Hawthorn Island Read online

  Hawthorn Island

  GERI HEMER

  Copyright © 2020 Geri Hemer

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Before You Go

  Chapter 1

  The Invitations

  Lightning flashed and illuminated the dark house for a second. The rain poured down as the monsoon storm grew in intensity. The eucalyptus trees close to the house scraped against the glass of the kitchen window, making an eerie squeaking sound.

  Two people stood by the kitchen table, a young woman and a middle-aged man. She held a bundle of black envelopes with intricate white patterns all over them, sealed with blue wax. “Here you are, Michael.” She handed them to him. “I’ve stamped them all. Make sure you get them to the post office early in the morning.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said, frowning, “but I won’t be able to take off in that storm.”

  “You could take the boat.”

  He shook his head. “The sea’s far too rough. I’d never make it across.”

  “You’ll have to leave at first light. Mr. Hawthorne wants to catch the first post in the morning.”

  Michael raised an eyebrow. “He said that, did he?”

  “Yes. In fact, he insisted.”

  “It’s like old times,” he said, grinning and shaking his head.

  There was a row of service bells on springs mounted high on the scullery wall. One of them rang loudly, insistent – twice.

  “He’ll want me to fetch him his brandy,” she said. “See that you get the invitations out in time.”

  Michael tucked the letters into a canvas sports bag before opening the outer door and heading into the storm.

  The young woman made her way upstairs to the study, where an old man sat in a high-backed chair.

  “Where were you, girl?” asked the man in a gravelly voice.

  “Sorry, sir, I was giving the invitations to Michael to take to the mainland to post.”

  “Invitations? What invitations?” He scowled.

  She poured a generous brandy into a glass and handed it to him. “If you remember, sir, you decided it was time to throw one of your famous parties.”

  “Did I? I don’t remember.”

  “Yes, sir, we spoke about it early last month.”

  He took a mouthful of brandy and said nothing for a few moments. She perched on a Chesterfield settee facing him and waited to be dismissed.

  “Who did we invite?” he said.

  “A small number of selected guests.”

  “I don’t remember. Not too many, I hope.”

  “No sir, just ten.”

  He took another mouthful of his brandy. She smiled at him.

  “You’re very good to me, Claudia,” he said. “Where would I be without you?”

  “Marina,” she said, frowning.

  He looked up sharply. “What?”

  “Marina, sir. My name’s Marina.”

  Chapter 2

  In Sacramento, California, Steve Lannester sat at the breakfast table looking through his mail. He was a young man with a shock of blond hair and a raging passion to make his name in his chosen profession of journalism. There was the usual junk, a couple of bills, a letter from his bank, and one mysterious black envelope sealed with blue wax. He slid a knife under the flap and opened it.

  “What the heck?” he said.

  “What is it, Steve?” asked his wife.

  He handed her the letter and she read it twice.

  “It’s got to be some sort of stupid scam. Throw it away.” She handed it back.

  “Look at the letterhead. It’s from that rich lawyer, Henry Hawthorne, and look at the envelope. It was sealed with blue wax!”

  She read the letter a third time and scoffed. “The billionaire, Henry Hawthorne, wants you to go to a party on an island off Australia! How likely is that?”

  “What about this air ticket?” He waved the ticket in the air.

  She laughed. “Must be your lucky day. A billionaire lawyer wants to entertain you in his mansion in Australia. And he’s paid for your ticket. I notice there’s no ticket for me, or am I supposed to pay my own fare?”

  “I don’t think you’re invited,” said Steve, instantly regretting what he’d said.

  “So you expect me to stand idly by while you go gallivanting halfway around the world!”

  “Turn the card over,” he said, a tingling sensation running up and down his spine.

  She flipped the card over and read out loud, “Only a small number of carefully selected guests have been invited. The entertainment for the trip will involve solving a riddle. The one who successfully solves the riddle will win the grand prize of $500,000.”

  She blanched and sat down. “Oh, Steve, could it be real? Is there any way you can check?”

  “I can ring the airline and verify the ticket,” he said.

  “Half a million dollars! Wouldn’t it be amazing if you won? But how will you get time off work?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Steve. “I’m sure the editorial team will see it as an opportunity for a great story.”

  He left his breakfast half-eaten, got into his dilapidated twelve-year-old Ford Taurus and drove to the newspaper office like a bear with his tail on fire.

  *

  Somewhere near Columbus, Ohio, Dr. Edward Montague Andrews showed the invitation to his wife.

  He was tall, with a strong head of hair, a long chin, and a salt and pepper goatee beard.

  “Who is he, this Hawthorne guy?” asked Mrs. Andrews.

  “He’s a very wealthy lawyer. Bit of a recluse. He was famous for throwing parties on his private island. Don’t you remember?”

  “I remember,” she said, nodding. “Everybody wanted an invitation. People used to send him begging letters, money, presents, anything they could think of to wrangle an invite to the parties. They used to say an invitation to one of his parties was enough to make a glittering career in any profession.”

  “And not getti
ng an invitation blighted many a budding career,” Dr. Andrews said. “The tabloids used to go crazy speculating about who would be invited. ABC News flew helicopters over the island to get pictures.”

  She nodded. “And anyone who got an invite was treated to a Spanish inquisition once they got back home. Remember that Hollywood starlet – what was her name? – who had a nervous breakdown after one of his parties. Was that why he stopped holding them. When was that?”

  Dr. Andrews looked it up online. “The last one was in 2005. The starlet’s name was Dawn Murdock. Her breakdown was much earlier, in the nineteen nineties, I think. No one knows why he stopped holding them.”

  Her eyes glazed over. “That’s right. Dawn Murdock. Pretty little thing. Never made another picture.”

  He said, “Didn’t Hawthorne marry some young thing?”

  “Martha somebody. She wasn’t that much younger than him, I think. They were great parties, by all accounts,” she said in a dreamy voice.

  “Yes, Hawthorne certainly knew how to throw a good bash. I read one or two articles in the magazines written by people who’d attended.”

  “What magazines?” she said.

  He declined to answer that question. “I think I should accept the invitation. I’m good at solving riddles.”

  “How could you refuse with a massive prize on offer? Will you be able to reassign your patient load to the rest of the staff?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Chapter 3

  Diana Stark had worked as a nurse in a country hospital in Puerto Rico for a few years before re-inventing herself as a model. She hated it in the hospital. The wages were low, the hours punishing, the place was grimy, no one spoke any English. And the mosquitos seemed to love her fair skin.

  When she was honest with herself, she had to admit she had been teetering on the edge of depression for many years – ever since she’d lost her baby in 2006.

  Her new career was not all it was cracked up to be either. Diana had been struggling for over two years, but she had yet to make a mark on the modeling world. She had refused the ‘casting couch’ several times. The man at the agency couldn’t understand why.

  “There’s only so much I can do,” he said. “You’re up against stiff competition. The trouble is you’re an unknown quantity. You need to get some publicity. People need to see your face. Without that, you’ve got no chance.”

  She sat on her couch watching the TV and trying to avoid eye contact with a box of chocolates on the coffee table.

  The TV news was repetitive to the point of aggravation. The only thing of interest was the stupid party being held by that crazy old man, Henry Hawthorne.

  “Don’t these people have something better to talk about than a stupid party?” she mumbled to herself.

  She had taken to talking to herself after her baby passed away. Only the walls of her apartment heard her complaints.

  She turned off the TV, popped a silky hazelnut in her mouth, and took a last long look at herself in the mirror. Okay, her best years were gone, and she was a bit full in the figure, but the face was still attractive with enough careful makeup…

  She had an appointment with the modeling agency. Maybe they would have some work for her this time, but she wasn’t holding her breath.

  She checked her mailbox before leaving the building. Nothing but bills and more bills… But what was this fancy black envelope?

  She opened it and found an invitation to the party on Henry Hawthorne’s island. Why had he invited her? The old goat had even thrown in an airplane ticket! She shook her head. She had had dealings with the Hawthornes when she lost her baby. She wanted nothing more to do with them.

  She turned the invitation over…

  And let out an excited shriek. She lost her balance and nearly fell over. “Half a million dollars! You have got to be kidding me!” she exclaimed. “Holy shit! This is it! This is just the publicity opportunity I’ve been looking for!”

  She dialed the Daily Bay News in Sacramento. She had the number on her phone on speed dial for just such an occasion as this.

  “Hello, my name is Diana. Diana Stark. I work as a freelance model. No, that’s not a euphemism. I’ve been invited to the party on Henry Hawthorne’s island. Yes, the billionaire. Wait, what? No, it’s true. I have the invitation in my hand. You’ll want to take a picture. No, not a picture of the invitation, a picture of me. Send someone around or I’ll ring one of the other papers.” She gave them her address and phone number.

  She ran back to the bathroom in her apartment and started on her makeup.

  Wait till that useless agent sees my picture on the front page, he’ll be begging for my business.

  She waited for over an hour, but nobody came, and nobody called on her phone. She rang the newspaper again and explained the whole thing to a different receptionist.

  “Oh for god’s sake! How many times do I have to say this before you get it through your thick skulls? Yes, I have an actual invitation. I’m staring at it right now. Look, are you sending a photographer, or should I call the LA Times?” She terminated the call.

  She had the LA Times on speed dial, too.

  She was ecstatic. The invitation was a godsend, an awesome, golden opportunity. Whatever happened next, her fortunes were about to change. She was going to get her shot at fame, and this was how she was going to do it. Henry Hawthorne’s party was all over the news. It was the news event of the season. Everyone was going to want a piece of her now that she had an invitation.

  The agency rang to remind her that she had missed her appointment. She laughed into the phone. “Watch the newspapers.” And she hung up.

  “I’m going to make the most of this, if that is the last thing I do,” she said to herself as she went to answer a ring at her doorbell.

  Diana Stark was about to become famous.

  Chapter 4

  Arthur Penny, the wealthy drug baron, was going to make himself a morning cup of coffee. He was irritated because his housekeeper had called him late the previous night to tell him there had been a death in her family, and she wouldn’t be able to come in that day as she had to attend the funeral. Her replacement was not due to come until the afternoon.

  Arthur loved his big house but was not in a mood for the long walk between his study and the kitchen. His faithful Rottweiler, Inky, trotted along beside him. When he was done with making the coffee, he sat down with his mail. Arthur was among the most feared criminals in the world. Many couldn’t understand it, but he knew it was down to his disciplined attitude. It was his personal discipline and his work ethic that made it possible for him to rise to the height of power in the criminal world. Hiring the best lawyers helped as well, of course, and he never went anywhere without his revolver.

  “What the hell?” Arthur muttered to himself when he came across a black envelope with golden writing on it.

  He opened the envelope, looked over the plane ticket and read the card:

  Congratulations, Mr. Arthur Penny, you have been invited to Hawthorne Island to attend a party to be hosted by Henry Hawthorne Esq.

  He flipped the card over. His eyes lit up and he whistled with astonishment when he saw the prize. He wasn’t too worried about solving any stupid riddles, but if there was ready cash to be picked up, he had ways of making sure he got his hands on it. He patted his trusty revolver.

  A vacation was something he was always up for. It was not like he was tied to a desk job. And this vacation came with a free air ticket! It was just perfect. Henry Hawthorne had done a few extremely delicate jobs for him in the courts in the past. Perhaps the old buffer had lost his marbles. “Why should I object if the old fool wants to throw away his money?” he said, scratching Inky’s ears. “Hawthorne Island, here I come.”

  Inky looked up at his master with doleful eyes.

  “Sorry, Inky, this is one trip you can’t make with me.”

  *

  Buddy Jenkins, editor of the Daily Bay News, scratched his
head. He thought he had seen it all before, but this was something new. Why would a reclusive billionaire, living on a remote island in Australia, decide to start throwing fancy parties again after years and years of living in obscurity? And why would he invite an unknown young reporter, barely more than a cub, and wet behind the ears?

  “You’re sure this is for real, son?” he said.

  “Yes, sir, it’s real,” said Steve. “I’ve verified the air ticket.”

  “Well, you’ll have to go, so. Ask the tech boys for their best camera. Record everything, take lots of pictures. You can write it up when you get back.”

  “You’ll give me a spot on the front page?”

  “If it’s good enough, yes. Heck, if it’s as good as it could be, we’ll make a serialized feature out of it.”

  It could even be syndicated, thought Steve.

  Chapter 5

  Haley awoke from a deep slumber and turned over in the king-size hotel bed. Oliver’s arms were wrapped around her slender frame. She smiled to herself, pulled the sheet around her shoulders, and snuggled into her husband’s hairy chest.

  Oliver opened his eyes. “Hello, beautiful. How do you feel this morning, Mrs. Lovelace?”

  “Absolutely wonderful,” she said. She loved her new name. “How about you?”

  “I’m a happily married man,” he said. “Couldn’t be happier.”

  The proceedings of their wedding night filtered into her conscious mind, the joy she had felt making love as a married woman, at last. It had been a wonderful wedding, just like she had dreamed of all her life. And Oliver was the perfect husband. They had been going out for nearly two years, and she was sure they were meant to be together. Last night, when both of them had finally gotten to bed it had been magical.

  The wedding had gone like clockwork. She was happy they’d spent a few extra dollars to hold it in the best hotel in Brisbane. The hotel staff did a wonderful job.

  And the wedding presents were amazing. There were two toasters and three barbecues, but she had the receipts, so she would be able to swap one of the toasters and all the barbies for something else at the store. The had a barbie already. Her mind turned to the biggest surprise of all.