The Shortest Journey by Hazel Holt

that Mrs Wilmot was speaking of her in the
past tense.
    ‘I’m sure there must be some perfectly rational
explanation of it all,’ I said. ‘Elderly ladies don’t just
disappear into thin air!’
    ‘Well, Mrs Rossiter certainly seems to have done so,’
Mrs Wilmot said sharply and I realised what a difficult situation
it must be for her.
    ‘Have the police seen the taxi driver, Ed Cooper?’ I
asked. ‘I know him quite well, actually. He’s a very nice man – he
does some driving for the hospital service.’
    ‘Well, I dare say he’s perfectly respectable, but it
was unfortunate that she couldn’t get Mr Simpson; such a reliable
man, we always use him when we can. But all this man Cooper could
tell them was that he took Mrs Rossiter into Taunton and dropped
her off in Church Square. He asked if she wanted him to wait for
her, to take her back, but she said that she’d get the bus. She
often did that – she said she liked the ride. The bus goes the long
way, round through the villages and she used to say she enjoyed
seeing places she used to know. I must say I can’t stand bus
journeys myself, all that stopping and starting. But Mrs Rossiter
had some funny little ways.’
    There was a tap on the door and Ivy came in.
    ‘Please, Mrs Wilmot, Mr Palgrave has had one of his
turns again and Lily thinks you ought to call Dr Randall.’
    Mrs Wilmot gave an exclamation of annoyance. ‘As if I
hadn’t got enough to cope with at the moment!’
    I got up to go. ‘Please do let me know the minute
there’s any news.’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    She was already at the telephone and spoke
absently.
    I went along to Mrs Jankiewicz’s room, eager to hear
what she had to say. But she was in a difficult mood, irritable and
disinclined to discuss the matter.
    ‘A great upheaval – everything is disorganised since
Tuesday. Police everywhere talking to people, poking and prying
into her life. Is her own affair.’
    ‘But something awful may have happened to her.’
    ‘Perhaps – perhaps not.’
    She continued to complain about various minor
disruptions and I saw that she didn’t want to talk. I was used to
her moods and I thought that it might be one of the days when she
was in a lot of pain. It also occurred to me that she must be upset
and missing Mrs Rossiter, who was her only friend at West Lodge,
very badly.
    ‘I won’t stay now,’ I said, ‘but I’ll pop back
tomorrow and see if there’s any news.’ Mrs Jankiewicz smiled
grimly. ‘I will be here.’ she said.
    Outside in the corridor a sudden thought crossed my
mind and I went up the stairs to Mrs Rossiter’s room. I looked up
and down the passage but there was no one about. The staff no doubt
were all busy with poor Mr Palgrave and his nasty turn. Rather
nervously I tried the door, found it was unlocked and slipped into
the room, closing it cautiously behind me. The room looked just as
it always did; nothing seemed to have been moved. I went over to
the desk and pulled open the top drawer. There was no cache of
sleeping tablets. I tried all the other drawers but they weren’t
anywhere. On an impulse I went over to the wardrobe and looked
inside. As far as I could tell all her clothes were there.
    I heard a movement in the passage outside and froze,
but the footsteps passed. Thoroughly unnerved, I opened the door
slightly and saw a figure with two walking sticks at the end of the
corridor. Feeling like someone in a thriller, I slipped out of the
room, down the stairs and into the street, where I stood trembling
slightly with mixed feelings of guilt and exhilaration.
    I went and leaned on the harbour wall to get my
breath back (I felt as if I had been holding it for the last five
minutes) and considered what I had found. Or, rather, not found.
Had Mrs Rossiter thrown the tablets away? This seemed unlikely in
view of the fact that she had kept them so carefully for what must
have been several weeks. But if she had taken them with her? Then
the implications