Page 20 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

Hattie removed her foot and slid into a pair of court shoes. She’d arranged for Harry to run classes for the guests. Earlier, they’d agreed that road safety was too run of the mill for the residents and Harry would be far better placed to pass on his experience of personal protection, security and self-defence, but if he was to be a regular caller to Boomerville she knew that she’d be needing a few lessons in self-defence herself.

‘So when would you like me to start the classes?’

‘As soon as you like.’ Hattie stood up. She smoothed her skirt over her hips and reached into her blouse to whip a lipstick out of her bra. Striding to a mirror above the fireplace, she leaned in and painted her lips. ‘The residents will be queuing to get on your course,’ she said as she watched Harry retrieve his jacket from the back of a chair, ‘but make sure no one puts a hip out or buggers their back up, or Jo will haul me over the coals.’ She turned to fasten his gleaming buttons and, tweaking at the brim, placed Harry’s hat on his head.

‘A most informative afternoon, Mrs Mulberry,’ Harry said, running his hand over Hattie’s bottom. ‘I’ll let you know if there’s any follow up to our investigation on your ex-tenants. I’m glad to see that little Teddy has settled in well.’

They stared at the bed under the stairs, where the puppy was snuggled against Bunty. The dogs were deep in sleep after an outing with Alf and Ness. Teddy’s paws twitched as he chased imaginary rabbits, while Bunty snored and thumped her tail.

‘Aye, be on your way,’ Hattie said and blew Harry a kiss. ‘Crime won’t crack itself, as you need to keep reminding that daft constable of yours’.

‘Derek was the pub’s leading quiz scorer last month,’ Harry replied. ‘Have you ever thought about putting a Boomerville team together?’

‘More work,’ Hattie said, bustling Harry out of the side door. ‘As if I haven’t got enough to do.’

She watched him cross the gravel to his squad car. In truth, Hattie thought, as Harry pulled away, a quiz night was a great idea and she remembered that one of their current residents, Bill Bradbury, had included his enjoyment of quizzes on his application form.

Closing the door, Hattie eyed the carrot cake on the table and cut another slice. As she began to munch, she thought of Bill. She’d noticed that he had a habit of talking to himself, as if he was responding to an imaginary voice. He didn’t seem to be mixing very well and Hattie wondered what she might do to ease him more fully into the Boomerville experience.

A quiz team might be the perfect thing. The next quiz night at the pub was in a few days and if she added a note to the residents’ daily bulletin, there was a good chance that they’d find enough guests to make up a team.

As Hattie dusted cake crumbs from her mouth, her thoughts drifted to a conversation she’d had with Harry, when she’d asked him if he’d seen much of Pete. The men had been friends for many years. She’d learnt that Pete had attended a steam rally the previous week, and, in Harry’s opinion, Pete had acted out of character. As Harry greeted his friend, Pete had stared blankly and tears welled at the corner of his eyes. He’d mumbled something unintelligible then hurried away.

The plot thickens, Hattie thought and she determined to find out more. In the meantime, she had a hotel to run, hungry guests and a dinner service to oversee.

Feeling invigorated from her afternoon activity, Hattie set off to do her rounds.

8

The main hotel in the town of Kindale was a fine old building named Kindale House. Built in 1860, it was originally the home of a local family, who enjoyed the water-side location. Successful traders, aware of an opportunity, they purchased the adjoining buildings and opened a hotel. As the first of its kind in Kindale, it was now a flourishing business with extensive leisure facilities and a conference centre.

Jo sat in a cosy corner of the hotel foyer and sipped an Americano. The drink was refreshing and with a good shot of caffeine, welcome after her restless night. She watched the locals and visitors who’d gathered for refreshments, their voices animated as they discussed an event that was taking place. Uniformed staff, efficient in smart uniforms, took orders and dispensed drinks and for a moment, Jo was caught up in the activity. She strained to listen to conversations and it soon became clear that the All Ireland Chowder Cook Off was being held at Kindale House that day. Thirty-two talented chefs were busy in the function room, putting the final touches to their entries, which were to be judged by the visiting public.

A delicious aroma of seafood, nestling in rich sauces, made Jo’s mouth water. She’d not eaten breakfast and now, several hours later, was hungry. On the table, a local newspaper lay open. A section called “What’s On in Kindale” had caught Jo’s attention and she’d noted that the town bustled with activities and events that attracted tourism for most weeks of the year. From jazz nights at local venues, to wine tastings and guided beach walks, there was something for everyone and these local excursions would create extra events for her guests.

Outside, puffs of cloud drifted in a pale blue sky and Jo could hear gulls squawking as they swooped through the air on unseen thermals, above fishing boats making their way in and out of the tiny harbour. Kindale was fundamentally a fishing port but also a haven for tourism. Following her earlier walk around the gift shops and art galleries, Jo had delighted in the upmarket stores, offering everything from designer clothes to the finest Irish whiskies. Within a short drive of Flatterley Manor, the town would provide a perfect distraction for guests.

Feeling excited, Jo longed to tell someone about her findings and, knowing that Hattie would be busy, she decided to call Pete. He was always interested in everything she did and often came up with good ideas and suggestions. Digging into her bag for her mobile phone, she had begun to dial when a voice called out,

‘And how are you, on this fine day?’

Jo looked up. Finbar was approaching. The taxi driver was as smart as paint in a crisp cotton shirt, tailored trousers and polished brogues.

‘Hello, Finbar,’ Jo said, ‘how nice to see you.’

‘What would a lovely woman like yourself be doing, sitting alone in a place like this?’ Finbar asked, his eyes twinkling.

‘Well,’ Jo began, ‘after yesterday evening and a full morning at Flatterley Manor, I found it all a bit overwhelming and I wanted to get out and see what Kindale has to offer.’ She placed the phone back in her bag. ‘Will you join me for a coffee?’

Finbar sat down. He ran fingers through curls of thick dark hair. ‘As much as I would love to enjoy your company, I’m working.’

‘Oh, are you collecting a fare?’ Jo looked around.

Finbar laughed and pearly white teeth flashed across his handsome face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m the host for the day, at the chowder championship, and later tonight I’ll be singing.’

‘Forgive me, I didn’t realise, you’re a man of many talents.’

‘To name but a few.’

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