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“I think that Erin and I should have a look around Bertha’s bedroom if that is OK with you? There might be something of interest or a clue amongst her belongings.” said Monica to Pamela the next day as the three girls had breakfast together.
“Certainly. None of the cleaning staff have been into it since, well you know. I will also get you her cookbook that was in the kitchen. She had that with her every day. She brought it down with her each morning and it went back upstairs each night. It was her bible.”
“Was Sean able to go back and get the golf cart?” asked Erin as she spread homemade strawberry jam into a crumpet.
“Yes, no problem. What a nasty experience for you, but lucky that Wiley came to your rescue.”
“Pamela, what exactly does Leo do here besides manage the boat rentals and their maintenance?”
“He handles boat and marine equipment purchases. I hardly know a boat bow from a boat stern, so I leave all of that up to him. Why?”
“Well, Erin and I got the impression, and we might be all wrong of course, that Leo and Bertha weren’t exactly best friends.”
“Bertha wasn’t best friends with anybody here. She didn’t have what I would call a ‘front desk’ personality. But she was an amazing chef, so I didn’t care what others thought of her.”
“So, she wasn’t exactly the life of the party then?” quizzed Erin.
“Far from it. There was a sense of melancholy about her. A sort of perpetual sadness. She rarely smiled or laughed. I asked her why she always seemed so sad and distant and she just said that there had been a tragedy in her past.”
“A tragedy? Possibly a woman with an intriguing past I’d say,” Monica said folding her napkin, “so perhaps her room will reveal a few secrets.”
“Harry, the marina guard. We need to go and see him this afternoon, Pamela. Will he be at his gatehouse do you think?” asked Erin.
“Oh yes, rain or shine Harry will be guarding the boats with his life. Takes his job very seriously. He lives for that marina and he will proudly tell you that he hasn’t missed a day of work in over twelve years.”
Pamela led the two girls to Bertha’s room, unlocked the door and handed over a dog-eared and battered book with the faint word “Recipes” written on the cover.
“I am not sure why Bertha was so attached to this book; I am sure she knew every recipe inside out and backwards. She never let it out of her sight. Best of luck in your search.”
Bertha’s small room was Spartan and very tidy. Her closet revealed three sets of chef pants, tops and hats, two summer dresses and a few pairs of jeans. Four folded shirts and sweaters sat on the shelf above and six pairs of serviceable, sturdy shoes were lined up on the floor. Bertha Lundstrom was clearly a woman who leaned towards sensible and serviceable clothes; nothing frivolous or frilly.
“Not exactly a fashion plate, was she,” laughed Erin, moving towards the bed where she sat down and opened the cookbook. Monica sat down at the desk and began to open the drawers. There was silence in the room as the girls went through papers, documents and letters setting aside items of interest.
“Well, find anything interesting?” asked Erin finally.
“Yes, you?”
“How about three passports from three different countries and a diary written in French.”
“I have four photographs that I think say a lot, and another photo that you will find very, very interesting.”
Erin got off the bed and walked over to Monica’s side with the photos.
“Where did you find them?”
“Stuck in the cookbook. No let me rephrase that; they were hidden inside the last page and the back cover that had been glued together.”
“Not exactly impossible to find if you looked hard enough,” suggested Monica.
“True, but hard to see if somebody only had time for a fast glance.”
Monica and Erin stared at the three photos and then Erin moved to look out of the window. “Did you notice what this window looks out onto?”
“The lower lawn, some wooden Adirondack style chairs and tables, and a lot of old trees.”
“Yes, and a bird’s eye view of the resort marina. Bertha took these two photos from this room, but why would she take two rather boring photos of men on a dock?” added Erin returning to the desk.
“Who is that man?” asked Erin pointing to the tall figure in both photos.
“No idea, but that is Leo in both. And if I am not mistaken, the man is handing him an envelope.”
The girls were silent for a moment.
“What about this photo of the guy and a girl on a bench holding hands, also taken from this window?”
“The guy looks like Sean the gardener. The girl looks like Sally the receptionist. Why would Bertha be interested in a photo of a courting couple?”
“We’ll have to ask Sean when we speak to him.”
“You know, that nasty old ‘B’ word comes to mind,” said Monica. “Judging by these photos it looks to me as if Leo might have been taking kickbacks from certain suppliers and putting some extra cash in his pocket.”
“Why on earth would Bertha want to blackmail Leo?”
“I have no idea at this point, but I think we’ll eventually find out.”
“Now, this fourth photo is the one that is really interesting. Take a look.”
Monica took the photo from Erin and gasped. It was almost the same photo as the one found near Bertha showing the toddler of about two in a plaid shirt and Mary Jane shoes. She was holding hands with a slightly older boy and a scruffy mongrel puppy lay on the ground at their feet. Another boy of the same age stood beside the dog and the same yellow stone house with the tall French doors and windows rose up in the background.
“Bertha, Bertha what secrets did you take with you?” Erin said quietly.
“Now we know why she kept this book so close at all times.”
“Yes. Bertha knew that while somebody could probably get into her room to snoop for something, she could guard this book in her kitchen under her watchful eye at all times.”
A sharp rapping signaled an arrival and Pamela stuck her head into the room. “How is it going girls?” she asked cheerfully.
“Good, good,” said Erin, “we have found some very interesting things. First of all, who is the man in this photo with Leo?
Pamela looked closely. “Oh, that’s Marvin Fayers. He is one of three suppliers who sell us boats, parts and motors.”
“Pamela, what cooking degrees or qualifications did Bertha have?”
Pamela shrugged. “None, I don’t think, but her cooking was ideal for a resort. Not fancy or exciting but good family fare. She was a careful shopper, managed to get the best prices, and her recipes never varied. You knew exactly what you’d be getting and how it would taste every time.”
“She sounds perfect,” said Erin.
“Well, almost, but over the past year or so I have noticed that some of the tinned and canned foods inventory didn’t add up at the end of the month, but I never wanted to make a big fuss over it. You had to treat Bertha with kid gloves. I didn’t want her to get upset and quit.”
“What do you mean, ‘didn’t add up’?” quizzed Monica.
“Well, for example, we might buy thirty tins of spaghetti sauce on June 1st and as the kitchen staff have to keep a close accounting of what they use, our records might show that we had six left at the end of the month. But recently the actual inventory and the records are always off by four or five tins.”
“So, somebody is either stealing or somebody is getting lax about keeping records.”
“Exactly,” agreed Pamela. “Now what did you two find?”
Monica held up the three passports, photos and some other documents she had found in the desk drawer. “Let me give you a bit of information of Bertha’s lifeline. This first passport tells us that Bertha was actually born Helga Bullinger in the canton of Neuchatel in Switzerland. At some point Helga moved to England and married a man called Peter Olson in the Church of St. Andrews in the town of Stow-on-the Wold. Here is a wedding photo. She was then Helga Olson, as we can see by this marriage certificate. Peter died three years after their marriage and this death certificate says that he died of a stroke.”
“He was young to die so early. Kind of sad isn’t it?” Pamela had a faraway look in her eye as she studied the old photo.”
“Next we have a letter from a solicitor in Stow-on-the Wold stating that Helga Olson would be paid weekly for cooking services along with details.”
Pamela reached for the letter. “Doesn’t it mention who she would be cooking for or where?”
“No, the second page of the letter isn’t here. Next, we have an old passenger list from the Queen Mary sailing ship and here is her new name, Bertha Lundstrom,” said Erin holding up the third passport.”
“But why would she change her name?” asked Pamela.
“People usually change their names because they hate their original names, they are running away from something, or simply because they want to disappear,” suggested Monica.
“I wonder what Bertha was running from?” mused Pamela.
“Pamela you mentioned she once confided in you that there had been a tragedy in her life. Did she explain what that was?”
“No. She only mentioned it because we were having a staff games day and she refused to take part in any of the water sports. She said there had been a tragedy in her life years before, but that was all she said.”
Next Pamela asked, “What’s in the diary?” as she flipped through the well-worn pages. “It’s in French so I can do a rough translation for you if you wish over the next few days.”
Monica stood up and stretched. “Great. Now, time for some lunch and then we have a date with Harry at the marina.”
When the girls reached the marina guard house, they were able to see Harry Warner through the front window before he saw them. He was stretched out in a comfortable overstuffed chair reading what looked to be a fishing magazine when Monica gave a sharp rap on his window. It startled him, and he adjusted his bifocals before he stood up and opened the door to see Monica and Erin staring back at him. He recovered his composure quickly and said, “Hello ladies. You are a sight for sore eyes. I usually have to deal with sailors and pirates,”
“You must be Harry Warner,” Monica said extending her hand.
“That I am,” Harry said opening the door wider. “Now come in; I think we can all squeeze inside this little box if we try. Now how can I help you?”
Monica made the introductions and explained a little bit about their mission. Then Erin took over. “Harry,” she began, “we hear that you are the ultimate marina watchman. Everybody tells us how dedicated you are to this job.”
Harry blushed and smiled.
“We are helping to investigate the accident that Bertha the chef at the resort had the other night and we thought you might be able to help us.”
“Me? How can I help? I wasn’t there. I never have a reason to go to the resort.”
“Yes, we understand that, but we want to know if you saw a certain person the other night.”
“Now which night would that be?” Harry asked. His smile changed from one of welcome to wariness and he actually backed away from the girls a few feet as though they might be contagious.
“The night of Thursday the 16th, the big storm.”
Monica noticed that Harry Warner’s face went pale, and Erin saw his hand begin to shake slightly. A twitch developed above his left eye.
“Let, let me check,” he stuttered, reaching for a calendar on the desk just behind him. He drew his hand across the page.
“Yes, yes, I was certainly here that night. Never missed a day since I started this job.”
“So, Harry if you were here then you might have seen a person or persons walking by at around 8:00 pm before you went home at 9:00 pm at the end of your shift?” asked Erin watching his face.
“I imagine I might have. I see lots of folks. Busy place this marina.”
“Harry did you see, now let me think...what is her name; it is on the tip of my tongue,” said Erin feigning a bad memory, “She works at the resort I think.”
Harry shrugged. “No idea.”
“Harry, you must know just about everybody on this island, don’t you?” said Monica, “Can you tell us who you did see that night?”
Suddenly Harry Warner put his hands to his face and began to shake his head.
“It was the first time in twelve years,” he said. “The first day in twelve years that I went home two hours early. The storm was so bad that I was afraid I might not make it home if I left later. I knew the roads would be flooded and trees and power lines might be down. I have never done that before. I am supposed to stay here till 9:00 pm to give directions, offer assistance, and watch over the boats and buildings. I failed that night.”
Monica and Erin were speechless. “Harry, it was a terrible night. Nobody would blame you for going home a few hours early and being safe. I wouldn’t bother feeling guilty for one second.”
“I can’t help it.” He sniffled and pulled a large white handkerchief out of his pocket. “My life revolves around this marina and I hope the marina owner won’t fire me. Please don’t tell anybody that I left early.”
“Fire you Harry! No way. You are the mainstay of this marina and they are lucky to have you” Monica said gently.
“Do you think so? Really?”
“Absolutely,” agreed Erin.
“So, Harry if I understand you correctly, there is no way you could have seen anybody passing by your office here that night around 8:00 pm. Nobody waved at you, am I right?”
“Yes, you are right,” said Harry. “If anybody passed by this office and said they waved at me and I waved back they are telling a fib. I was at home having a hot chocolate and reassuring my two budgies Thunder and Lightning. They hate stormy weather.”
***
“Well, well, things don’t look so great for Jennifer Patterson, do they?” commented Monica as she pressed the accelerator on their golf cart and turned towards the resort.
“What on earth is she up to I wonder?” replied Erin thoughtfully as they stopped under the resort portico. Pamela had been waiting for them on the wraparound porch and came dashing over.
“Come to my office,” she gasped, “I have news about Mrs. Law for you. The hospital just called. She didn’t have a stroke or a heart attack at all.”
“Something else then?” asked Erin sitting down in an office chair
“She was poisoned, most definitely poisoned.”
“How? With what?” questioned Monica.
“Spuds.”
“Spuds?”
“Yes, spuds.”
“Death by potatoes? Mashed? Fried? Scalloped?” Are you serious Pamela? Where did she eat tainted potatoes?”
“I have just been on the internet. Have you ever heard of deadly nightshade?”
“Sure, it’s some kind of poison isn’t it?”
“Believe it or not, potato tubers. The leaves and green potatoes can harbor something called solanine inside them. Solanine is part of the deadly nightshade family.”
“Where would she have eaten this? It wasn’t in your baked goods yesterday, because we were all eating them and nobody else got sick.”
“Apparently even small amounts can be fatal and can take effect from eight to twelve hours after ingestion.”
“So that means poor Mrs. Law ate or was fed some green potatoes the night before the lecture. Pamela, you are going to have to tell the staff and guests about these two deaths. I just hope there isn’t a mass panic; first Bertha and now this,” said Erin.
Monica was silent for a few minutes. Somebody had mentioned vegetable gardening the other day, but she couldn’t think who it had been. She’d sleep on it.
