Murder on the Island

by Daisy White

  ‘I can see you’re away with the fairies this morning. Don’t worry, I told you, the power will be back on soon. This is just part of island life.’ Her eyes narrowed perceptively. ‘Or are you still worried about the murder?’

  ‘Sort of, I suppose,’ Chloe said apologetically. ‘I just hope they find out what happened and catch whoever is responsible.’

  Ailsa stood up, picking up her kettle. ‘Whatever it was about, you’ve only been living back here five minutes so it can’t touch you!’

  That’s what you think, Chloe thought, as she bid her neighbour goodbye and went to check on her property.

  Antoine greeted her cheerfully as she made her usual round of the animals. Her own chickens had been joined by at least half a dozen more, and seemed to be having a noisy party on the muck-heap. A few cats were lurking around the feed room.

  ‘No storm damage to the house?’ Antoine asked, as he scrubbed out the feed bowls.

  ‘Nothing that I can see,’ Chloe said. She was keen to get back inside and phone the gallery, but checking the flyer, she had noticed they didn’t open until ten. Probably they wouldn’t even arrive to open up until half nine… and they wouldn’t answer the phone before then. ‘Do you need any help with the mucking out or anything?’ She felt almost shy asking, especially as he seemed rather surprised by her question.

  ‘Well… If you really want to it would be great if you could do Star’s stable for me. Not being rude, but I wasn’t sure how involved you’d want to be with the stables.’ His tone was hesitant. ‘Do you know how to muck out?’

  She grinned. ‘I remember, and I can see where the muck-heap is, so I’ll be fine. Did Dre not muck out?’

  He finished the food bowls and started on the water buckets. ‘She did everything, but as she got older, her arthritis was very bad. She got very frustrated having to watch me do the things she used to’ – he flashed a grin at Chloe – ‘and she was a perfectionist, so everything had to be done right.’

  Chloe smiled, imagining Dre sitting on the wooden bench near the gate rapping out orders like a drill sergeant. ‘She always was. When I was younger, whatever I did she’d say to make the best of it, because you never know when things will come in useful.’ She grabbed the barrow, added a pitchfork and broom and headed for the end stable.

  They worked companionably for a while, against the background noise of waves on the beach and birds chattering in the spice tree, before Chloe said casually, ‘Antoine, do you know Melissa Aliente?’

  He shrugged, setting down the clean bowls to dry in the sun. ‘The artist? She’s Jonas’ sister, isn’t she? I’ve seen her around.’

  ‘Yes. I bought some of her paintings yesterday.’ Chloe finished her share of the chores, propped the brush against the wall, and picked up a ginger-striped cat, who purred with pleasure.

  ‘She was dating Matthew Georgias, but it was a bit on and off. I think the police questioned her,’ Antoine said. ‘Josonne thinks she’s hot, but she only ever hangs out with the artists, or society people. You know, the “it crowd”.’

  Chloe cradled the cat, and leant back against the fence, enjoying the heat on her shoulders, the view of the sea. But she was still dithering. She’d forgotten Antoine’s connections via his cousin Josonne. Perhaps she could talk to Josonne. But say what? Interfering could make things worse. The bruises on Melissa’s forehead and arms were still worrying her. It hadn’t been an accident. The pattern of the redness and bruising had clearly shown someone’s finger marks.

  As Melissa herself must have seen when she looked in Chloe’s bathroom mirror this morning. Just the thought of the girl making her bed so neatly, creeping carefully out of the house, driving off alone into the storm-tossed morning, made Chloe uneasy and worried.

  The first thing she needed to do was make sure Melissa was safe. Afterwards, she would decide whether to tell the police about the package, and the girl’s midnight visit.

  10

  By mid-afternoon the sea was restored to its usual state of smooth, rich blueness, and the electricity was back on.

  Chloe’s tentative call to the gallery had been answered by Jonas.

  ‘Melissa isn’t in today. She’s flying out to New York tomorrow for some meetings, so she’s packing,’ Jonas told her. Was his tone a little flat, a little rehearsed or was she completely paranoid?

  ‘Is she… is she okay?’

  ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t she be?’ He sounded normal enough. Curious even, but still with that formal icy tone that seemed to come so naturally.

  Chloe thought fast. ‘Just that I heard she had been interviewed by the police about the murder, and I hoped she wasn’t too upset.’ It sounded lame, but it was worth a shot. She found she couldn’t tell Jonas what had happened. What if he was responsible for the fear and the bruises? Melissa hadn’t said who she was hiding the package from, only that Chloe ‘wasn’t involved’. So did that mean Jonas was?

  ‘She was upset naturally, we all are, but business must go on, and her trip to the New York gallery has been in the diary for a while.’ His voice was warmer now, more genuine in tone. ‘But thank you for asking after her.’

  ‘Oh, well perhaps I can catch up with her when she gets back,’ Chloe said. ‘I just wanted to tell her a friend of mine is interested in buying some of her work.’ It was a flash of inspiration, and she would persuade Alexa to buy a painting if she had too. ‘…She’s based in London, but I sent her a few photographs, and she loves them.’

  ‘That’s great news.’

  Another quirk of Chloe’s was listening to voices. When she was eighteen she had been involved in a car accident. The subsequent head injury had rendered her deaf in both ears for several months. When her hearing returned she found she could pick out tone and nuances in voices that she hadn’t noticed before. It was a random quirk she had been left with, and sometimes it was useful.

  As she listened to Jonas now, she felt his tone warm from cool and polite to friendly. He even asked if she would like to come to a small party tomorrow night to celebrate three new artists. ‘It will be just drinks and canapés, but it would be lovely to see you. Both as an art lover and as a… friend.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll put it in my diary,’ Chloe told him, both pleased and relieved. ‘Thank you for asking me.’

  Pleasantries over, there was an awkward pause, before she invented a fictional knock at the front door, and put the phone down. She found herself analysing the call, much as she used to do with various boyfriends when she was younger. Had he really sounded strained in the beginning, or had she been projecting her worries onto the call? And Melissa. Was she really okay and off to New York, or… Or what? She cursed herself now for not demanding the girl’s mobile number when she had her in the house.

  As a distraction, she turned her laptop on and started to write a business plan for her stables. Apart from everything else, if she followed up on her idea of allowing artists into the stables, it would bring her into the creative circle at Dockyard, and therefore closer to the Stone family.

  Relaunching Beachside Stables was going to be expensive, depending on how ambitious she was going to be with her plans. She bit the end of her pen, trying to stop her mind drifting to the package sitting in the chest.

  After adding another few columns to her spreadsheets on the laptop, she reluctantly concluded that only the most pressing bills could be paid this month. That was the farrier, the vet and the feed merchant.

  Taking a deep breath, she made the money transfers, watching the numbers dwindle as she paid the debts. But at least it was done now, and her rough business plan was taking shape.

  She got up and made herself a coffee, as usual taking a moment to sip reflectively, staring out of the window at the blue-and-gold day.

  It was so different to her London home, which had looked out onto other tower blocks, onto roads and cars and the relentless march of hundreds of people.

  A quick call to the SPCA confirmed that she could pop in later for a ch
at, and to look at the dogs Helen had selected for her. Pleased, Chloe downloaded and filled in the adoption forms from their website, ready for her trip. The rescue centre was on Valley Road, near the Paget Marsh Nature Reserve, and not far from the bus stop.

  Chloe tidied the house, put the washing on, and then remembered a box that arrived with her belongings. With no claims on her time until the SPCA visit, and following that, the soothing routine of settling the animals for the evening, she could make a few candles for the house.

  Soon she was busy melting soy flakes in an old pan. The kit and instructions sat open on the table, along with a couple of pretty teacups she had found.

  Clothes pegs clipped the wicks in place while she poured the hot wax. The only fragrance she had available was peppermint, and once the wax had melted she added a teaspoonful to her mixture. It smelt heavenly but did she need something more Bermuda-inspired for her new home?

  There were a few labels and some string in the bag, but she left the candles to set and headed out to the beach. It was a short scramble down to the high-tide mark, where she took deep breaths of the warm, rich air, trying to analyse the smell. Salt, obviously, but there was a fragrant depth to the island air, and a tinge of sweetness. Clearly she would need to experiment with scents.

  A rush of excitement filled her heart with happiness. She hadn’t been excited about hobbies or work for years. But now the challenge of saving the stables had caught her heart. And she would make candles scented with sunshine and sea, for a beautifully smelling home. Perhaps she might even join that yoga class too.

  The sea tempted her, and she kicked off her shoes and paddled in the surf. Clear water bubbled and sucked at her toes, and her long pale hair lifted in the breeze. Heaven. And a perfect distraction.

  The sand on the beaches varied in colour, but the distinct pink blush seen in abundance, but mainly on the South Shore, was due to geographic make-up as a volcanic archipelago, and the location in the Atlantic Ocean. She could remember Dre telling her that some kind of miniscule insect-like creatures living in the coral left behind tiny pink shells when they died.

  These shells, Dre had lectured in her schoolmistress tone, scooping up a handful of sand, were then broken up by the tides and washed up on the beaches, giving them that beautiful colour.

  Dre could have been standing on the beach in front of her, her long hair streaming out behind her, so strong was the memory. Chloe bit her lip in sudden wistfulness. Further out she could see boats, and along the coast the bob of swimmers’ heads on the waves, paddleboarders making the most of a glorious day, and someone flying a kite on the next beach. She could swim, she really could… But another wave brought coloured strands of seaweed that tangled around her ankles and she felt a twinge of fear. Not today, she thought, the inclination dying. But maybe soon.

  Walking back up the cliff path, panting slightly from the climb, she waved at Antoine, who was saddling Star and Jupiter for a young couple. Must be honeymooners, she thought, smiling at their linked hands and gooey glances.

  Leaving the horses tied up, Antoine shouted over, ‘Hey, Mrs C! Finn called into the house about half an hour ago.’

  Chloe frowned, pausing at the gate, her heart rate speeding up. Had he discovered Melissa had been here last night, or was there news on Matthew’s killer? ‘Did he say what he wanted?’

  Antoine walked over, a riding hat in one hand, lead rein in the other. ‘No, just to call him when you had a minute. He did say it wasn’t urgent, and he only popped in because he was passing.’ Antoine’s brown eyes lingered on the clients, and he lowered his voice. ‘They’ve never ridden before, so I hope they can untangle themselves long enough to balance on the horses.’

  Chloe grinned. The couple were now taking selfies with Star, trying to get the grumpy bay mare to put her ears forward for a photo. ‘They’re onto a loser with Star.’

  ‘Yeah. We’re going out for two hours, so I’ll see you at six.’ He raised his hand in farewell and went back to his charges.

  Chloe went back inside, pleased to see her candles had set and a luscious minty smell permeated the house. Without giving herself time to think, she called Finn.

  ‘Chloe. How are you?’

  ‘Hi, Finn. Sorry I missed you, I went for a walk along the beach,’ she said, trying to keep her tone light and breezy. It wasn’t lying, and it wasn’t withholding information on a murder case. Oh God, she hadn’t thought of that one. ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’

  ‘No trouble. I was just passing. I’ve got the day off tomorrow and I wondered if you might fancy a trip to St George’s?’

  ‘Oh… Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.’ Chloe was totally thrown, having expected questions about Melissa. Her guilty conscience was making her sound like a certifiable loony, she thought. Also, should she mention the man and the bag from Dockyard? She had almost forgotten about that after Melissa’s visit.

  But Alexa’s advice rang in her ears. She had only just moved to the island, and she thought she should definitely be careful about stirring up any trouble, if only for the sake of the business she was hoping to revitalise. Hang on, though, was Finn asking her out on a date?

  ‘Are you sure? Don’t worry if you’re busy,’ he said, having clearly picked up on her confusion.

  ‘No, I’m not. Thank you very much for asking.’

  They arranged to meet outside Chloe’s house at ten, and she felt a pleasant buzz of anticipation. She hadn’t managed to get up to St George’s yet, and it would be lovely to have Finn’s company as she played tourist for a day. His easy conversation and friendliness made him very attractive.

  She could also maybe offload her worries about Melissa. Jonas didn’t seem bothered. The trip had been planned, he said, and in the diary, so she certainly wasn’t missing. If the girl was indeed AWOL surely her brother would be worried, Chloe told herself firmly. It seemed Melissa had gone straight from Chloe’s house to get ready for her business trip. But that still left so many questions. Mainly, who had hurt her and scared her so much?

  Eventually, having designed a basic couple of pages for the new Beachside Stables website, Chloe could stand it no longer. Checking that her doors were locked, and none of her neighbours were in their gardens, she fetched the package from the old chest.

  A knife cut through the heavy plastic wrapping with ease, and she carefully slid away the string to reveal a cardboard box. Reasoning with her guilty conscience, she told herself that it could still be drugs Melissa had left. She needed to check for her own safety. And if it was drugs, she was going straight to Finn, no questions asked.

  It wasn’t drugs. It was a painting, as the girl had insisted. Very beautiful, oil on canvas, and depicting the same figure as The Painted Lady. It fact it was The Painted Lady, but in miniature and slightly different. It was lighter, softer too, with more pale ribbons of pink and scarlet merging with the blackness of the sea at night. At least that was what she thought she saw. It was definitely one of those pictures where what you saw was personal. To her, a woman’s naked body, under the waves, with perhaps a ribbon or rope winding gently around the figure, tangling in the long dark hair?

  As with the other paintings, and the larger Painted Lady, she couldn’t say she liked it. It was still too dark and still stirred unwelcome fears and memories, but wasn’t that the point of creativity? To evoke emotion and response?

  She moved the painting aside. Neatly stacked in the back of the canvas were packages of bank notes. Hundreds, probably thousands of US dollars, wedged carefully into the package. Now what was she going to do?

  11

  Chloe flicked through the notes with a fingernail, and saw that her initial assumption of the amount was correct. This was the kind of money anyone would kill for. Perhaps, though, a miniature of The Painted Lady might be worth even more? She remembered the woman at Dockyard, who had bought a Matthew Georgias painting simply because it was a good investment now he was dead.

  Quickly, she picked up her phone an
d snapped photos of the painting and the money. Melissa had been adamant that this belonged to her, so why was she hiding it? Nothing made any sense. If the drugs rumour was true perhaps she and Matthew owed money and this was to have been a payment.

  The bus dropped Chloe a little way from the rescue centre, and she walked quickly in the late-afternoon sun, hair hot and heavy on her shoulders.

  Helen was waiting at the white-painted gate, and showed her in. ‘I knew your grandmother. I didn’t twig until I looked up the address, but she once brought me a stray dog she found dumped on the edge of the road.’

  ‘Sounds like Dre,’ Chloe said, smiling at her. ‘Any animal or human in distress and she was the first to look after them.’

  ‘So come and have a look around. I’ve got a couple of dogs that might suit you’ – she consulted the paperwork Chloe passed her – ‘I remember Dre had chickens and goats. We stayed in touch and I went over a couple of times. Lovely place she had out there.’

  ‘Yes. I’m very lucky to have inherited it,’ Chloe agreed.

  ‘Shouldn’t be any difficulties with the home visit, but we do need to check… Now come this way and meet your new dog!’

  Chloe followed her round a square, white-painted building, already hearing excited yaps and barks from behind the wire netting, feeling a rush of excitement, coupled with a feeling of sorrow. She knew perfectly well that it would be a tough decision and that she would want to take all the rescue dogs home with her!

  By the time she got home, rushing down the yard for evening stables, Antoine was already halfway through the mucking out.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I’ve been down to the SPCA to choose a dog!’ she explained, quickly collecting the dirty feed bowls.