‘Chronicle,’ corrected Tess.
‘Well, we’re very pleased to welcome you here, Miss Garrett.’ He motioned to a waiter, who ran over with a tray bearing a mint julep.
Tess shook her head politely. ‘I have to drive again in a little while.’
‘But you only just got here!’ he protested. ‘Riverview is all about relaxation.’
Tess smiled at the way he separated the word into four syllables: ‘re–lax–ay–shun’.
‘Well, I’ll try,’ smiled Tess, ‘but sadly it’s not a holiday.’
Sidney shooed the waiter away. ‘Well, why don’t I show you to your room? You’re in the Dovecote.’
Tess tried to hide her disappointment. She had asked Dom to try and secure bungalow twelve, the guesthouse nearest the river. The one Olivia Martin had stayed in.
They wound down a path that took them through manicured gardens bursting with roses and flowering trees.
‘So, what can you tell me about the history of the house, Mr Garner?’ asked Tess.
‘Sidney, please,’ he blustered. ‘Well, the Portland hotel group bought Riverview from the previous owners three years ago. We’ve spent millions since then remodelling it, keeping the essence of the estate but bringing it into the twenty–first century.’
He led her up to a pretty grey outbuilding and handed Tess a key. ‘The Dovecote is one of our best rooms. Very quiet. I thought you’d prefer that to the rooms in the main house if you wanted to work.’
Tess smiled. ‘Do you mind if I have a look around?’
‘Not at all. Any questions, just let me know.’ He thrust a brochure into her hands. ‘A CD of images, a factsheet on the hotel’s history. It’s all in there.’
‘Is it possible to see bungalow twelve?’
He gave his head a half–shake. ‘Unfortunately not. We’re at eighty per cent capacity this weekend and twelve is occupied. Usually is. It’s very popular with honeymooners doing the River Road trail. We’ve got honeymooners in there now.’
‘See what you can do?’ said Tess, pressing a flirtatious hand on his arm. ‘I only need a few minutes to see the view and so on. I’d be very grateful.’
Sidney’s eyes widened slightly. ‘I’ll try,’ he said, attempting a coquettish look. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
He was just walking away when he turned back. ‘You know, another journalist phoned up a few weeks ago asking the same question. I believe there’s a history to number twelve. Some actress disappeared from a party here in the Sixties, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t put that in the story. Some tourists get a bit spooked by things like that.’
‘Of course,’ smiled Tess. ‘You can rely on my discretion.’
Tess wondered who had called. Alicia? Someone from the Washington Spy? One of Wendell Billington’s people? It hardly mattered. No one had got any further with the story or she would certainly have heard about it by now.
There was a chirping sound and Sidney took his cell phone out of his pocket.
‘Do you mind?’ he said, reading his message. ‘I’m wanted in the restaurant. New chef, I’m afraid,’ he said with a lame wink.
‘Well, I’ll just go and s
ettle into my room if that’s okay. I have a meeting in Vacherie in less than an hour.’
‘Better hurry,’ said Sidney. ‘It’s pretty far out.’
You said it, thought Tess.
*
Dennis Carson had been a difficult man to track down. Given that Tess only had limited time, she had been forced to ask Becky at the Oracle to help in return for another Brooke and David wedding story, but there was no other way to find the policemen who had been responsible for investigating Olivia’s disappearance. Vacherie was a small, pretty town set just back off the highway. It was mainly a cluster of creole cottages and clapboard buildings surrounding a small white church with a tall pointy steeple. The retired officer lived just behind the general store, and he was out in the garden digging in a rose bush when Tess walked up. Carson was around seventy, with military–short steel grey hair, a heavy jaw, and dark, alert eyes.
‘Thanks for seeing me,’ said Tess, as Carson led her to a small cane sofa on the porch, sitting on a wooden chair opposite, wiping his brow with a spotty handkerchief.