Holiday Gone Read online

  Holiday Gone

  A Hettie & Ro Adventure

  Beth Byers

  Bettie Jane

  Contents

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Preview of Bright Young Witches & the Restless Dead

  Also By Beth Byers

  Summary

  December 1922

  Hettie and Ro are fed up with everything. What’s better than a trip to Prince Edward Island?

  In between family obligations for Hettie, they discover a winter wonderland in Prince Edward Island. Oh! And a dead body.

  Irritated that their retreat is blighted with murder, they aim to solve the murder so they can get back to their holiday on the island. But, Hettie and Ro discover much more than they expected. Will they find the killer? Or will, perhaps, the killer find them?

  Chapter 1

  The ballroom on the ship was lit with electric light that looked like candles. The band was playing and people were dancing and laughing as though they’d never dance again. Perhaps it was the otherworldly feeling of being at sea that made them so happy.

  The whimsical idea that if they looked out at the right moment they might see a mermaid and her beau, or a pod of dolphins leaping through the waves. That if they sank to the bottom of the sea, they might be welcomed into an Atlantean wonderland. Or perhaps it was the Christmas tree in the corner, the strings of Christmas lights along the doors, and the ornaments hanging below the chandeliers giving the room a joyful cheerfulness that had the dancers so enchanted.

  Hettie could imagine the whimsical, but her mood was such that if she were to see a mermaid it would be a sea witch version with kelp for a dress, a trident stained with blood, and a pair of sharks for pets. Or perhaps the monstrous Santa that the Germans liked to threaten naughty children with. Yes, Hettie thought, that one. Whatever his scary name was—he was who she’d see if magic happened.

  Despite being surrounded by a swirling, sparkled crowd, Hettie had no desire to dance. She felt like diving into her cups and not coming back up until Big Ben was ringing too loudly in her ears. Returning to Canada was starting to feel as though she’d returned to that girl who’d been stupid enough to marry Harvey, and Hettie had a hulking worry that it would happen to her again.

  Her dearest friend in all the world set a cocktail in front of her. “Drink it,” Ro ordered.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You must.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “It’s gin with happiness,” Ro snapped. “Drink it.”

  “I don’t feel happy. I feel like someone has wrapped me in cotton wool and is prepared to press my face into the mattress until I die.”

  “Oh my,” the bartender said. It wasn’t sympathy in his voice but choked sarcasm at her melodrama. Hettie didn’t mind, however, because he was so pretty.

  Rather than dancing, Hettie and Ro had been sitting on barstools. It was possible that Ro was prepared to dive into dancing rather than drinks—likely even. Hettie had ordered Ro to dance with the tall fellow from Brazil, not wishing to ruin her friend’s evening with her foul mood, but Ro remained on the stool next to her.

  Ro sighed and glanced at the bartender. “She has to go home.”

  “But why?” he asked. “If she doesn’t want to, surely you could both catch the next ship to Cuba.”

  “Because she has to accept she’s changed,” Ro told him, “and that remains the same whether she’s in England or Canada or Cuba.”

  “Because”—Hettie shot Ro an irritated glance—“if we don’t, Mother will catch me unawares. Like a crocodile.” Hettie snapped her arms in front of her and then groaned, dropping onto folded arms on the bar. Her drink was untouched in front of her. She didn’t want happiness and gin. Hettie wanted sour and strong.

  “A crocodile?” Hector asked, making another fellow a drink and then turning back to the duo of friends.

  Hettie’s only answer was to again make a snapping mouth out of her arms and then pantomime a scream.

  Ro glanced between them and then clarified. “Hettie thinks if she’s the one who visits instead of her mother that she can control things.”

  “I can,” Hettie insisted, mouth mostly pressed into her elbow. “Probably. We can leave soon after we show up. Put on a pretty face, dance a little, and disappear into the fog.”

  “Or,” Hector said with another of his wide grins and glinting eyes, “tell her that you’re going to France and go to Cuba instead. Then you’ll be safe.”

  Hettie snuffled unattractively despite being enchanted by Hector and his grin. His dark skin was chocolate goodness and Hettie was drunk enough to let her attraction show on her face. She had sworn off men since her own had been murdered after years of cheating on her. Men, Hettie knew, were taken if they were good men. This fellow was a good man, and his wife—unlike Hettie—was a lucky woman.

  She appreciated his beauty while he chatted up another patron as she sipped her happiness and gin. The cocktail was delightful with a lovely afterburn that made her nose hurt. She loved that feeling, even though she really should be drinking something made with bitters.

  “Hector’s told you he’s married,” Ro said. “You’re supposed to hide being a lascivious minx.”

  “You’re safe,” Hettie told Hector, who returned to them to hear Ro. “If that’s gin with happiness, I can’t drink another. It really does make me happy, and I am determined to wallow.” She scrunched her nose. “I believe that you’ve done all you could for me, my dear Hector.”

  He grinned at her again and filled another order.

  Hettie turned to Ro. “I need happiness.”

  “That was happiness.”

  Hettie shook her head. “Real happiness. I need adventure.”

  “We’re going to Prince Edward Island,” Ro snapped, flicking Hettie’s ear. Hettie idly flopped her hand towards her ear.

  “That’s too wholesome,” Hettie muttered. “I want to…I don’t know. Fly. I want to fly.”

  “Oooh,” Ro said, losing the irritation. “I suppose we could find a hot air balloon.”

  “Promise me,” Hettie murmured. She pushed up on the barstool and took Hector by the face, pinching each cheek. “You’re a good man, Hector. Your happiness has just the right amount of burn, but I’d like more of a tart and sour. Like my heart.”

  He grinned at her through her pinching hands and gave her a slow, dramatic wink. His eyes were the best kind of shining darkness, and Hettie told herself to let go of his face. It took her too long to comply, but she eventually did.

  “Tell your wife to be on the lookout for me,” Hettie added playfully and then hopped down. She staggered into Ro and looked up at her best friend with true love and added, “You’re a good one, Ro Lavender. I think I’ll keep you.”

  The morning the ship docked in Montreal, Hettie looked at Ro and said seriously, “I feel I must warn you of a problem.”

  Ro turned, putting a deliberately serious expression on her face. “I am ready.”

  “I miss my mother and my sister. And even my father. I am weak when it comes to them. A part of me wants the life of living in the mansion next door, shopping together in the afternoons, gossiping about the people I’ve known all my life, and cooing over Amy’s children.”

  “All right?” Ro’s head tilted and she crossed her fingers in her la
p, clearing her throat. “What does that mean? Are we moving to Montreal?”

  “Stop pretending to understand, Ro! I get pulled in. I drink the drinks, I wear the dresses, I am bought by the jewelry. The only time I ever stood up to them was when I loved Harvey so much I finally had a reason to want more than being their perfect little doll.”

  Ro turned onto her back, putting her feet up onto the bed and crossing her ankles. “Hettie darling, you love me far more than you loved Harvey. You have nothing to fear.”

  Hettie blinked a little stupidly and then put her furs on over her dress. The Montreal chill was so harsh that they were cold in their rooms. She carefully wound a scarf around her neck and then put on her muff and gloves before answering.

  “I do fear!” The words burst from her louder than she’d intended.

  Ro rolled onto her side. “Hettie, do you want to live in Montreal?”

  Hettie shook her head.

  “If you had to choose between tickets to Cuba or cashing in our return trip, what would you do?”

  “Right now? I’d go to Cuba, but Ro—there’s this creature inside of me who is still desperately waiting for her father to smile at her.”

  Ro sniffed and then sat up. “That creature is never going to get what she wants, Hettie darling.”

  Hettie stared, fiddling with her muff.

  “You’ve already grown up and not had his approval. That’s never going to change. That child Hettie is only a memory now.”

  Hettie sniffed, sad for herself as she slumped onto the bed next to Ro. “What do I do?”

  “You visit,” Ro told her. “You smile and laugh and enjoy and don’t escalate when you’re upset. You cram it all down, have a drink, or a dance, or a—a—I don’t know. Run away. Shop. But every time you’re tempted to give in, you make a list of another adventure that you desperately want that your father doesn’t.”

  Hettie pulled out her pen, peeled off the glove she’d just put on and wrote ‘Cuba’ on her palm. She waved her hand until the ink was dry and then replaced her glove. Settled once more, she examined Ro. “This isn’t England, love. That’s real snow, lots of it, and it isn’t going to be washed away by rain in a few days. Put on the furs we bought, the scarf, the gloves, all of it.”

  “I’ll look like a winter bear woken from hibernation,” Ro groaned.

  “You’ll look like a woman who still has fingers when we’re in Cuba.”

  “What about Hawaii?” Ro asked.

  “What about Barbados?” Hettie shot back. She’d been doing her research on places to visit and Barbados was high on her list. Pirates, sun, sand, and drinks with fruit.

  “What about a hot air balloon?” Ro replied. “I’ve been doing my research. We could go a whole day or even longer.”

  “With enough money,” Hettie said dryly, “we could go on whatever we wanted.”

  “Mmm, exactly.” Ro laughed, putting on her furs and letting her hand drift down her coat. “These are lovely. I suppose I could become accustomed.”

  “Wait until you take the full real breath of air. You’ll see.”

  Chapter 2

  Even for someone like Ro who had been raised in a similarly luxurious mansion, she still often paused and stared at the home where Hettie was raised. Gawking was both commonplace and exactly what her father wanted. The house was what was expected of a mansion—overtly extravagant with stone, glass, and grass. There were shining floors, antiques at every turn, art from the masters, and quiet shadows of pain, snobbery, and coldness between those who lived there. The army of servants might be the only people who had been to every corner. Hettie chose to stay there, however, because it was her childhood home and she wanted Ro to see it, and also because her parents insisted.

  Hettie loved her parents. She did. Most children, however, loved their parents. She had come to realize that loving her parents didn’t mean that hers were all that wonderful. They weren’t all that bad either. They did what they could, but they were also involved with their own problems. Hettie had learned that her father had mistress after mistress while her mother had distracted herself from her disappointments for decades with shopping trips, dinner parties, and fancy teas.

  Despite their issues, her parents had schooled her, taught her, loved her, and when she’d gotten stubborn, they’d let her marry a man who they’d suspected was a terrible option. They’d thought that Hettie should marry Cecil Cavanaugh, but Hettie had rejected him.

  Their insistence that she stay with them proved to not be entirely out of parental devotion. It seemed that they thought she had learned from her mistakes and would follow their guidance because Cecil Cavanaugh, a tall, slim man with round spectacles and quite a smarmy smile, had been waiting with her parents when she and Ro had disembarked from the boat. He’d been there when they’d woken the next day for breakfast. He’d been there for every ‘family’ dinner since her arrival and each time, he’d been seated at her side.

  Now Cecil stood at the bottom of the grand stairs opening into the ballroom, waiting expectantly to escort her in to the celebration as her family and Ro looked on. Cecil eyed her as if he already owned her. His gaze flicked over her body, resting on her chest and hips and entirely missing her face. Perhaps if he’d bothered to glance at her expression, he’d have noticed the disdain.

  Hettie turned her gaze from Cecil to her mother, sighing. Back when Hettie had fallen in love and become stubborn and stupid, her mother hadn’t shared her own marital misery. If she had, would Hettie have listened more carefully to her mother’s objections? She’d like to think so, but she wasn’t sure. Surely though, her mother would understand Hettie’s recalcitrance about a courtship considering how awful her first marriage had turned out.

  She walked slowly down the stairs, noting Ro in her glittering, fringy white dress, standing apart from Hettie’s family, who were watching her with as much expectation as Cecil. Her mother in a staid black gown would have looked frumpy if not for her excess of jewelry. Her father stood next to her in his fitted tuxedo with Hettie’s sister, Amy, who was rounded with her third child, and her brother-in-law with his gaze fixed on Ro rather than his wife.

  As she dressed, Hettie’s mother had told her to wait until everyone was in the ballroom before she joined them. Mother had pinched Hettie’s cheeks, handed her a black velvet box, said, “Be nice to Cecil,” and then walked out of the room. With a quick glance inside of the box, Hettie saw a diamond choker. She had immediately closed the lid.

  She’d been well-taught about the important things—like jewelry—so Hettie knew that each large stone would be clear and perfectly cut, without having to examine them. They would be set in etched white-gold. They would be a pale pink. How many times had Hettie told her mother that pink was her favorite color and then bemoaned that it didn’t look good on her? And her mother was expecting her to accept the choker as a gift, but Hettie knew it for what it was—a bribe to behave and do as she was told.

  Hettie scrunched her nose, tempted to return for the choker still in the box she’d left on her bed so her parents would be appeased.

  No! Hettie told herself. No! She took a deep breath in and smiled as she met her mother’s gaze. Mother noted Hettie’s deliberately bare neck and frowned.

  Hettie took that last step, ignoring Cecil, and moved onto the ballroom floor. There was a band providing excellent music, a fountain of champagne that Hettie couldn’t reach soon enough, and a glittering throng of rich Montrealites crowding the room. Hettie thought she might suffocate.

  She’d have felt better about the celebration and party, complete with fatted calf, if she didn’t feel like she was, in fact, the fatted calf.

  “Hettie, dear.” Cecil caught up with her, his gaze moving over her body again and no sign of approval crossing his face.

  It was moments like these that gave Hettie the issues in her self-confidence that Ro bemoaned. But that thought was followed by the thought of Dr. Neville Hale. There was a man who made her feel beautiful. With a
n ocean between them, she could admit it.

  Because she was growing more wicked under Ro’s influence, Hettie told him, “I prefer to be addressed as Mrs. Hughes.”

  Cecil blinked rapidly behind his round glasses and then laughed, a high-pitched squeal that sounded like it came from a pig. “But not between us, surely.” He didn’t give her time to answer. “We’re old friends, aren’t we?”

  He held out his arm and Hettie placed her hand on it with unconscious habit. She chastised herself but decided that maybe if she gave him this much, letting him lead her toward the champagne, she could sidestep him when he got their drinks and vanish.

  “Hettie!” Ro called from nearby, ignoring Cecil. “You look absolutely fabulous, darling. Come have a drink with me.”

  “Hettie and I were about to dance.” Cecil’s tone was disapproving.

  Hettie and Ro stared at each other and then in unison turned on Cecil. “I didn’t hear you ask her to dance,” Ro told him.

  “We’ve danced at every party since we were children.” Cecil placed his hand over her hand. “It’s an established tradition.”

  Ro’s laugh was mocking. The way that Hettie smiled at her friend and then let her face smooth into irritation at Cecil made his ears tinge with purple fury. He started to scold them, but Hettie decided one dance wouldn’t hurt if it got him to leave her be for the rest of the evening. She rolled her eyes towards Ro, letting Cecil tug her into a dance as she moved reluctantly. She didn’t need to make it easy for him. Perhaps he’d finally take the hint that she wasn’t interested.