Murder on the Island

by Daisy White

  If the riding stables could provide an income, she could follow her heart and honour the trust Dre had placed in her. It might even be fun… It had been a long time since she felt like this – light and free instead of weighed down by broken promises and false expectations.

  The community shop had more efficient fans than the gallery, and Chloe was able to browse in comfort, enjoying the cool breeze on her hot shoulders. There was a huge rack of jewellery, piles of books displayed in wooden crates, local rum cakes, soaps in colourful chunks, and some more artwork decorating the walls.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A tall woman with red hair cascading in wild curls approached her, smiling.

  ‘I just wondered…’ Chloe stopped. She’d only just had the idea. Maybe it was bit soon to be exploring sales outlets. ‘I wondered how the shop worked? I mean, how do your craftspeople and artists get a space for their products?’

  Far from being offended, as Chloe had feared, the woman seemed delighted to explain the workings of the shop. ‘We only take things of a certain standard, but everyone who sells here puts in some time in the shop, and we all pull together to do the accounts, pay the rent. Everyone lives right here in Bermuda. It’s a great place to get inspired. Do you have something you’d like to sell? Sorry, I never told you my name! I’m Emma.’

  Chloe shook hands, hoping her palm wasn’t sweaty. ‘I’m Chloe. I’ve just moved to the island, and yes, I was thinking of setting up a small business. Well, actually more of growing a current one.’ She laughed, finding the other woman’s enthusiasm encouraging. ‘I actually only thought of it the other day.’

  ‘See!’ Emma beamed. ‘You were inspired by coming here. How wonderful! It was the same with me. I’m an artist. Not a fancy one with my own gallery, but I do cards and miniatures.’

  Chloe bent down and examined the pretty watercolours, making approving noises. ‘I own Beachside Stables,’ Chloe explained, slightly shocked now she was actually putting her idea into words, ‘and I would like to try and promote the business a little bit. One idea I had was perhaps inviting artists to visit for the day and draw the horses?’

  ‘Sounds like a fabulous idea! Beachside Stables…’ Emma tapped her teeth with a long, glossy red fingernail. ‘Can’t say that rings a bell… I’m not a horse person though.’

  ‘It’s off South Shore Road. I can send you an email with the details if you think anyone might be interested?’

  ‘No problem. Look, and I can give you this sheet with all our products and contact details on, and my phone number is at the top. We try to have a general meeting once a month, usually at a pub, so you’re welcome to come along when you feel like the time is right. We’ve got a Facebook page too, so do feel free to have a browse,’ Emma told her.

  ‘Thank you.’ Chloe popped the information into the bag containing her artwork.

  ‘I see you’ve been over to the Stone Gallery,’ Emma remarked, glancing at the discreet logo on the packaging.

  Was she annoyed Chloe hadn’t bought something in her shop? Her bubbly friendliness seemed to have faded slightly. Chloe quickly picked a couple of bars of the gorgeous-smelling soap, and two of Emma’s postcards. ‘Yes, I just got a couple of pictures for my living room… I’d like to take these, please.’

  Emma popped behind the till, her long turquoise dress catching the sunlight, red curls bouncing on her shoulders. She quickly totted up the bill, made the entry into the till, and began wrapping Chloe’s purchases in brown paper and string. ‘You know that one of their artists was murdered?’ Her voice was still a little cool.

  ‘Yes. Matthew Georgias.’ Chloe accepted her change and fiddled with her purse. ‘I did see some of his work when I was in the gallery, but I bought some pieces by Melissa Aliente. Do you know her?’

  ‘His sister.’ Emma frowned. ‘She’s a bit of a madam. Easy to have an art career if you’re a trust-fund kid with time and money to dabble. She always used to row with the other artists. And with Matthew. I saw them together late one evening last week. She actually slapped his face, so it must have been quite a conversation.’

  Melissa and Matthew? Chloe wasn’t quite sure what to say in response to this piece of gossip. ‘Did you tell the police about the row? After he was murdered, I mean?’

  Emma nodded meaningfully. ‘Of course. She’s got a temper, and they’re a funny family, that’s all I’m saying. Jonas is all right, I suppose, but so smooth and polite you can never tell what he’s really thinking.’

  Other customers were beginning to drift towards the till point now, so Chloe thanked the other woman and headed back out into the sunshine. Standing at the bus stop, enjoying the sun-drenched walls, dotted with pretty mosses and flowers, she couldn’t help but wonder why Emma had been so quick to share this particular piece of gossip with a stranger. Certainly her friendliness had cooled pretty quickly at the mention of the Stone Gallery. Or was it because of Melissa? Professional rivalry amongst the artistic community? Or was she just being respectful after such a horrific event?

  Jonas’ sister was utterly gorgeous, and Chloe could imagine that family wealth could either help or hinder a career. There would also be those, like Emma, who said that you had achieved what you had because of the money. Yet from what she had seen, Melissa was genuinely very talented. Not in the intense abstract way of Matthew Georgias, but her seascapes and bird paintings had the intricacy of a photograph.

  Emma hadn’t seemed the type of person to suddenly confide, but then the murder would have affected the close-knit local community, so perhaps the woman was just treating her like a local. There was clearly some friction between Emma and Melissa…

  7

  The tourist crowds were swelling as more people poured into Dockyard from a recently arrived ferry. Chloe supposed perhaps they had been on a day trip to St George’s. Taking advantage, she slipped in amongst them and when they passed the warehouses, she nipped round the barrier and squeezed into the musty darkness.

  Heart pounding, she stepped across the filthy floor and bent down to the bag. It was a medium-sized sports bag with the logo printed on the front pocket.

  Very carefully, she undid the zip, hoping with everything she had that she wasn’t about to discover sawn-up body parts or something equally horrid. Instead, she let out a sharp breath of relief. Camera equipment! All at once she felt embarrassed. The murder had clearly been playing on her mind to such an extent she was seeing villains everywhere she looked.

  It seemed a strange place to stash what must be expensive equipment, but the bag would have been awkward to carry on a scooter – too large to sling over the shoulders. Chloe paused for a moment, before neatly zipping up the bag and turning her back on the mystery.

  Her imagination was in overdrive, and it was none of her business if the man was planning a photoshoot in the derelict building. Perhaps he shared her interest. Or maybe the camera was stolen and awaiting collection… Feeling quite cross with herself for allowing her nosiness to get the better of her, Chloe managed to join the crowds admiring two restored cannons which stood next to the path.

  She snapped her own picture of them before walking quickly towards the bus stop. Maybe, she thought, she needed to get home and focus on something else to stop her nerves jangling.

  When Chloe finally walked up the hill, Ailsa was waiting on the porch with a chicken under her arm. The bus stop was a mile or so from her house, but the walk, with stunning views of the sea and the chance to peek at the pretty church, was hardly arduous.

  ‘Did you have a nice day at Dockyard?’ her neighbour inquired.

  ‘Lovely, thanks… Um, Ailsa, why are you holding a chicken?’

  ‘This is Betsy. She likes a little cuddle, and I wanted to make sure I was here when you got home.’ Ailsa was puffed up with excitement, clearly bursting with gossip. The chicken sat peacefully in her arms, scaly feet dangling, bright beady eyes fixed on the new arrival.

  ‘Do you want to come in? I could really do with an iced drink after that wa
lk,’ Chloe said, shoving her keys in the door. ‘Do you mind leaving the chicken outside though?’ Chloe’s own chickens seemed to be quite happy wandering around the yard, not really venturing into her garden, but Ailsa’s flock seemed rather more sociable.

  Ailsa put the bird carefully on the rocker chair, where it sat balefully on a red cushion. Chloe and the chicken looked at one another for a long moment, before she sighed and followed her neighbour across the cool tiled floor into the house.

  ‘You’ve been to Jonas’ gallery?’ Ailsa commented, as Chloe put her bag on the table.

  ‘Yes. I bought some of his sister’s artwork.’ There was no reason why she should be blushing, and Chloe quickly hid her face in the freezer, digging out ice for their drinks. ‘She seemed nice.’

  ‘They’re an odd pair,’ Ailsa said, frowning. ‘Funny you should have been over to the gallery today…’

  ‘Why?’ Chloe sat opposite her, unpacking the paintings, setting them carefully across the table. ‘Aren’t they beautiful?’

  Her neighbour tapped a wrinkled finger on the nearest picture, and nodded. ‘Pretty. Dre would have liked them too. I saw Peter today… You know, the taxi driver who brought you from the airport?’

  ‘Yes, of course, I remember.’

  ‘He told me that Melissa Aliente was seeing Matthew Georgias and that they had a big row the night before he was murdered. He said there’s a rumour she owed him money.’ She sat back, eyes glittering with excitement. ‘Which means she’s now a suspect, doesn’t it?’

  Chloe paused in her unpacking. ‘I suppose it might. How does Peter know?’

  ‘His son is a friend of Josonne’s. He’s with the Bermuda Fire and Rescue Service. Melissa’s never been that friendly, not with the local boys. But she usually has some rich older man in tow when she does go out. That’s what he said anyway.’

  ‘I met Josonne the other day. He’s also Antoine’s cousin, isn’t he?’

  ‘He is. They look very alike. They’ve always got so many girls chasing them, but they’re good boys, both of them. Melissa and Jonas have been coming to the island on and off for years, but since the Clocktower gallery opened they’ve made this more of a base. Their mother passed away when they were quite young, and I believe their stepfather raised them. He’s a lot older than his sister, of course, but they seem very close. I heard their stepfather was the one who gave them all the money to open galleries.’

  ‘Right.’ Chloe’s first thought was one of pity. Clearly Melissa wasn’t well liked, but she must be – what? Early twenties tops, and the haughty, spoilt-little-rich-girl persona had dropped so quickly when Chloe had admired her work she felt compelled to defend a girl she hardly knew. The frosty antagonist attitude had melted like ice in the Bermuda sunshine, leaving a glimpse of someone quite different. ‘Well, she was very charming to me.’

  ‘How did you find Finn, then? Did he ask you lots of questions?’

  ‘He was very professional,’ Chloe said. ‘I’m sure the police will catch whoever committed the murder soon, and we can all relax a bit. He did reassure me this is very unusual, and not something I can expect living here.’

  Ailsa was watching her, her head slightly angled, a quizzical expression on her wrinkled face. With her bright beady eyes, and small energetic figure, she really was very similar to her beloved chickens. ‘You know he’s a widower?’

  ‘Yes. His wife was killed in a road accident, wasn’t she? Antoine told me the other day.’

  ‘Awful, that was. That poor man, and his boy was devastated too, of course. Daniel, he’s called. He lives and works in England now. Hasn’t been back for years, I don’t think.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how terrible something like that would be,’ Chloe said soberly. She changed the subject. ‘It turns out we were at school together. How strange is that?’

  ‘Oh? You already know each other from before, then?’ Clearly pleased, eyes sparkling with interest, Ailsa finished her drink in one gulp and focused all her attention on her neighbour, her thoughts as transparent as though she had spoken out loud.

  ‘No… I mean I don’t remember him, he just saw a photo on the wall and…’ Chloe was interrupted by a chicken screech from further down the drive.

  Ailsa swung around, clearly torn between a bit of rather-too-obvious matchmaking and the desire to sort her birds out. Another screech, followed by a cockerel crowing sent her swiftly out the front door. ‘That stupid bird! Always hassling my chickens. Next door need to keep him under control.’ She was glaring at the offending bird.

  ‘Did Cheryl come and visit you today?’ Chloe asked, quickly changing the subject.

  ‘No, she was too busy in the end, and Jordan’s still causing trouble… If that boy focused on his sport he could go the same way as Alfie did, with a scholarship and prospects, he’d be okay.’ Ailsa sighed. ‘But as it is he prefers to run wild. Cheryl is tearing her hair out, and his dad’s so busy at work he hardly sees the boy.’

  Ailsa’s daughter and son-in-law were both solicitors, working in Hamilton for a big firm. She was clearly very proud of them, but her worry for her grandchildren was now dimming her natural effervescence.

  ‘I can’t be too snidey about rich people not giving a bit back, because that was what funded Alfie’s trip to the UK. It’s one called the Skylight Foundation. We never could have afforded his fees if he hadn’t got the scholarship.’

  ‘I’m sure Jordan will settle down. Maybe he’ll see how well his brother’s doing and be inspired to follow in his footsteps.’ Chloe had followed her out onto the porch, still holding her drink. She was about to make a soothing comment about Jordan maybe just needing to grow up a little, and teenagers in general not knowing which career path to take, when there was another screech.

  ‘I’m going to sort that wretched bird out! Sorry, Chloe, we’ll catch up later?’ Her neighbour gathered up her own chicken, which once again hung as placidly as a feathered puppet and she scooted off.

  The marauding cockerel was dancing up and down, crowing at the edge of Chloe’s drive, and, not wanting to offend Ailsa, she suppressed a giggle. She really was becoming very fond of her big-hearted neighbour.

  ‘Actually, I’ll see you tomorrow. I need to go and tell Adrienne her bird’s out again!’ Ailsa called, moving with surprising speed and agility, making her exit through a gap in the hedge. Her bright-green dress floated out behind her as she and the chicken vanished from sight.

  Chores completed, Chloe wandered out for her evening stroll. It had become a routine to take a walk around her property last thing, to pet the horses, check the chickens and goats were locked up for the night. Tonight, as darkness began to fall, the wind had picked up, and she could see the distant waves were now topped with frothy white.

  Darker clouds scudded across the sky, and she shivered, moving back towards the house. The garden gate shut behind her with a sharp click, and she jumped, heart accelerating in fear, palms sweaty.

  ‘Idiot,’ she told herself, moving quickly inside, locking the door firmly behind her. But Matthew Georgias’ face was back, the bloody, grotesque body on her mind once more. Two squares and a triangle? Why?

  To distract herself, as the rain started outside, she hunted down a hammer and hooks, and began to hang her new paintings.

  Her home was bright and cosy, filled with electric light, and the cheerful flicker of candles. Pausing in her labours, she bent down and took a sniff of the candles. They were pleasant, but… she felt sure she could do better. Last year, Alexa had given her a gift voucher for a candle-making course.

  Chloe had enjoyed the weekend but never really made time to pursue her new hobby. But now, perhaps she could make some candles for her new home? A tiny spurt of excitement replaced her anxiety and she hung the last picture quickly, standing back to admire the view.

  Perfect. It was past ten now, so she made some toast, and switched on her laptop. The files were still there. All her course notes, and all the instructions she would need to star
t making her own candles again.

  Chloe sighed with pleasure, saved her file for later, and turned her creative energies towards saving Beachside Stables. It was going to be a challenge. To start with, the website was one page in a very odd font, with no contact details save the address, and there was no social media. Well, she could certainly sort that out.

  A crash from outside made her lose concentration. The rain was pelting down, hurling against windows and doors, battering the roof. As a precaution, and as instructed by Ailsa, she had closed the shutters. Peering out, she could only see shadowy bars, and a vague image of furiously waving trees.

  A buzz from her phone told her Alexa was calling, and she grabbed the mobile phone with relief.

  ‘Chloe darling! How are you? Just thought I’d ring for a quick chat.’ Alexa’s sharp tones cut through Chloe’s rising panic.

  ‘Oh it’s going well. I think. No word from the police on the murder but everyone seems very confident that whoever did it will be caught soon.’ Chloe made herself speak briskly, confidently, but her friend knew her well.

  ‘Must have been an awful shock. I couldn’t believe it when I got your email… Sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes, really I am. It’s so lovely here and I’m going to make a real go of turning the riding stables into a profitable business.’ Chloe paused. ‘Actually, something strange did happen…’ She told Alexa about the man and the camera equipment.

  ‘You are such a nosy old bag!’ Alexa said affectionately. ‘Honestly, what did you think he was up to?’

  ‘Hiding stolen goods?’

  Alexa snorted with laughter. ‘Or he could just be someone taking photographs. But if you are worried, Chloe, you should have mentioned it to the police.’

  ‘I didn’t want to. I’ve already caused enough trouble by finding a dead body!’ Chloe said.

  ‘Hardly, but I can’t imagine this is anything sinister,’ Alexa said comfortably. ‘And if it is, let them get on with it. Sounds like you’ve got enough on your plate without chasing after would-be villains. Did you say you were getting a dog?’