the hotel to a flawless crescent of tawny sand at the water’s edge. A flock of gulls soared above waves frilled by an onshore breeze, and a host of tiny birds twittered in the branches of a solitary pohutukawa tree that grew not ten yards from where I stood. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

I was faintly puzzled by the presence of a small swimming pool in the deck area adjacent to the hotel’s main building. The pristine beach made a swimming pool seem redundant.

“The bay is called Hokianga Harbor,” said Cameron, poking his head around the wall that divided my balcony from his. “Not bad, eh? ”

“Not bad at all,” I agreed. “How did you know I was out here? ”

“I heard your glass door open,” he said. “I’ve been up for an hour.”

“Bully for you.” I wrinkled my nose at him, then nodded toward the deck area. “Why the pool? If I’d brought a bathing suit with me, I’d swim in the bay.”

“Not for long,” he said, with a wry smile. “Hokianga Harbor is a breeding ground for great white sharks.”

“Yikes,” I said, eyeing the sparkling waters with new respect. “It sure is pretty, though.”

“Yes, it is,” said Cameron. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Believe it or not, I am,” I told him. “See you in twenty.”

I paused for one last look at the dunes, the headland, and the shining bay, then raced inside to splash water on my face, slip into a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and finish packing. I didn’t want to spoil my reputation as a twenty-minute wonder.

After plundering the hotel’s breakfast buffet and saying a final good-bye to Alison, we checked out of the hotel, climbed into Toko’s car, and drove south along State Highway 12, retracing the route we’d taken north the previous evening. While I craned my neck to take in the intensely green hills, the stunning seascapes, and the quirky holiday houses that had hitherto been obscured by rain, Cameron paid attention to Alison’s map.

We left the highway at the impossibly named village of Waiotemarama and turned onto a dirt road that felt as though it had last been graded in the early 1950s. Toko’s car developed an alarming number of new rattles as we juddered across the road’s washboard surface and zigzagged gingerly around its rain-filled potholes.