Murder on the Island

by Daisy White

  His hair was close-shaven and blond, and he was young. Maybe in his late twenties. She realised that he had not returned with the bag he had been carrying on his outward journey.

  This was definitely where Alexa would tell her not to be a nosy old bag, to keep out of someone else’s business… But she found herself edging to the other side of the barrier. No way could she do an athletic vault over the top, so she ducked underneath, holding her breath, half expecting someone to shout that she wasn’t allowed down there.

  Unchallenged, Chloe stepped cautiously over the mossy flagstones, keeping to the shadow of the walls. The doorway she was certain the man had emerged from was barred with a Keep Out sign and a padlock. The half rotten door was leaning to one side, affording access to the building.

  Chloe glanced back into the sunlight, before gathering her dress and slipping into the shadows with far less grace than the stranger had before her. She blinked, breathing in the smell of dust and cobwebs, mingled with oil and damp.

  She could see footprints on the dirty floor. Recent footprints leading towards a staircase. The wind groaned through the building, making sheets of iron rattle and some winching machinery sway above her head. Her heart was pounding, but she could now see the sports bag, slipped under the first step.

  Making it across the floor, she paused, half scared and wondering what she might find in the bag. Body parts? Drugs? What if this was the murderer hiding his knife? She dithered, and cursed herself for watching too many episodes of CSI… But she hesitated too long and a shout made her jump.

  ‘Hey, lady, you shouldn’t be in here! It’s dangerous. Did you not see the signs?’

  A tall man was beckoning to her from the doorway.

  Reluctantly retracing her steps, she wondered if she should tell this man about the bag. But he was just another tourist, whose wife had seen her slip under the barrier.

  ‘She saw you go in here, and she was worried,’ he told her. ‘The building isn’t for tourists. It’s derelict.’

  Feeling suitably admonished, Chloe apologised. ‘I just love old buildings, especially the insides and I wanted a few pictures.’

  ‘Well you need to be careful. A danger sign is a danger sign,’ the man said, seeing her under the barrier, where a plump, pretty lady in a green dress was waiting.

  ‘You found her, Walter!’

  ‘All safe and sound,’ he said, giving Chloe a dubious look. ‘She said she likes to photograph old buildings.’

  ‘Goodness. Did you tell her it wasn’t safe? Oh, there’s Maria and Jack! Cooooeeeee!’ Without a backwards glance the woman was off, waving wildly at her friends, dragging her husband with her.

  Although intrigued by the mystery bag, Chloe decided she had better leave the mystery for later, and treated herself to a trip around the Commissioner’s House, admiring the antiques, revelling in the rich history, and actually gasping at the view from the breezy balcony.

  Leaving the walled area, she found herself heading for Clocktower Mall, mind back on the murder and those shapes carved in the man’s skin. As she did so, she passed the man in the England rugby shirt, hurrying in the opposite direction. Crossing the road to keep him in sight, she slowed to see him approach a woman on a scooter. After a quick, heated conversation, he jumped on the back and they roared off.

  So he had probably left the bag in the warehouse. Chloe hesitated, and then continued on her way. She would finish her visit to the mall and then walk back down towards the Victualling Yard, taking in the warehouse where the man had dumped his bag.

  Jonas Aliente’s new gallery was a large double unit, flanked by brightly painted T-shirt shops and glittering jewellery stores. Stone Galleries was etched in flashy black font across the signage, and the windows displayed various easels of work.

  She bent down, enchanted by a selection of tiny canvases in jewel-bright colours. The artist had captured the richness of the sea and the sky perfectly. Chloe checked the name; Melissa Aliente. Jonas’ wife perhaps? The canvases had discreet pink stickers underneath with Half Price Sale! printed on them.

  The inside of the gallery was bright and airy with white-painted walls and huge artwork hanging alongside glass cabinets of sculptures and jewellery. Pretty bracelets and necklaces caught the light from artfully arranged spotlights, and the huge area was restful, inviting the customer to explore, to linger.

  ‘Chloe Canton! How lovely to see you again.’ Jonas appeared from a side door, his smile welcoming.

  5

  ‘Hi.’ Chloe returned his greeting slightly awkwardly. ‘I… I thought I’d treat myself to a day out. I was just admiring the artwork.’ She really didn’t feel she could confide in him about the mystery bag. He’d think she was crazy.

  ‘Are you an art connoisseur?’ Jonas asked. He wore an elegant cream suit today with a pink striped shirt and pale-pink tie. His dark hair was slicked back from his forehead.

  ‘Not at all, I’m afraid. I collected a few pieces when I lived in London, but they’re in storage. I just bought what I liked to look at. They don’t really fit in my new home, but I can’t bear to part with them,’ Chloe told him, brushing a stray curl from her face. She had tied her long hair into a ponytail today, but suddenly felt the style was more suited to a younger woman. ‘I… I heard the dead man was one of your artists?’

  He frowned, forehead wrinkling, distress now evident in his grey eyes. ‘Yes, the police have been asking lots of questions. I am beyond shocked and deeply saddened, of course. He was a brilliant artist… Look, I have several of his pieces displayed on this wall.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I did have a look at some of his work online…’ Chloe followed him, her long pink dress blessedly cool in the warmth of the gallery. The whirring overhead fans weren’t doing a great job at air conditioning. Pushing away the all too vivid memory of the blood and the crumpled body, she peered at Matthew Georgias’ work.

  There were four canvases arranged in a row, and each linked by their subjects. Like many of the artists displayed in the gallery, Georgias had used the beaches and the sea in his work. Chloe had wondered if maybe the pictures didn’t translate well online. Perhaps his was the kind of work that needed to be appreciated in the flesh. But she was disappointed. The pictures were not appealing. The slashes of red and black, the huge figures casting shadows across each canvas, lying underwater or etched in the sand were impressive but also quite frightening.

  ‘Amazing, aren’t they?’ Jonas said proudly. ‘I was so excited when Matthew’s agent contacted me and asked if I would display his work. We sold one of his highest priced works at the launch party. I believe it went to a US collector. His legacy will live on, but imagine what more he could have achieved… So very sad. I hope the police are able to catch whoever did this very soon.’

  ‘Yes, I heard about The Painted Lady being sold.’ Chloe didn’t feel she could say that she disliked the paintings immensely. They were disturbing and too reminiscent of violence and hatred. She stayed silent, examining some of the smaller paintings. They depicted the back view of a naked woman, her long hair tangling down her back, legs curled under her as she stared out to sea. Although the subject matter was different, the overall impression was one of depression, fear and anger. ‘You were friends as well as colleagues, then?’

  ‘I hadn’t known him long but yes, I’d like to think he would have called me a friend.’ He dropped his gaze to the smaller paintings. ‘Maybe not what you were expecting?’

  Disconcerted by his intuition, she changed the subject. ‘I saw some lovely smaller pictures in your window, by Melissa Aliente?’

  His expression brightened. ‘My sister, yes. She has always been inspired by the sea, wherever we have lived. I have more of her work over here, if you’d like to see?’

  ‘Yes, I’d love to. Have you been in Bermuda long?’ Chloe asked, moving gratefully away from the dark paintings, and admiring the small, vivid canvases on another wall.

  ‘Two years now, but it’s really only in the
last few months that I have found time to stay in Bermuda and focus on this gallery. I have, well my family has, other galleries in New York, Madrid, Los Angeles, Florida… Lots of work, but I love to travel. And you? Will you stay on the island now? I heard a little of your history from someone.’

  She understood. Rumours were bound to be flying around, and to be fair, she had been just as curious about him. ‘I don’t know. At the moment I’m trying to just live in the present and take things as they come.’ She bit her lip. ‘About my house…’

  He stopped her with a polite raised hand. ‘Say no more. I had no idea that the other investors had been approaching residents already. All I was told was that your house had been inherited by a family member who might be willing to sell.’ A flicker of annoyance crossed his aquiline features. ‘I apologise on behalf of the other investors. Perhaps I could take you out for a drink to say sorry properly?’

  ‘Oh! No you don’t have to do that. I haven’t really even moved in properly, let alone got started on a social life yet,’ Chloe protested, feeling her cheeks redden, wishing she had put on make-up instead of sunscreen.

  ‘This is Bermuda. You can’t tell me that you don’t already know at least ten people, and half of those will be neighbours.’ He was smiling, clear grey eyes glinting now as he teased her.

  ‘Well… you are right about that. Yes, thank you, that would be lovely,’ Chloe told him, trying to regain her composure.

  ‘Good. Do you have a telephone now, so I can call you?’

  ‘I do.’ Chloe scrabbled in her bag for her new mobile.

  ‘Come into the office for a moment while I take the number down.’

  She followed him through the door, nerves still jangling.

  As she stepped through, a voice said, ‘Another new girlfriend, Jonas, or is this an actual client?’

  ‘Ah, Melissa, I didn’t realise you were back. This is Chloe,’ Jonas told the woman, his voice edged with annoyance.

  ‘I came in the back door. Hallo, Chloe.’ The voice was mocking and slightly amused. Melissa Aliente was sitting on a swivel chair, long tanned legs crossed, wearing a bright orange short silk sundress. Her shiny dark hair fell over her shoulders in perfect curls. ‘Are you another art groupie? My brother collects them.’

  ‘Melissa!’ Jonas snapped at his sister, who glared at him.

  Chloe, intensely uncomfortable, wondered if she should just make her excuses and leave. Melissa was far younger than her, and her ice-queen persona should have been amusing. But it was actually quite intimidating. Did she really think Chloe was after her brother? Had she heard him ask her out for a drink?

  ‘I told you I met Chloe at her house the other day,’ Jonas added, pouring iced water for all of them.

  His sister waved her glass irritably away. ‘I don’t remember every single detail of your busy life.’

  Chloe moistened her lips, before smiling at the girl. ‘I was just saying that I like your paintings. The bird ones in the window.’

  There was silence. Jonas was looking tense, sipping his water, clearly wondering what on earth his sibling would say next.

  For a moment Melissa’s eyes narrowed, lips pursed as though she expected some practical joke. But although her gaze was still assessing, enthusiasm warmed her voice. ‘Did you really like my paintings?’

  Chloe, now awkwardly reciting her new phone number for Jonas, turned back to the other woman. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty-five, and beside her Chloe felt ancient. ‘I do. I’ve just moved house and I’d like some smaller artwork for the walls. Your study of the birds and beach is just beautiful.’ Her crumpled notes, her allotted spending money, wedged into her purse, would cover the paintings easily with the huge discount advertised.

  Melissa leant forward eagerly, her hair swinging across her shoulders, clear grey eyes, so like her brother’s, very bright. ‘Most people want the bigger works, although actually recently everyone has wanted Matthew’s stuff. Tragic, isn’t it? He was a rising star, the golden boy of the gallery.’ Something that might have been mockery touched her words.

  ‘Chloe was the one who found the body,’ Jonas told her, moving to open the door for Chloe, and indicating she should follow him.

  The other woman’s eyes widened, and the annoyance and brittleness fell away. ‘How horrible for you. Sorry, Jonas did tell me a woman had found Matthew. I didn’t realise… We are all deeply shocked. This kind of thing… It happens, but not to you, and you see it reported on social media, in the papers, but it doesn’t touch you personally.’

  It was almost an apology. ‘I know what you mean,’ Chloe said gently, wondering if she was imagining the wetness in Melissa’s eyes, the taut jawline when she said the artist’s name. Perhaps she and Matthew had been more than business colleagues? She was very beautiful. ‘So, back to your work… I’d love to buy the three bird studies if that’s okay? The sales tag said fifteen dollars for each painting…’

  Melissa beamed at her, childlike now, all traces of reserve vanishing, and sprang to her feet. ‘Of course! Would you like to take them now, or shall we get them wrapped and couriered to your home?’

  ‘I can take them now,’ Chloe told her, enjoying the reaction, the swiftness of the character transformation. She loved to make people happy, and her busy, motherly nature drew others to her. In Melissa’s pleasure she could feel an instant bond, a shared enjoyment of the artwork. The paintings were beautiful, peaceful and would look perfect in her living room, but it was just as much of a pleasure to see the artist’s reaction to her sale. Perhaps she didn’t sell much.

  Certainly fifty dollars fell far short of the thousands garnered by Matthew Georgias for his work. She was struck by a thought. Would his artwork be worth even more now he was dead? Could someone have killed him for that very reason?

  6

  Paintings neatly wrapped and placed in her cotton tote bag, Chloe soon added to her purchases – a few beaded bracelets, a flower-patterned sarong, and some beauty products from another local business. Each business she bought from, she was able to engage in chat with the salesperson and explain she had taken over Beachside Stables. Already, she had a definite booking from the man selling the jewellery, even if her supply of cash was steadily diminishing.

  Dodging tourists, she wandered over to the Bone Fish Bar and Grill. She sat in the shade, watching the marina while she ate an open sandwich.

  Someone had left a copy of The Royal Gazette on the table, and she winced at the front-page news of the murder. Matthew Georgios stared up at her from a publicity shot. She recognised his face from the shot online – his face was unsmiling, angular, with full jutting lips and angry eyes. The brown hair was messy and shoulder-length. There was something about the defensive, almost antagonistic expression that Chloe could see translated into his work. She felt he might have been a difficult person to know.

  But then Melissa and Jonas were an odd couple too – the kind of jet set European upper class she remembered vaguely from boarding school, flitting from destination to destination as their parents enjoyed the social whirl of parties and polo. The siblings had that same veneer of sophistication, although Melissa’s had been swiftly stripped away by the purchase of her artwork. Chloe wondered which was the real girl – the bored, scornful socialite, or the childish, eager-to-please artist. Was her self-confidence all an act?

  She sighed and went back to Matthew. Clearly there was something in his life, past or present that had made the artist pour those kind of emotions or experiences onto canvas. Just as clearly they weren’t pleasant memories.

  ‘So who do you think killed him?’

  Chloe jumped, and put out a hand to steady her drink, but the speaker was at the next table. A large lady with abundant grey hair barely contained in a yellow headscarf was questioning her companions.

  Aware she was eavesdropping, Chloe sipped her iced pineapple juice, idly dividing her gaze between the boats in the marina, and the crowded table to her left.

  ‘I sh
ould think it was a family member,’ one of the men at the next table suggested, ‘it nearly always is, isn’t it? I saw a news snippet online that suggested he fell out with his siblings after an inheritance.’

  ‘I bought some of his work this morning, you know. Honestly, I don’t actually like it, but my husband says it will be worth a fortune now he’s dead.’ The woman in the yellow headscarf shook her head at the shocked murmurs. ‘I know, I know, but I bought it because The Painted Lady went for twenty thousand dollars to that collector in Chicago. He must know about art, mustn’t he?’

  The other woman at the table was munching on her burger, but she managed to speak out of the corner of her mouth and continue chewing at the same time. ‘I’d say it was a good buy, Veronica, but I’d never buy art I didn’t want to look at.’

  Chloe had heard enough, although at the back of her mind she noted there had been nothing about those three shapes carved into Matthew’s forehead. Maybe the police hadn’t released that information? Surely it would be widely discussed if they had, she thought with distaste. It would sensationalise an already horrible murder case.

  She paid for her sandwich and drink, left a tip for the friendly waiting staff, and wandered back along Maritime Way to the museum. After refreshing her memory on the history of the island, and respectfully peering at more antiques, she glanced at her watch.

  There was just time to pop back into the community gift shop before the bus went. A tiny seed of an idea was growing at the back of her mind, sparked by her look at the Beachside Stables accounts.

  It was true she knew nothing about running a riding stables, but she was only fifty. She could learn! It was the first time since her landmark birthday that she had caught herself thinking like this. Instead of writing herself off the page, and diving into imagined old age, why not begin a new career?