Chapter 38
Lesson 37: A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste.
Bridget Jones Tally:
dicks—2
cocks—4
boners—1
We found our way sheepishly back to the group. I felt guilty on both our behalves, and I hoped the ladies didn’t notice that
my lips had been kissed until they were plump and pink.
When we arrived, the gaggle looked just as relaxed and contented as Robbie had promised they’d be. Most of them were sitting
sleepily in the sun. Berrta was off with her binoculars, as promised, and Helena, for some reason, had a pair of tweezers
and was plucking whiskers from Doris’s chin.
Doris’s face split in a relieved smile when she saw us. “Oh, there’s my boy! Thank you, you two. You’ve done your good deed
for the day.” Helena stood back, tweezers at the ready in case she should be called back into action, and Percy jumped right
up into Doris’s lap to lick her face.
“I wouldn’t—” I started.
“Oh, it’s okay. I love it.”
I smiled and shrugged. If she didn’t care a bit what he’d been snacking on, then neither did I.
“Right. How is everyone feeling? Are we ready to move on southward to ever so slightly warmer climes?”
“Yes. I think ve are ready. It was a good day. I saw a Scottish crossbill!”
We all piled on to the bus, where Agatha was sleeping with her mouth open and an angry expression on her face, yelling at
a neighbor in her dreams, no doubt.
“Well, the bus is still here, so it’s not 1743,” said Robbie. “More’s the pity. But then again I’m fairly certain that they
didn’t have fish-and-chips in 1743, so it’s not all bad. Now is everyone in and ready? No one has left any bags behind?”
“Flossie,” Agatha croaked through a dry throat.
“Pardon me?”
“Flossie,” she repeated. “Where’s Flossie?”
“What?” He turned around in his seat, brow pinched. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be right outside.” He jumped off the bus
to look, a little faster than his casual tone would warrant.
Within ten minutes we were all back down calling her name and spreading out to look in the nearby woods. Poor Agatha was frantic.
I could understand.
“Where was she? Who was looking after her? When did you last see her?”
“Well, she was definitely here when we ate our sandwiches. She sat just there,” offered Helena.
“How long ago was that?” Robbie asked.
“About an hour and a half, I’d say.”
“Merciful heavens.” Agatha turned to Robbie. “How could you let this happen? Where were you?” My stomach sank. If we’d come
straight back, this might not have happened.
Doris stopped him before he could take the blame. “Oh, that’s my fault, Agatha. Percy ran off into the woods, and I sent Robbie and Alice off after him. The rest of us were all here, but she was so quiet. She just... snuck away.”
“You imbeciles!”
“Right. Did anyone notice anything that might help us figure out where she went or what she was doing?” Robbie asked.
“She did look extra nice today,” said Lorna. “She had on a pretty dress, and her hair was super bouncy.”
Agatha turned on her. “Her hair? How could that possibly help us? I guess we can let the police know that her hairdo was extra
bouncy today when they’re drawing her picture for the six o’clock news!”
“Well, they would probably just use an actual photo—”
“She’s gone! She never does anything like this. I don’t know if someone took her, or she wandered off a cliff, or is floating
dead in a river somewhere!”
Things were spiraling. That wouldn’t help. His voice was even, but I saw the look in his eyes. He felt responsible. He was
scared. He doted on Flossie, and he knew that sometimes she was totally there, but then sometimes she wasn’t. I stepped in.
“Robbie, can you please get the bus and check that she’s not heading down the road? Check the side roads too.”
“Good idea.”
“I’ll organize the ladies into search parties, and we’ll go out in groups to search the area.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes. We will call you from Helena’s phone if we find anything. That’ll be your direct line to us. I’m going to set up a WhatsApp
chat for those of us who have data so the groups can all communicate.”
“Thank you, Alice. We’ll find her. I’m sure she’s absolutely fine.”
I stepped closer to Agatha, trying to stop the tidal wave of panic before it crashed in on her. “It’s okay. I’m sure she couldn’t have gone far. She must have just gotten a little bit turned around, is all. We’ll find her. There are eight of us and one of her. There’s nothing particularly dangerous in those woods. We’re going to be strategic. We’ll spread out and work together, and she’ll be back on the bus in no time.”
“I never should have taken that nap.”
“This is not your fault. It’s going to be absolutely fine. You’ll see.”
Having a plan seemed to calm Agatha. But when I reached to take her hand, she didn’t yank it back—she clasped on for dear
life. That worried me more than anything.
We all checked our phones to see which ones still had a strong enough signal for calls and GPS. Then I split the ladies up
in groups, each with a working phone, and we all swapped numbers. I created a group chat that included Robbie so we could
all keep updated instantly.
“Doris, can you stay here please, in case she comes back to the bus? Keep your phone in your hand and your ringer on, please.
We need one group over here, one in this area, and another here.” We circled around, and I showed them the areas on the phone
GPS. I took a screenshot, color-coded each section, and sent it to the group. “We’ll go out and call her name, and try not
to stray too far from the paths so that no one else gets lost. In thirty minutes, we will all turn around and head back. I’ll
send out a message as a reminder, so we should all be back here at the standing stones in exactly one hour—or hopefully sooner,
when we find Flossie. I’ll honk when I get back in case anyone gets turned around.”
We returned an hour later, empty-handed. It was worse than we had expected. I could tell that Robbie was working to keep a
calm demeanor for the others.
“What if Percy could help?” Doris suggested. “You never know.”
“Not a bad idea,” Robbie said. “Anything is worth a try.”
Percy was made to sniff Flossie’s scarf, and for a moment, he pulled on the leash with a frantic determination.
“I think he’s got it! He’s on to something!”
Robbie took the leash from Doris, and we all followed quickly behind, hot on the trail.
Then the terrier made a sharp turn, snuffled around in the bushes, and sat his plump little hindquarters down to eat someone’s
discarded sandwich crusts.
“I just knew someone would end up dead on this trip,” Agatha said. “I warned you all, didn’t I?”
Robbie’s face collapsed. “I’m so sorry, Agatha. But I promise you that we’re going to find her. I’m going to call the police,
check at the farm shop, and I’m going to let the farmers know what’s going on—ask if they can spare some people to help, hopefully
on vehicles.”
Doubt and dread were beginning to creep into my thoughts in earnest. I began to picture all the terrible things that could
have happened.
Helena’s logical voice broke in. “How could we not have found her? It’s just so odd that she could have gone so far on foot
that she isn’t able to find her way back to hear us calling in any direction. Maybe we’re missing something here.”
“Well, I thought...” Lorna’s gaze shifted worriedly to the largest of the standing stones. “Couldn’t it... well, maybe—”
Madge grabbed her hand and said quietly, “No, darling. It couldn’t.”
“But she was all dressed up like she was going somewhere. And she had her emerald earrings on. She brought gemstones! I mean, I know it sounds crazy, but unexplained things happen all the time, and we shouldn’t discount anything at this point. Right?” She paced a bit, but couldn’t stop herself. She lifted her hands to one of the smaller, less threatening stones, but didn’t touch it. “Has anyone heard a... a buzzing?”
“Wait!” Agatha raised her voice above us. “Look. There’s a note. She left a note! It was in my handbag.” She held up a sheet
of floral stationery and waved it in the air.
“What does it say?” asked Berrta.
“I’m just getting to that, if you’d give me a blasted moment,” Agatha snapped. “It says, ‘Dear Aggie, I have run away. I have
been picked up in a car and will be very far away by the time you wake up and read this. Do not try to find me. I have taken
a jar of rhubarb preserves and a spoon from the breakfast room at the inn in Inverness to keep my strength up. I will pay
for it by post. At least, I will pay for the jam, but not the spoon, because I plan to return the spoon in its original condition.
It was slightly bent. Flossie Philipson.’”
We stared at one another. No one dared break the silence.
A yelp escaped Agatha. “Blethering fool!”
“Is that all of it?” Lorna asked.
“Yes, of course that’s all of it!”
“But where did she go?” asked Madge.
“This note is not helpful to us,” said Berrta matter-of-factly.
“No. It is not. Thank you for the confirmation!” shouted Agatha.
“If I vere going to leave a note,” said Berrta, “I vould not go on so much about spoons.”
“If you ran away, no one would bother to read your note!” Agatha snapped.
“Yes. I am really sure my husband vould read it.”
We all stared at one another again in utter shock for a full sixty seconds. Berrta has a husband? Lorna’s mouth was actually open. Berrta had never mentioned a husband. We had all just assumed.
“But—” Lorna started to say.
“You’re married, Berrta?” Doris couldn’t help herself.
“Naturally. Otto. He cooks an excellent rouladen,” she answered unflappably.
Madge brought us all to our senses. “Let’s stay focused. What are we going to do?”
Robbie rushed back from a phone call with the police. We updated him on the note.
“And then we found out that Berrta is married!” Lorna chimed in, still in shock. “Did you know that Berrta was married?”
Robbie ignored this. “Well, a note is good news, isn’t it? That means she’s not hurt or lost in the woods. Alright, Agatha.
Think. Is there anything else you can give us? She said she was in a car. Who could have picked her up all the way out here?
And how could they have done it without anyone noticing?” Everyone chattered, but no one seemed to have any ideas. “Well,
we know she’s not here at least. That’s something. Let’s all get into the bus and head to the farm shop and see if they saw
anything.”
“Oh, yes. A lovely lady came through here and met up with an older gentleman... oh, about two hours ago now, I’d say.”
“Jesus wept,” Agatha said.
Robbie sucked in a breath and held it for a second. “Alright. Did they mention where they were going?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Who was the man? Have you ever seen him before? Did you catch his name? Or see what kind of car he was driving?”
“No. I’m sorry. I’ve never seen him before. He looked like a nice older man. Well-dressed. Very respectable.”
“Could he have been a cab driver?” Robbie asked.
“No, not a cabbie. The lady looked very happy to see him. Had a warm hug when he arrived, like old friends.”
“He is a kidnapper and a predator!” Agatha shouted.
“A friend?” Robbie said. “Does that ring any bells, Agatha? Who could that be?”
“No one! Flossie hasn’t got any friends. I am the only person she knows.”
“Well...” I started, trying to think back past the whisky haze that clouded my memory. “I think maybe she had a friend
at the ceilidh. At least, it seemed that way.”
“Oh, yes,” said Helena, brightening. “She did, didn’t she! Clever girl. There was a nice gentleman she spoke to a lot that
night at the ceilidh. I wasn’t introduced, but I couldn’t help but notice how attentive he was.” Helena’s antennae were always
wiggling for any hint of romantic gossip.
“What? When?” Agatha’s cheeks pinkened. She had had quite a lot to drink the night of the ceilidh and had dozed in and out
between sips while seated in a comfy armchair.
“Yes, she stood up with him many times to dance,” Doris agreed. “Quite a dapper gentleman.”
“That’s got to be it!” said Lorna.
“Well, we’ve got nothing else to go on. It’s worth a shot,” agreed Robbie. “But who was he? How do we find him?”
“I thought he told me they had known each other a long time, but we didn’t say much more than that,” I replied.
“They haven’t,” Agatha insisted.
Robbie turned to me. His eyes were wide. Flossie had run off with some strange man. “Alice, you spoke to him? What else can
you remember?”
“I don’t know,” I said helplessly. “I’m sorry. I’d had a few drinks by that point.”
“What did he look like?” he asked.
Doris answered. “Small chap, about her size. White hair. Mustache. Medium build. Blue eyes. Smartly dressed—in a kilt, so
probably Scottish.”
He turned to the lady at the counter. “Does that sound like the same man?”
“Yes, that’s him exactly.”
“I’m so sorry that I can’t remember more,” I said. “I think he had an old-fashioned name. I think it started with an S . Maybe Sylvester or Spencer or something like that.”
“Sounds like a pervert,” said Agatha.
I ignored that and went on. “He chatted to the people at the sign-up table. I think they knew him, and maybe he even helped
with the event?”
“That’s something. I can get hold of the event organizers to see if they have any information. Trouble is, there were quite
a few white-haired Scottish gentlemen helping the Trust at the ceilidh, and without a name... What about where he lived?
Did he live close to Glenapp? Glasgow? Edinburgh? Or was he northern? Which direction?”
“Jesus, I don’t know. Up north maybe? I’m not sure. I’d even have trouble pointing out Edinburgh on a map.”
“Damn.” Robbie was pacing. The others began to talk and ask questions among themselves.
“There’s...” I started and stopped. “I can’t,” I stumbled. “Never mind.”
“Huh?” Robbie asked, his face taut.
“Well. It’s just. I kind of remember something about the town he said he lived in. I wasn’t paying much attention, and I was
tipsy. But I remember because it had something to do with...”
“Yes?”
“No. Forget it. It’s not helpful.”
“Everything is helpful right now, Alice. What is it?”
“Penises.” I let out the word in a gush. “It had something to do with penises.” At that, everyone stopped and turned to me
slowly. No one breathed. You could have heard a mouse fart.
“What?” Robbie stuck his neck out, hoping that maybe he had misheard. I died.
“Never mind. I don’t know. I just... I remember that I was going to make a penis joke, and then decided that it might be
inappropriate.”
“What? Penises? Are you serious, Alice? Penises ?”
I wished fervently that he would stop saying penises in this wholesome little farm shop where the nice worried lady behind the counter was clutching her pearls.
“Umm. Okay. Are there any places near here that sound like penis?”
The shop lady flushed scarlet and started cleaning the countertop with great determination.
“Peniston?” asked Helena, taking it seriously. “Could that have been it? But that’s in Yorkshire.”
“Upper Dicker,” someone said.
“There’s Cockburn in Edinburgh,” Lorna said. “But that’s not how it’s pronounced, so that’s probably not it.”
“Dicks Mount?”
The ladies were becoming very animated.
“I’ve heard of a place called the Knob, and one called Bell End, but I think they’re both in England,” said Doris. “Why are
all of these todger places in England?”
“I don’t know,” said Helena. “Brown Willy is in Cornwall. Too far away.”
“Ooo—there’s a Twatt! There’s a Twatt in Orkney!” Lorna said, excited. “That’s right up there in the north. Could it have
been a twat instead of a penis?”
“No, no.” I shook my head, trying desperately to remember while a room full of sweet old ladies shouted lewd words at one
another.
“I have a friend in Worcestershire who lives on Minge Lane,” said Doris. “That’s the God’s honest truth. I post letters to her all the time, and I always get a smirk from the postie. She bought her semi-detached for a song!”
Helena turned to Doris and said, “Tristan used to let a flat on Crotch Crescent in Oxford. I always told him he should buy
the place—for the address if nothing else.”
We were getting off topic.
“What is the matter with you people?” spat Agatha. “A woman is missing, and all you fools can talk about is private parts!”
“Google says that there’s a place called Cockshoot,” Madge broke in, scrolling furiously on her phone. “But I don’t know where
it is yet. Let me look it up.”
“That’s not it. I would have remembered that one for sure.”
“You’re right. That’s in England too. Interesting.”
“Oh! How about Cockermouth?” Lorna did a little hop of excitement as she shouted this. “Cockermouth is really lovely. Everyone
should go to Cockermouth. Come to think of it, Wordsworth was born there, so it really should have been part of the trip,
Robbie.”
This was only making things worse. I tried to keep us on topic. “Something about... an erection maybe? Does that ring any
bells? It wasn’t so literal. Slang maybe—like a stiffy, or a boner, or... something with wood maybe? I don’t know.” I stopped
myself before I said anything worse.
“Boner!” Madge slapped her hand on the counter and made everyone jump. “Bonar Bridge! Is that it?”
“Yes! Boner Bridge! Yes, that’s it! Oh, thank God.”
Robbie was all business. “Bonar Bridge is about an hour north of here. He could easily have driven down to meet her.”
Agatha was soon to dampen our spirits. “What help is any of this childish nonsense? We still have nothing to go on. By the
time you idiots get anything done, that Scottish pervert will already have her in some cheap love motel!”
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Doris mumbled.
“Right, we’ve got a physical description and a location. That’s got to be good enough,” Robbie said.
“You call the organizers at the Trust. I’ll borrow someone’s phone to call Glenapp and see if they might have any contact
details they would be willing to give out. I can try the police if they won’t give it to me.”
We got on our phones and went to work. The castle was a dead end, but less than five minutes later, Robbie’s voice was raising
to a shout. “Sidney Richie! Wonderful. Thank you, Shona, I can’t tell you how grateful we are. Yes, I will absolutely take
that number now, please.”
“Thank goodness he’s a friend, at least,” Lorna told Agatha.
“He’s never met her before, I tell you. He’s just a chancer! Poor Flossie isn’t all there, and he saw an opportunity to take
advantage. He’s probably got her at the bank right now emptying out her safe deposit box.”
“Surely she wouldn’t have a deposit box here in Inverness?” offered Lorna.
“That’s beside the point!”
“Hello?” Robbie said on the phone. “I’m looking for Mr. Sidney Richie. It is? Thank God. My name is Robbie Brodie, and I’m
calling about a woman who’s gone missing this morning. Flossie Philipson. With you? She’s there ,” he said for our benefit and nodded to Agatha. “Where are you? Okay. Is that the one on Planefield Road? Good. Can I speak to her, please? Flossie, love. Are you alright? We’ve all been worried sick. Oh, I know. I know. It’s okay. Yes, I’m afraid I do have to tell her. Look, we’re going to head down now and meet you at the green. Can you just stay put, please? Thank you, dear. No, no one is angry about the spoon. See you there in just a moment.” He hung up and turned. “They’re at the bowling green back in Inverness. It’s not far from here. Let’s all stick together and go now. Is that alright, Agatha?” She nodded her agreement. Something crumpled in Agatha’s face, and as she turned to me, I was surprised to see something there, a shadow of gratitude.
A bell chimed, and a few customers came in.
“Ooh. We forgot Cockfield. That’s another one.”
“Well, I’ve heard about a street in Lincolnshire called Fanny Hands Lane.”
“Oh! Oh! I just remembered a Wetwang down in Yorkshire!”
“Wetwang? Really?”
“Will you kindly shut the hell up!” snapped Agatha.