His Ghoul Friday Three Book Box Set: His Ghoul Friday

By Morgana Best

Murder She Wrote with a touch of Bewitched!

Join Aussie journalist Misty Friday and her Aunty June in three fun cozy mystery adventures.

Books in this Box Set Collection:   
BOOK 1: A TALE OF MER-DER   
Misty's mean boss sends her to an island resort in the Great Barrier Reef to investigate a paranormal event, but mermaid sightings and murder throw her off the track.    When Misty makes waves, she attracts the attention of the murderer and one mysterious stranger. Will Misty get to the bottom of this, or are there too many red herrings?  

BOOK 2: THE WITCHING HOUR   
When Misty receives a mysterious letter summoning her to England, she expects to find her elderly relative. Instead, she has a witch of a time, stumbling across danger, a cat, bad coffee, and the enigmatic John Smith, who might have his own reasons for being in Britain.

BOOK 3: ARTS AND WITCHCRAFTS
With Aunty June in tow, Misty arrives in a touristy Aussie town to write about the ghost tours. But when she stumbles upon a centuries' old murder mystery, she will need to crack the cold case before those keen to bury the town's secrets end up burying her.

 

His Ghoul Friday Box Set Books 1-3 contains the first 3 books in the paranormal cozy series from USA Today Bestselling author, Morgana Best.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Best Cosy Books
• Release date: Jan 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922420565

Morgana Best

After surviving a childhood of deadly spiders and venomous snakes in the Australian outback, bestselling author Morgana Best writes cozy mysteries and enjoys thinking of delightful new ways to murder her victims.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Iliked my boss just fine, except she was evil and I hated her. I called her Skinny and so did my best friend and colleague, Cordelia. Skinny was the devil incarnate, the worst boss I’ve ever had, and that was saying something. It was saying a lot actually, especially since my first job was at a fast food joint where the manager was arrested for murdering his mother-in-law and making her the special ingredient in the secret hamburger sauce.

It seemed Skinny’s whole purpose in life was to make my life and the lives of the other journalists at Ghoulzette, the paranormal magazine where I worked, an utter misery. She was indeed the Boss from Hell.

A thin-lipped smirk spread across her face. I made a mental note to inquire after the health of her mother-in-law.

I’m sending you on a holiday, Misty, she announced.

I managed to find my voice. A-a holiday? I stammered. A cold shiver ran up my spine.

She shook her head and shot me her best sneer. "Did I say a holiday? No, I meant an assignment, but it is at a holiday destination. Whitehaven Island."

I gasped. Whitehaven Island was in the Whitsundays, a group of islands on the beautiful Great Barrier Reef off the coast of North Queensland. It was an expensive tourist destination, possibly the most expensive tourist destination on the reef. What’s the catch? I said without thinking and then stuffed my fist in my mouth.

Skinny’s pencilled eyebrows rose high on her forehead, no doubt a difficult feat considering she spent most of her money on fillers and Botox. Catch? she spat. This won’t be a luxury holiday for you and don’t you forget it.

She rapped one of her French tipped fingernails so hard on the desk I thought it might snap off. There’s a paranormal anomaly on the island, and you’re there to get to the bottom of it and report. And Misty, don’t slacken off. Her expression turned dark.

Now I was really afraid. An anomaly? I said, trembling. What is it? Are there reports of zombies? People vanishing? A deadly virus? A portal to another world and everyone who gets close to it dies? I shut my eyes tightly and did my best not to imagine anything worse.

Skinny grunted rudely. Of course not. It suddenly turned summer there.

Relief flooded my body. Summer? I repeated. It’s North Queensland. It’s always summer in North Queensland.

Skinny leant back in her chair and smirked once more. "It’s the middle of winter, Misty. Queensland does get marginally colder in winter. Why, sometimes the people up there even wear coats and roast marshmallows."

Really!

No. What I’m saying is, there is a heat wave on Whitehaven Island in the middle of winter, and it’s also happening to a lesser degree at nearby locations such as Dreamcatcher Island and Airlie Beach. There is a noticeable difference in temperature.

I pulled a face. I can’t see why this is a job for a paranormal journalist. Surely this would be of interest to a meteorologist.

Skinny’s bony hand slammed down on her desk. The meteorologists say it’s an anomaly, obviously. That’s why I’m sending you there.

But I don’t know anything about science, I protested. How can I get to the bottom of it? What if it isn’t something paranormal?

Skinny emitted a grunt of disgust. We’re journalists, Misty! If you can’t get a real story, make it up!

With that, I was dismissed from her office.

CHAPTER 2

Iwas hunched over my computer in the magazine’s storage cupboard, a room which doubled as my office. At least there was a tall yet exceedingly narrow window directly in front of me, so I could stare at the trees and grassy paddocks sloping away from the building.

Cordelia burst into the room. Sorry, she said as the door hit the back of my chair. I do that every time.

I swung around after she shut the door. Have you heard the news?

She nodded. You lucky thing! A holiday on Whitehaven Island!

It’s hardly a holiday. It’s an assignment, and I think it’s a ridiculous one. I don’t know the first thing about weather, so how will I discover why it’s summer in the middle of winter? Skinny says I have to make something up.

Cordelia shrugged one shoulder. "So? Make something up. Whitehaven Island is a luxury resort. You’ll have the most wonderful time there. And Skinny won’t be able to book you into horrible, cheap accommodation like she usually does, because there is no horrible, cheap accommodation on Whitehaven Island. It’s a win-win situation. What could go wrong?"

A black shadow descended on me as she said it. I don’t have a good feeling about this, Cordelia.

Cordelia pursed her lips. You’re just upset about Steve.

Steve and I had been together for ages. He had caught me muttering an incantation over a candle one day, and that was the beginning of the end. I waved at her in dismissal. Nonsense! That was months ago.

It takes longer than a few months to get over being dumped, Cordelia said, especially when you couldn’t get another job at a reputable newspaper after all those lies he spread about you. You had to take a job here at this ridiculous magazine, and we both know Skinny calls you ‘His Ghoul Friday’ behind your back.

I nodded slowly. She did have a point. "I didn’t know it was her idea of a joke until you told me His Girl Friday is an old Cary Grant movie about journalists. Anyway, I suppose you’re right. I should try to think of this as a holiday and not get too upset about the job. It’s just that I always like to do my best. I can’t see how it being summer in the middle of winter is grounds for a paranormal article."

That’s because no one who works here believes in the paranormal, Cordelia said, but our readers do. Don’t forget that.

I waved my hand at her. "We believe in the paranormal. After all, I’m a witch."

Cordelia stuck her head in a cupboard. Before I could ask her what she was doing, she pulled out a deck of tarot cards. I’m going to pull a card to see how your assignment will go.

As she shuffled, a card fell to the floor. This must be the right card! she announced. She looked at it and then turned white.

CHAPTER 3

Iwas on a water ferry from Airlie Beach to Whitehaven Island. I couldn’t help smiling to myself. Skinny had sent me to some dreadful places, so I couldn’t believe I was going to Whitehaven Island and staying in a luxury resort. Skinny had made a point of telling me she was sending me to the cheapest resort she could find on the island, but as far as I understood from googling photos of the resort, it was luxury all the same.

The waters were calm, and the seas, deep blue. I inhaled the delightful sea air and sank back into the comfort of my plastic seat.

I tried not to worry about The Tower, the tarot card Cordelia had pulled. It was the card I most dreaded seeing. To me, it meant destruction, chaos, and disaster, although Cordelia had done her best to convince me it could also mean a new beginning. I wasn’t so sure. I was wearing an evil eye bracelet, and a eucalyptus leaf in each sandal for protection.

A man’s voice startled me. Is this seat taken?

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was tall, impossibly thin, of an indeterminate age, and had a shock of dark hair that stuck out in all directions. Um, no, I said. There were plenty of seats vacant. I wondered why he had decided to sit next to me.

The man offered his hand. Good morning. I’m Thaddeus Thunderware.

I could not help my lips twitching a little at his name, not that I could talk with a name like mine. Hi, I’m Misty Friday. I shook his hand, which proved to be limp and clammy.

Is that your real name?

I nodded. It wasn’t the first time I had been asked that question. Whatever had my parents been thinking? They were both academic philosophers, and in their youth had partaken of substance abuse so they could pontificate about Socrates and the like. Perhaps they were having an acid flashback when they had decided upon my name.

I’m a meteorologist, Thaddeus continued. They say it’s been hotter than usual for winter on the island.

I sat bolt upright. A meteorologist? I couldn’t believe my luck. I had stumbled across the very person I needed to interview. But his name? Was this a prank? Could a meteorologist really be called Thunderware? I wasn’t going to ask, especially given my own name. Instead, I said, I’m a journalist and my editor has sent me to do a story on the weather.

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and his face turned an unpleasant shade of purple. "My boss sent me to check it out, just to keep the mayor of Whitehaven Island happy, but there is nothing wrong with the weather. It’s simply a normal condition." He went into a lengthy, and exceptionally boring, scientific explanation of why it was summer in the middle of winter, which made me want to jump out of the boat and be eaten by sharks just to escape from him.

As his voice droned on and on about data homogenisation, delayed onset of the Australian monsoon, and the relationship of uncertainties propagation, and other matters I couldn’t possibly understand, I looked around at the other passengers.

I caught a fleeting glimpse of a man staring at me just before he ducked back behind a wall. I told myself it was simply my imagination, but he had certainly seemed furtive.

When I could finally get a word in, I excused myself from Mr Thunderware—could it really be his name?—and walked over to the stand where free coffee was available for the passengers.

A short, portly woman bumped into my shoulder and at once apologised. Are you a tourist or a resident?

Neither, I’m here for the weather anomaly, I supplied.

She looked surprised. Weather? There’s nothing wrong with the weather. I’m here for the mermaids.

It was my turn to look surprised. Mermaids? Did you say mermaids?

She nodded vigorously. Yes, that’s why we’re all here. She gestured expansively to a nearby group of women all clutching cameras. We’ve come over to the island to see if we can catch a glimpse of the mermaid.

For the first time I noticed the camera hanging around her neck. You’re from a photography club?

She nodded again. Yes, we want to take a photo of the mermaid. She laughed and flushed red. "You probably think I’m silly, and I don’t really believe in mermaids, but something is going on. Why would Doris suddenly say she saw a mermaid? She’s used to seeing dolphins, so surely she couldn’t have made a mistake."

I rubbed my forehead. I haven’t heard anything about mermaid sightings on Whitehaven Island. I’ve only heard about it being summer in the middle of winter.

She laughed. "It’s always summer in the middle of winter in Queensland. No, this whole mermaid thing has only just happened. I’m not surprised it hasn’t hit the media yet. We haven’t told anyone."

I couldn’t believe my luck. Was I onto a paranormal scoop? Surely even Skinny herself would be happy with me. Exactly when did this all happen? I asked her.

Yesterday afternoon, she said. One of our photography club members, Doris—she’s not here today because she has one of her migraines—returned from Whitehaven Island yesterday, but she saw a mermaid first.

I was intrigued. And she was sure it was a mermaid? I also wanted to ask whether Doris was prone to heavy drinking, but I thought it impolite.

Yes, Doris and I live at Airlie Beach. I’m Gillian, by the way. I introduced myself, and she continued. Doris comes to Whitehaven Island often. She was on a quiet little beach when she saw a woman go into the water. Right in front of her eyes, the woman turned into a mermaid and swam out to sea.

My spirits fell. Clearly, Doris had been tripping. I forced a smile. Well, that’s so interesting, I lied, smiling and nodding as I spoke.

The woman pulled up a text on her phone and shoved it in front of my nose. Doris took this photo.

I took the phone from her. It surely looked like a mermaid. I squinted and looked again.

She took the phone back. See here, Doris was taking photos of the water with her phone, and the mermaid is in human form in the first photo. She thrust her phone back into my hands.

I looked at the photo. It was of a young woman walking into the water. I did as Doris indicated and scrolled through the photos, and sure enough, it did look as though the woman morphed into a mermaid, sparkly green tail and everything.

I gasped. Surely this couldn’t be an elaborate hoax? Had Doris photoshopped images and sent them to her friends as a joke? I’m a journalist. I kept one eye on her as I said it. The disclosure didn’t always go down well.

The woman appeared unperturbed. I pressed on. Would you mind if I texted these photos to myself?

Sure, but you’ll have to get Doris’s permission to use them.

I looked up from texting the photos to my phone. Of course. What’s her number?

I’ll give it to you, but don’t call her for a few hours. Her migraine, you see.

I promised.

CHAPTER 4

The first thing I noticed as soon as I was on dry land was the luxury of the island. Tall hills covered with sparkling concrete and glass mansions towered above. The sand on the beach was pristine and white, and numerous golf buggies scooted along the narrow road in front of the harbour. It truly was paradise.

I was poking the eucalyptus leaves back into my sandals when Gillian caught my arm, surprising me. We’re going on a bus tour to the Botanical Gardens. Would you like to come with us?

Bus? I repeated. I thought cars weren’t allowed on the island. I thought people could only travel in golf buggies.

She nodded. "There are barely any cars, but there is a tour bus. We’re heading there now. Would you like to come with us?"

I thought of a way to decline politely. I’d better book in… I began, but she interrupted me.

The Botanical Gardens back onto the beach where the mermaid was sighted.

I changed my mind in an instant. I’d be happy to come.

You don’t need to pay or anything, Gillian said. We’ve already paid, and Doris isn’t here so you can make up her place. She eyed my single piece of luggage. You’re not planning on staying long?

I shrugged. I travel light. I didn’t have much money, truth be told, and that was the reason I travelled light.

I’m sure you can pack that under the bus. Come on—the others are getting away from us.

We soon caught up to the other ladies, and Gillian introduced me enthusiastically. Misty is a journalist and she’s investigating the mermaid sighting.

I held up a hand in protest. I’m not exactly investigating it. Well, um, I suppose I’d like to, I finished lamely.

I wonder if we’ll see a mermaid today? one of the ladies said.

Gillian shook her head. Don’t forget, the Botanical Gardens site is right at the top of a hill, and there are steps down to the beach. We won’t be able to see anything from the gardens.

Why are we going there then? another of the ladies asked her, echoing my thoughts.

To walk down from the Botanical Gardens to the beach where the mermaid was sighted, of course. Gillian punctuated her remark with a grunt of exasperation. Do you have a better idea?

The lady admitted that she didn’t.

The bus driver, a short, portly man, ushered us into the bus. We drove up a steep road which did not have a guide rail. I shut my eyes tightly. He was driving rather fast, but I consoled myself with the fact that he surely knew the road well.

The road soon levelled out, much to my relief, and continued for a short distance. The bus came to a stop beside an elaborate metal sign announcing the Whitehaven Island Botanical Gardens.

We filed out of the bus, and everyone gasped with delight. Beautiful tropical plants of every colour stood in front of us. The lawns were manicured and lush, and palm trees along with purple trees, the identity of which was unknown to me, dotted the horizon.

Beautiful, I gushed.

I’ll wait for you in the bus, the driver said. Everyone, be back here in an hour.

He looked friendly enough, so I risked a question. Have you heard anything about mermaid sightings here?

His face turned deep red. I had no idea why my question angered him, but it certainly appeared to have done so.

Mermaids! he spat. There’s no such thing as mermaids. Where did you hear that utter nonsense? He swore under his breath.

It’s not nonsense. Gillian popped up from behind me. Our friend, Doris, took a photo of a mermaid yesterday. She pulled her phone from her handbag, but I put a restraining hand on her arm.

She looked at me and I shook my head. Let’s just go and look around the gardens, I said to her, hoping she would take my hint not to push the matter with the driver.

There are no ghosts on this island, and no mermaids either, he snapped. The leading family of this island doesn’t take kindly to such nonsense.

I nodded and led Gillian away.

He certainly seems put out, she said.

Yes, I thought it was a rather strange reaction. That’s why I stopped you before you could show him the photo. It’s probably best if you don’t show it around, if that’s going to be the reaction of the locals.

To my relief, she agreed. I see your point.

We caught up to the others who were making a beeline for the back of the gardens. Are they going down to the sea? I asked her.

They’re going down to the beach to see if they can see any mermaids.

I rubbed my temples. I had no choice but to follow her. It was hard not to be distracted by the gardens. They were expansive, the red blossoms of the spider lilies giving way to the vivid purples of the rhoeo plants, contrasting with rows of stout, woody cycads.

Gillian and I were at the back of the ladies as we came to the wooden steps leading to the beach far below. It’s very steep, one of the ladies protested. I’m glad it has a handrail.

The ladies made their way slowly down to the beach. I stopped for a moment. The beach below us was indeed small and hemmed in by headlands on either side. The surf was gentle here and the ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a breathtaking scene. I pulled my iPhone from my pocket and took photos. I wondered why the photography club members weren’t taking photos, but they were probably distracted by the thought of mermaids.

When we finally made it down to the beach, everyone took off their shoes. The sand was hot on my feet, so I headed to the damp sand left by the recently departed tide.

No sign of a mermaid. Gillian sounded dejected.

What did you expect? one of the ladies said. Doris said she was sitting to one side and the mermaid wouldn’t have seen her. Not that I believe in mermaids, mind you, but Doris certainly saw something.

There was a murmur of agreement. Why don’t we break into small groups and see if we can discover anything? I suggested. I have no idea what exactly, but we might find something, perhaps clothes? The figure appeared as a normal woman before she turned into a mermaid, so perhaps we could find clothes on the beach or something like that.

Everyone thought it a good suggestion and we spread out.

After fifteen minutes, we had all come up empty.

Maybe she turned back into a person, Gillian said.

I scratched my head. That makes sense. Who looks after the Botanical Gardens? There are obviously several gardeners on duty.

Gillian nodded. Yes, several people come in, but there’s a keeper on site. Whatever you do, Misty, don’t ask him any questions about plants, because he’ll go on and on for hours. He’s completely obsessed with plants. She groaned. He’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know and everything you didn’t about any plant.

Is he here now? I asked her. It might be worth pointing out that Doris saw a mermaid.

Gillian held up her hands in a gesture of horror. He’ll think we’re nuts!

Maybe we could say she thought she saw one and wondered what it could be. Anyway, I’d like to speak to him.

All right, I suppose we can go to his office. Gillian appeared to be entirely reluctant. She told my wishes to the others. They all complained that we hadn’t found any evidence of mermaids.

We made our way back up the old steps and then headed in the direction of the wooden building Gillian indicated was the keeper’s office. Once more I was at the back of the group, so I came to a rapid stop when I heard gasps of shock.

What is it? I pushed past some ladies to get to the front.

There, in front of me, was a patch of dead plants.

They’ve been poisoned! Gillian said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Who would do a thing like that? one of the ladies said. The keeper will be furious!

It’s a wonder he hasn’t seen it by now. Gillian rubbed her forehead. Actually, they don’t look as though they’ve been poisoned—it looks like someone took a flamethrower to them.

I don’t suppose vandalism is common on this island either? I asked.

Everyone shook their heads. No, not at all, the lady closest to me said.

We all hurried to the wooden building with the intention of breaking the news to the keeper.

Gillian was in front and I was right behind her. She knocked. There was no answer, so she opened the door.

Gillian at once screamed. I looked past her. A dead man was lying on the ground. Plants covered his face. A knife was firmly planted in his chest.

CHAPTER 5

The photography club ladies and I were standing outside the bus. I was shivering, despite the heat. A chill had certainly descended. The bus driver had come running, presumably due to the high-pitched screams, and had pronounced the keeper dead. He ushered us all back to the bus.

I figured it was only a matter of time before the police arrived. I turned to comfort Gillian once more. She was sobbing into a tissue. I feel so mean, saying what a boring man Edmund Everett was, and then he turned up dead, she said between her sobs. Poor Doris.

I patted her back, not knowing what to say at such a time and wondering what Doris had to do with it. Oh look, it must be the police now, I said.

The driver ran to a black, late model Mercedes that pulled up with a squeal of brakes.

I was surprised. I thought cars weren’t allowed on the island.

Gillian shook her head. A few long-term residents have one. Didn’t I mention that before?

A clearly fit, muscle-bound man in a black suit jumped from the car and hurried over to us, with the driver fawning all over him.

I’m Mayor Oldebottom, Tobias Oldebottom, he announced in a tone that smacked of self-importance. I have notified the authorities, rest assured. Help is on its way. Save your explanations for them.

As soon as he had finished speaking, he gestured over his shoulder to a white vintage BMW 501 Cabriolet V8 driving up the road at a fast pace. A tall man, also in a suit, extracted himself from the car in an elegant fashion. He ignored us and instead spoke to the driver and the mayor, and remained in a huddle with them for some time. That detective sure had good taste in cars.

I thought they came in pairs, Gillian whispered.

I bent down to hear her better. What did you say?

She nodded in the direction of the man. The detective. I always thought they travelled in pairs.

I shrugged. No idea. I’ve only seen them on TV.

The detective was distinguished. It was hard to tell his age, but I figured he could be anything around fifty, give or take ten years or so. He had an aura of power about him. Before I could say anything to Gillian, he hurried past us in the direction of the caretaker’s office.

They should have a forensics team here, Gillian said.

I’m sure they don’t have one on the island, I said. They’d have to get them from the mainland, so that could take a while. Isn’t there an airport on the island?

Gillian nodded. A small one. This is a tourist resort, not a crime area. Yes, I expect there won’t be much here in the way of police. I hope they don’t take us in for questioning and try to make us confess. Her voice shook.

I hurried to put her fears to rest. No, Gillian. It wasn’t as if just one of us found the body. They will hardly suspect all of us were in it together.

Gillian brightened considerably. Yes, of course. You’re right. It’s just been such a shock.

The detective was on his way back. Gillian, he’s probably going to question us now. Try not to be too upset.

The man walked over to us. I’m Hugh Cavendish. Which one of you found the body?

"We all did, all of us at once," Gillian said in a loud voice.

And when did you arrive on the island? he asked us.

We arrived on the ferry not long ago, I told him. These ladies are from a photography club, and I met them on the way over in the boat.

Photography club? He rubbed his hand behind his ear. And you were here to take photos of the Botanical Gardens. It was a statement rather than a question, but one of the ladies spoke up.

No, not at all. We wanted to take photos of the mermaid.

The man’s jaw dropped open. Mermaid? Did you say mermaid?

Yes, the lady continued. Yesterday, our friend Doris was at the beach at the other end of the Botanical Gardens, and she saw a woman turn into a mermaid and swim out to sea. She took a lot of photos too.

The man’s face darkened. Nonsense. There is no such thing as mermaids. He fixed his gaze on me. And you said you met these women on the boat? What are you doing on the island?

I shuffled from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under his gaze. I’m a journalist.

He looked most displeased at my disclosure. Surely you’re not here to do a story on the alleged mermaid?

I shook my head. My editor sent me to do a story on why it’s summer in the middle of winter on the island.

His eyes narrowed. "It is North Queensland. It is always summer in winter here."

I smiled weakly.

The mayor looked me up and down. Is there a gym at your resort? Perhaps your time would be better spent getting exercise rather than sitting at a desk writing fanciful tales.

I will get an arm workout later when I lift cocktails to my mouth, I said icily. The nerve of the man!

Do we need to go to the police station and give our witness statements? Gillian asked Hugh Cavendish.

He shook his head. I have no idea. You’ll have to wait for the police.

Now I really was puzzled. I thought you were a detective?

I did not say that, he snapped. I am Mr Hugh Cavendish, a person not without influence on this island. He shot me a black look and then stalked back to his BMW.

Gillian and I exchanged glances. Had the mayor called Hugh Cavendish rather than the police? This was all rather strange. I turned to the driver who was lurking nearby. Did you call the police?

The mayor called them, he said and then walked off without so much as a backward look.

This is all a bit unusual, I said to Gillian.

You’re telling me, she said. I wonder how the police would feel about Mr Cavendish stomping all over the crime scene before they got here.

I tapped Gillian on the arm. Look, here are the police now. No wonder we didn’t hear any sirens; they’re in a golf buggy.

Two uniformed police officers hurried over to us. Who found the body? the woman officer asked.

We were all together when we found the body, Gillian said.

The male police officer hurried down to the keeper’s office.

Mr Cavendish was just here inspecting the scene, I said in the most nonchalant tone I could muster. We told him everything we knew.

I expected the police officer to be annoyed at my disclosure or at least surprised that a civilian had looked at the crime scene, but she was not. Excellent, I’ll brief him later, when we find out more.

This was all very strange. What was going on?

CHAPTER 6

Although the highly expensive island didn’t have any budget accommodation, Skinny had booked me into the accommodation furthest from the water. In fact, I could imagine her searching for accommodation at the most central point of the island. I knew in advance that I would have to prepare my own food and that I’d have the cheapest available apartment, but at least I would have the use of the pool, and there was a restaurant attached to the resort.

I walked into the foyer and saw a man with his back to me in the dining room. I continued to the foyer and gave my name.

Oh yes, Ms Friday. We were expecting you earlier.

I simply shrugged. Something came up.

If you’re hungry, the dining room opens in an hour for lunch.

I nodded. I see you have a guest in there already.

The man’s eyebrows shot skyward. Guest? he repeated. I didn’t see a guest in there. At any rate, we’re under-booked. It’s the off season.

I took a few steps backwards and looked in the dining room. There was no sign of the man. Was I imagining things? Or could something supernatural really be happening on the island?

I looked back to see the man regarding me strangely. You have Room Five. He handed me a big brass key. Take the first turn right and then the first turn left and you’ll be right there. Just call the front desk should you require anything. I hope you have a pleasant stay at the Central Tropical Resort.

I thanked him, glanced down at my small suitcase, and when I looked up, the man had gone. I was beginning to think this was ghost accommodation or that I had fallen right into the middle of something like The Amityville Horror. Luckily the surroundings were far from creepy—they were lavish.

I made my way past a tinkling fountain down the corridor and found my apartment easily. I opened the door into a gorgeous room with a view over the pool. Sure, it was a small room, but it was immeasurably more luxurious than anything I had been accustomed to previously.

As I unpacked, I had a strange suspicion I had left something at home. I couldn’t figure out what it could be, if anything, so I decided to take a shower. I was hot and sticky from the unbearable humidity. Finally, I discovered how to work the remote for the air conditioner, so I turned it so cold it would freeze a polar bear.

I hurried into the bathroom, throwing my clothes over my shoulder as I went, and hopped under the cool water. That felt much better, apart from the fact I had bought a body scrub which turned out to be a black salt scrub. It sure made a mess. When I was satisfied I had removed every last piece of charcoal, I towelled myself dry and pulled on my bathrobe.

That’s when I realised what I had forgotten to pack—my undies! I only had the pair I had worn to the island. Just as the realisation dawned, I smelt something burning.

Luckily I hadn’t taken any longer in the shower, because I had inadvertently thrown my underwear onto a salt lamp, and it must have been a particularly hot salt lamp because it had burned a hole through both my undies and my bra. I ran over, snatched them from the lamp, ran the few steps back into the bathroom and threw them under running water.

That was a close call. I retraced my steps to my suitcase and was relieved that I had remembered to bring my bras. I walked back to the bathroom to see if the undies were salvageable, but they certainly were not. They had burnt in half.

All I wanted to do was to have a nice rest before lunch and now I would have to go out and buy clothes, but I wasn’t keen on going commando in a summer dress or shorts. There was only one thing for it. I had noticed a little shop at the resort, so I would have to venture over there in my bathrobe. After all, it was at the back of the resort, and there had been no one there earlier when I passed by.

I grabbed my purse and, clutching my bathrobe to me, crept out of my room. To my enormous relief, no one was in sight, apart from the staff member, a sullen-faced woman reading a magazine.

I looked at the dearth of products on display. There were toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo and soap—although the latter two items were provided in the rooms—but no clothes. I was about to give up when I noticed some undies, five to a pack. I bent down and picked up the packet. Size Twenty. They were way too big for me. I looked through all the items on the rack, but they were all the one size. Besides that, these were the most hideous undies I had ever seen.

I saw some safety pins on the bottom shelf so I grabbed those as well. I figured I could pin them through the undies to make them wearable. They would have to do in a pinch. After lunch I would go out and buy some more. It was a shame they only came in a five pack, as they were quite pricey.

I picked up the pack of undies and safety pins and took them over to the counter.

You do realise items of clothing have to be labelled, don’t you? the woman standing behind the counter said with a scowl.

I figured I hadn’t heard her correctly. Excuse me?

She jabbed her finger on the packet. These have to be labelled. If you’re going to use the common area such as laundry facilities, you will need to label every item of clothing you own.

I frowned. I didn’t know that. I don’t need to sew on a label, surely?

She shook her head. No, marker pen should be all right. We have some over there on sale, half price.

I backtracked and picked up the first marker pen I could find and added it to my little pile of purchases.

You need to write your name clearly enough to be seen. Otherwise, we will have to confiscate items of clothing, she said. I understand it might sound strange to you tourists, but we’ve had problems in the past where people have argued over the provenance of a bra.

I was quite shocked. Okay, I said with a shrug. I’ll label them. Will this marker pen come off in the wash?

Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have suggested you buy it. The side of her lip curled into a snarl.

I paid for my purchases out of my own money. I didn’t think Skinny would be too pleased with me buying underwear from the magazine’s funds.

I walked back to my room and opened the packet. All five undies were white and huge. They were bigger than any pair of shorts I owned. I held one against me and it came up to my armpits. In fact, it looked somewhat like a mini dress, an ugly mini dress.

Still, I didn’t have anything else, so I got out the marker pen and attempted to write my name on one of them. The marker pen turned out to be awfully thick, so I had to write my name in huge letters all across the underwear.

Still in my bathrobe, I trudged off to the laundry room, which was next to the little store. I threw all five undies in and turned the machine to a fast cycle. After I was satisfied the machine was working, I went back to