Murder on the Island

by Daisy White

  She went back out to the kitchen, running a frustrated hand through her hair. ‘Benji, did you see anyone when you arrived?’

  ‘Here? No. There was a bloke packing up equipment next to that blue van’ – he paused in his work, thinking – ‘but nobody near your house. Are you all right, Mrs Canton?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ She went into the bathroom and closed the door, but made no attempt to put her make-up on or do her hair. Her pulse was racing, and her reflection showed her normally rosy cheeks were pale and her mouth pursed with worry.

  The painting, if it was another version of The Painted Lady was now safe with her. Matthew was dead… And yet the painting had been returned. Kaila had been arrested. Someone was either threatening her or trying to warn her, about Melissa. What was the link between these tremors in the artistic community?

  She was dragged back from her thoughts by the ticking on the large cream clock on the wall. Half an hour to get ready, pay Benji, lock up and go. At least she could tell Finn she had the painting back. And Melissa would need to know too.

  She forced herself into action, but in the bedroom her gaze kept drifting towards the painting. Melissa’s painting. Was the money really hers too? The girl had been very insistent that she hadn’t stolen the painting, but what of the hard cash? There had been no mention of Melissa in any of the recent speculative pieces online, just jealousy, art, love and drugs. A potent and almost sexy mix if you saw things in that light. Irresistible to the tabloids.

  Her hand went to her mouth as the thought occurred to her. What if it was a love triangle; plain and not so simple; Matthew, Kaila and Melissa? The names seemed to be branded on the dressing table in front of her. She definitely needed to see Finn but she would be careful what she told him. Chloe was stronger than she had ever thought, and just at that moment she felt the need to prove it.

  Finn’s car arrived just as she was fastening her star necklace. It genuinely made her feel closer to her grandmother. She did so hope that she could make a go of things, and make Dre proud, as Peter had so sweetly said. Dre had been strong too. Independent and proud.

  She and Finn were eating at The Ocean Club tonight. It was a lovely venue and they had a table outside on the terrace, overlooking the sea. They barely broke in their conversation as they were seated and ordered drinks.

  ‘Whoever took it must have slipped it back sometime after I changed for the photoshoot. But I don’t get why they didn’t hang on to the painting. There was a lot of money but the miniature Painted Lady must be worth more?’

  Finn sipped his white wine thoughtfully. ‘It might mean somebody is watching the house.’

  ‘That’s a horrible thought. Have you heard if Melissa’s back yet?’ Chloe glanced around. They were speaking in lowered tones, and only four of the other tables were occupied, but she was taking no chances. She had decided not to mention the texts.

  There were no direct threats in them, and it really did feel ever since she arrived on the island, trouble had followed her around. If she could deal with things herself, nobody else would think of her as a drama queen, or an attention-seeker.

  ‘She’s come back a day early. I was down at the gallery today as part of our ongoing investigation. Melissa was there. She was shocked by the recent revelations.’

  ‘Kaila Montana.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But back to the painting, Melissa would hardly take and then return her own property, would she? Is that what you’re getting at?’

  ‘I suppose not. I’m glad I had the locks changed though.’ Another problem. Chloe was fiercely loyal to Ailsa now, and the last thing she was going to do was suggest her grandson might have stolen property. Not unless she was absolutely sure it was Jordan.

  He sighed. ‘To reassure you, I also checked in with Jonas and Arron. They have purchased the four properties on the cliff above the pen where you found Goldie. It was a logical step to move their apartment development in that direction. They did have a meeting with the site manager and several potential buyers around that time.’

  ‘I just don’t know what to think about Goldie’s abduction…’ Chloe said, breaking a crusty roll and spreading butter. ‘The obvious answer is, someone heard I wasn’t going to sell up, and is trying to ensure my business fails. But who?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know at this point but I can’t hound people without any cause,’ Finn told her, grinning.

  Chloe sighed. A quick change of subject seemed in order. ‘I know, and I’m sorry. You don’t need extra hassle on top of the murder case. How is Sheetal? Jonas said she was going home to spend time with her parents.’

  ‘She is. It is pretty terrifying to know that you possibly just escaped murder,’ Finn said.

  ‘Don’t tell me anything if you can’t. I mean, I’m not trying to pry.’ Chloe was intrigued though. Petty, spiteful crimes against her property and herself were all very well, but it was good to know the murder seemed to be something that wasn’t connected to her. ‘I’m glad you’ve got Kaila, if it was her, I mean. It must be so awful for Matthew’s family wondering what happened, and why…’

  ‘Well, the press seem to have their own ideas, and they aren’t always right.’ Finn met her eyes and smiled. ‘I can’t tell you anything else, but let’s say I hope you feel that you can rest easier in your bed, knowing that we have solved Matthew’s murder case.’

  Relieved, but not entirely convinced, Chloe nodded. ‘Thank you. And you honestly think Melissa is all right?’

  ‘We have to hope so. I have no evidence to suggest that she isn’t, put it that way. Whatever the family dynamics between her brother and stepfather, I think it would be fair to say, she can take care of herself.’

  ‘But I still have her painting,’ Chloe reminded him, ‘and she must think I still have her money too. And she knows that you know. Now I’m getting confused!’

  She had brought the painting with her to show him before dinner. In the safety of his car, they had both checked the packaging and the painting for clues, and then Finn had locked it securely in the boot, saying he would see if the police could get any prints from it.

  Their starters arrived, and Chloe tucked into delicious sushi rolls, served on pretty blue glass plates. It was lovely eating with Finn, who, in the short time they had known each other, never made her feel self-conscious. She had always enjoyed her food, but Mark’s constant comments about her weight, her bad taste in wine, her lack of enthusiasm for whatever venue he had chosen, had put her off.

  The sun had lost the intense heat of the day, but the evening warmth was lingering.

  ‘So tell me about the Kite Festival,’ she said, deliberately relaxing and taking another sip of wine, as the main courses arrived. She had chosen Bermuda style Rockfish, with toasted almond gremolata, and Finn was eating Bermudian fish chowder, which smelled heavenly. ‘I think I remember going down to Horseshoe Beach to fly a home-made kite with Dre when I was a child, but it’s a bit like a half memory. Something that could have been a dream.’

  ‘It’s part of the Easter celebrations. Usually there are around ten of us, friends, relatives… We grab a spot on the sand, lay down the blankets and enjoy the show. There’s always plenty of food too. The kids have been making kites all week.’

  ‘Did you say you have five nieces?’

  ‘Yes. And two nephews. It will be a good way for you to get to know a few more people, tout for business.’ He was grinning at her.

  ‘Business? Do you mean for the stables?’ She paused to take a sip of wine.

  ‘Unless you’re going to tell me that you have another budding business idea tucked under your wings somewhere?’

  She laughed, then looked down at the pale-blue tablecloth, smoothing out the tiny creases with a finger. ‘Of course not. The photoshoot has saved the stables for a while… Fiona sent an email with a contract proposal for Palm Bay Hotel, and it looks to be an excellent way forward. But we can’t afford to lose any more bookings.’

  ‘I thou
ght your other ideas for the stables and horses were great – the art classes and the yoga on the beach after a ride… You can do whatever you want, Chloe, and it doesn’t have to be just one thing.’ He was smiling at her in the candlelight.

  ‘You’re right.’ She could see the waiting staff hovering as more tables were filling up. ‘Thank you so much for dinner too, it was wonderful.’

  ‘No problem, I enjoyed it too. Now we need to go and collect your new dog, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes! If you’re sure you have the time?’ Chloe said, trying to read his expression.

  ‘It’s not a long drive and I’d like to see your new guard dog safely installed at the stables,’ Finn told her.

  Chloe laughed. ‘You make her sound like a surveillance camera!’

  After a short wrangle over payment (Finn insisted and she allowed him to pay on the premise that she would get their next meal) they wandered down the steps, out into the darkness.

  Chloe felt the first squirming of awkwardness. It was too romantic. The candlelight, the setting… Although as Fiona had observed when they first met, in Bermuda you’d be hard pushed to find anywhere that wasn’t romantic, she chided herself.

  Their hands brushed as they walked, and she chattered on about her business plans to fill the silence.

  There was one moment, when they reached the car, and he opened the door for her. She bent down to get in, gathering her long dress around her, and found their heads close together. Panicking, she quickly got in, and made a random remark about how she had to be up early and how kind it was of him to offer to pick up Hilda.

  The drive to the rescue centre was slightly tense, with Chloe keenly aware of Finn’s tall, solid presence next to her. She broke the silence with some chatter about how she hoped the dog would settle in okay.

  Finn smiled at her. ‘I should think she’ll be very happy. Stop worrying.’

  Helen was at the gate watching for them. She had brought Hilda out of the kennels and into her house ready. The dog was wildly excited, snuffling both Finn and Chloe with a very cold, wet nose. But she was well behaved and didn’t jump up.

  ‘She’s a lovely dog and I’m sure she’ll be very happy with you,’ Helen said, handing her over, ‘but if you have any problems or just want to chat something over then call me.’

  ‘I will, and thank you.’ Chloe was on her knees, the pretty dress pooling at her feet as she cuddled the delighted dog.

  Spared any awkwardness by Hilda’s bouncy presence in the car, Chloe thanked Finn again for a lovely evening and fled towards her house, hearing him depart down the driveway as she opened the front door.

  Hilda seemed pleased with her new home, and after an initial exploration sank down happily on the rug in the living room, tongue lolling as she panted. Her bright brown eyes inquisitive and roving around the room.

  As instructed, Chloe filled up the water bowl, and gave Hilda just a small handful of food to help settle her in. The dog ate quickly, tail waving constantly, and after a quick drink she consented to a walk around the garden with Chloe.

  Chloe kept her on the lead, showing her the fence line but stopping short of the stables. The night garden was cool, fresh and fragrant with spring flowers. She steeled herself as her phone buzzed again, hoping it would be Finn, or Helen checking up on her. But it wasn’t:

  Be careful, Chloe. Trust nobody. Stay safe.

  Had the tone of the message changed a little? This was certainly more of a warning. Chloe darted a worried gaze around the perimeter of her garden, walking to the gate, accompanied by Hilda. The yard was quiet, the gates locked and stable doors bolted. Goldie gave a low wicker, but the other horses were silent.

  Later, with Hilda settled on her bed in the kitchen, Chloe decided the texts seemed to be concerned for her safety, warnings for her own protection, and therefore, could safely be considered unthreatening. No need to worry anyone else with them. She could deal with this. Murder and the like was a case for the police. Not this.

  She dragged off the dress, pulled on her pyjamas, and poured a glass of rum. Unable to think about sleep, Chloe determinedly turned on her computer and settled down to working on the Beachside Stables website. Work would take her thoughts away from the many worries wriggling around at the back of her mind.

  The dog, having slipped unnoticed from her bed, padded across the room, resting a soft muzzle on her leg. Chloe fondled the soft ears, smiling as Hilda’s tail wagged hopefully.

  ‘You need to go back in your bed,’ she told her eventually.

  Hilda padded obediently back to her smart tweed bed, watching Chloe’s movements with her head on her paws. Slightly worried that Hilda might feel abandoned, Chloe left her bedroom door open a crack, so the dog could see her.

  It was just past one when Chloe woke, blinking blearily at her bedside clock. She lay still, closing her eyes again, when the sound came. It was a scraping noise, like something heavy was being dragged.

  From her feet came a small growl, and she bolted upright, hands encountering soft fur and a wet nose. It seemed that Hilda had decided Chloe’s bed was more comfortable than hers.

  The dog growled again, ears pointed upwards, hackles rising, her eyes bright.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Chloe whispered to her, smoothing a shaking hand across her back. The dog ignored her, and continued the low rumble in her throat.

  Fully awake, her heart thumping, Chloe pulled her dressing gown on and crept out of her bedroom. The moonlight flooded her house, making the rooms almost as clear as day. She paused and listened again. Hilda was still growling.

  The noise was fainter. Was someone in the yard? Almost without thinking, she found herself grabbing the big heavy torch, unlocking the door and walking quickly towards her horses, the black dog trotting at her side. No way was anyone hurting them again, and she was sick of this campaign. She would find out who was doing their very best to drive her away.

  All at once, the anger that had driven her out left her standing in the middle of the moonlit yard. There was rustling of straw and the horses poked their noses over the half doors, watching her with interest.

  But she wasn’t looking at the animals, she was staring at the bare concrete of the yard. As ever it was swept clean by Antoine, but now there was an addition to the pale neatness.

  Somebody had written in red paint:

  GO AWAY

  Really? The relief was so sharp she found herself laughing like a crazy woman. She had been all keyed up for… for a dead body or a missing horse, but this… Blinking tears from her eyes, taking deep breaths of the salty night air, she studied the graffiti carefully.

  Next to the unimaginative wording was a daubed drawing of a hangman dangling from a noose. She remembered playing the game as a kid, but here, in the lonely depths of the night, it didn’t seem so funny. Chloe stopped laughing and shivered.

  23

  A noise from behind made her jump, but it was only a large ginger cat, his eyes luminous and huge as he padded towards the muck-heap. Hilda eyed the cat but didn’t chase him. Clearly the dog was used to cats and knew who had the upper hand.

  Chloe stood and dithered for a moment longer. She couldn’t hear anything else. The tack room and storage shed were locked and bolted. Her house! She had come out and left the door open in her haste, idiot that she was. In her pocket was her mobile phone. But again she hesitated to call the police. She was fed up with someone trying to scare her. She was a grown woman, a homeowner, a business owner, not a child. And there was the stables to consider. After the success of the photoshoot, the new hotel contract, she didn’t need any bad press. Goldie’s abduction had turned the press in her favour and she wanted to keep it that way.

  She would deal with this herself. It had become a mantra. After all, she told the cat and dog firmly, it was just a bit of paint that would wash off in the morning. Annoyed to discover her hands were shaking, she snapped a few photos with her phone, just in case the police ever needed to know.

  Once th
is was done, Chloe walked carefully back to her house, pointing her torch at shadows, and dark corners. Comforted by the dog’s lack of interest, she watched her jog round the garden, snuffling for night creatures. Her hackles were down now, and if she wasn’t bothered, whoever had disturbed them was clearly gone.

  Back in the house, she checked every single inch for intruders, and finally went to sleep in an armchair, the torch and phone on her lap, Hilda at her feet.

  The next morning she woke up stiff and exhausted to hear Antoine banging on her door. ‘I’m fine and I know about the paint,’ she told him sleepily, as she opened the door.

  ‘Did you see who did it?’ Antoine asked, brow crinkling with worry.

  ‘No. I heard a noise, and went outside about one, but there was no sign of any visitors, just the writing,’ she told him. ‘Coffee? Oh this is Hilda by the way.’ The little dog sniffed Antoine’s fingers and wagged her tail. With her big black ears flopped sideways, and her wide grinning mouth she looked a little like a frog.

  ‘She’s… cute. Did she bark last night?’ He came in and sat down, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘And have you called the police?’

  Chloe turned back to face him, a steaming mug in each hand. The heavenly smell of fresh coffee forced her brain to work properly. ‘She woke me up growling, and when I went out she looked around the garden but whoever did it was clearly gone by then.’ Chloe paused, thinking. ‘And no to the police. I didn’t call them and I’m not going to. Listen, I’ve been going over and over the whole thing, and I want to try a new approach. We aren’t going to bother the police, because each time we do, the incident is logged, word gets out that something else has happened.’