The Charmers: A Novel

“Drink,” he said. “You have to get yourself together.”


The Colonel came striding toward us, head poked forward in his usual urgent manner, though his face was grim.

“My men have searched this stretch of the beach,” he said, taking a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopping his brow. “Nothing. No discarded clothing as if she had gone skinny dipping…” He glanced apologetically my way as if I might be offended by the very suggestion. “It has been known, at parties like this, at beach houses.”

“Of course,” Chad said.

I knew the Colonel had noticed my skirt clinging to my legs, and my tear-dampened face and windblown hair. “I need to go home,” I said. Aunt Jolly’s villa, my villa, suddenly seemed a haven of safety. I suddenly realized that of course it would be the place to which Verity would return. If she were free to do so.

Chad went to look for the Boss, to tell him we were leaving, but was unable to find him. He left a message with the head waiter, offering apologies and saying he would return and help in the search.

Guilt washed over me. “I should stay,” I said, shivering, as I thought of Verity in that dark sea, the waves closing over her head. But Chad insisted on taking me home.

He drove fast, swinging the convertible sharply into my driveway. The villa was in complete darkness. Obviously, I had forgotten to leave the outside lights on, though I thought I remembered leaving a lamp on indoors.

He got out and hurried to open my door, taking my hands to help me. There was something so reassuring about him, he made me feel safe, even when the worst had happened.

“It hasn’t, you know,” he said, knowing from my face what I was thinking. “I’ve learned,” he added, “that things are not always what they seem. Whatever has happened to Verity, we’ll find her and I promise I’ll find out why.” He bent his head and kissed my hand, the one with the sapphire. “We can’t let Aunt Jolly down.”

Chad turned on the outside lights, and insisted on coming into the house with me. The dog came running, and the cat sat on the stairs watching us.

Chad turned on the lamps and said, “There must have been a power outage. It happens quite often around here. Probably the Boss’s illuminations overloaded the system.”

Still, just to be sure, he walked through the rooms, checking there were no villains hiding under beds, no robbers prying open the safe, no killers in black masks. Like last time.

I had treated that incident almost as a joke, a prank, a mistaken identity by a unskilled thief who’d thought I had something more worth stealing than Aunt Jolly’s ring and her pearls, though nowadays I believe thieves go more for laptops and electronic devices. My laptop however, still sat on my desk, untouched by any human hand other than my own.

Eyes still checking, Chad said, “I’m calling the Colonel, telling him to get some men up here instead of uselessly combing that beach, where they’ll never find Verity anyway.”

“Why do you think that?”

“She was last seen entering the Boss’s house. No one saw her come out. The beach was well-lit so the guests could wander at will. There was even a bar down there, sandwiches for the taking. The Boss thought of everything.”

He was right, and the Boss was certainly not a man to miss a beat. In fact if anyone had seen Verity it would have been him.

“I saw him watching her,” I remembered. “I thought he had his eye on her, fancied her … you know.”

“Pity yours wasn’t a keener eye,” Chad said. “Then we might know more about where she went.”

He was already on his mobile calling the Colonel. “I’ll be right there,” I heard him say as he turned back to me.

“I’m not the domesticated type or I’d offer to make you a cup of tea,” he said. “But I suggest you at least get out of that wet dress, take a hot shower, and get into your pj’s. I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you. I’ll bring tea from the Boss’s party. After all, he’s thought of everything else—he must have thought of that too.”

I watched him drive away. The house was suddenly silent. The animals had gone into the kitchen. Even the moths had given up beating their frail wings against the lights. No small creatures rustled in the undergrowth; no sweet voice called me, saying, It’s Verity, I’m home, Mirabella, I’m back …

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