Page 191 of A Good Girl's Guide to Murder

They heard a small voice inside, some slow shuffled steps and then the door swung inward, sending a tremor through the ivy around the frame. An old woman with fluffy grey hair, thick glasses and a very premature Christmas-patterned jumper stood before them and smiled.

‘Hello, dears,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realize we were expecting someone. What name did you make the booking under?’ she said, ushering Pip and Ravi inside and closing the door.

They stepped into a dimly lit squared hallway, with a sofa and coffee table on the left and a white staircase running along the far wall.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Pip said, turning back to face the woman, ‘we haven’t actually got a booking.’

‘I see, well, lucky for you two we aren’t booked up so –’

‘– Sorry,’ Pip cut in, looking awkwardly at Ravi, ‘I mean, we’re not looking to stay here. We’re looking for . . . we have some questions for the owners of the hotel. Are you . . .?’

‘Yes, I own the hotel,’ the woman smiled, looking unnervingly at a point just left of Pip’s face. ‘Ran it for twenty years with my David; he was in charge of most things, though. It’s been hard since my David passed a couple of years ago. But my grandsons are always here, helping me get by, driving me around. My grandson Henry is just upstairs cleaning the rooms.’

‘So five years ago, you and your husband were running the hotel?’ Ravi said.

The woman nodded and her eyes swayed over to him. ‘Very handsome,’ she said quietly, and then to Pip, ‘lucky girl.’

‘No, we’re not . . .’ Pip said, looking to Ravi. She wished she hadn’t. Out of the old lady’s wandering eyeline, he shimmied his shoulders excitedly and pointed to his face, mouthing ‘very handsome’ at Pip.

‘Would you like to sit down?’ the woman said, gesturing to a green-velvet sofa beneath a window. ‘I know I would.’ She shuffled over to a leather armchair facing the sofa.

Pip walked over, intentionally treading on Ravi’s foot as she passed. She sat down, knees pointed towards the woman, and Ravi slotted in beside her, still with that stupid grin on his face.

‘Where’s my . . .’ the woman said, patting her jumper and her trouser pockets, a blank look falling over her face.

‘Um, so,’ Pip said, drawing the woman’s attention back to her. ‘Do you keep records of people who have stayed here?’

‘It’s all done on the, err . . . that, um . . . the computer now, isn’t it?’ the woman said. ‘Sometimes by the telephone. David always sorted all the bookings; now Henry does it for me.’

‘So how did you keep track of the reservations you had?’ Pip said, guessing already that the answer would be lacking.

‘My David did it. Had a spreadsheet printed out for the week.’ The woman shrugged, staring out of the window.

‘Would you still have your reservation spreadsheets from five years ago?’ asked Ravi.

‘No, no. The whole place would be flooded in paper.’

‘But do you have the documents saved on a computer?’ Pip said.

‘Oh no. We threw David’s computer out after he passed. It was a very slow little thing, like me,’ she said. ‘My Henry does all the bookings for me now.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ Pip said, unzipping her rucksack and pulling out the folded bit of printer paper. She straightened out the page and handed it to the woman. ‘Do you recognize this girl? Has she ever stayed here?’

The woman stared down at the photo of Andie, the one that had been used in most newspaper reports. She lifted the paper right to her face, then held it at arm’s length, then brought it close again.

‘Yes,’ she nodded, looking from Pip to Ravi to Andie. ‘I know her. She’s been here.’

Pip’s skin prickled with nervous excitement.

‘You remember that girl stayed with you five years ago?’ she said. ‘Do you remember the man she was with? What he looked like?’

The woman’s face muddied and she stared at Pip, her eyes darting right and left, a blink marking each change in direction.

‘No,’ she said shakily. ‘No, it wasn’t five years ago. I saw this girl. She’s been here.’

‘In 2012?’ Pip said.

‘No, no.’ The woman’s eyes settled past Pip’s ear. ‘It was just a few weeks ago. She was here, I remember.’