Murder On Mustique

by Glenconner Anne

  ‘I expected gold leaf and crystal lamps.’

  ‘Me too, Lady Vee, but the most important thing is to keep you both safe. I want you to invite Phillip to stay, and ask Wesley to sleep at Eden House, until the violence ends.’

  ‘That should be easy; they’re both worried about us.’

  ‘There’s safety in numbers. Tell me what you’ve arranged for the beach party tonight please.’

  ‘People need the chance to speak about Tommy and Amanda; we’ve all been deeply affected by losing them. I’ve got Basil’s Bar to arrange everything tonight on Britannia Bay, with music, drinks and a barbecue. Everyone on the island’s welcome.’

  ‘The killer’s likely to be there. I imagine he was at the memorial service too, witnessing the pain he’s caused. We all need to keep our wits about us and look for any odd behaviour.’ Nile scribbles a note in his book. ‘It’s still important we find out who could have got a key to your house, Lady Vee. Think hard if anyone’s been inside alone, please, with time to go through your things.’

  ‘I will, Solomon.’ I stumble to my feet, suddenly energised. ‘I need to check our house is secure. Don’t worry about me getting home, I’ll be fine on my buggy.’

  I say a hasty goodbye to Lily and Solomon, before hurrying outside. The building’s heat felt so oppressive, I’m eager for fresh air. We’re stuck on an island where someone is playing vile tricks on us. It bothers me more than anything that the killer left a piece of coral outside Lily’s room. She could be next on his list, but it’s a threat I don’t fully understand, despite knowing more about the Obeah signs. I’ve taken care to lock every door since Amanda went missing, even though Jasper and I spent years there in perfect safety. It would require nerve to break into a locked house at night to leave your message of doom. Whoever did it has courage, or they’ve lost their mind so completely they don’t care about getting caught.

  35

  NILE EXPECTS LILY to chase after her godmother, but she’s still sitting on one of the station’s ugly plastic chairs, inspecting fragments of coral. His phone rings before either of them can speak again. He hears a woman’s sharp cry for help, before the line dies.

  ‘Sacha Milburn’s in trouble.’

  When Nile rushes from the police station, Lily follows, the island a blur of green as the motorbike revs faster. Stargazer villa looks peaceful when they pull up, the terrace still guarded by telescopes on raised plinths. It’s only when they reach the terrace that Nile sees a pink tinge to the swimming pool, and a dark shape at the bottom.

  Lily kicks off her shoes and dives in first, dragging Sacha Milburn to the surface. The detective hauls her inert body onto the marble terrace, keeping his panic locked down. Sacha’s skin feels cold as he lays her in the recovery position then pummels her stomach until water gushes from her mouth. When he presses two fingers to her throat her pulse is barely perceptible.

  ‘Not you as well,’ he mutters under his breath.

  He can tell she’s slipping away. The girl is unnaturally pale, blood dripping from the back of her head, her long dress plastered against her skin. Lily keeps Sacha’s airways clear as he pumps his hands up and down on her breastbone. He remembers the first aid training from his police induction, but it may be too late. Blood is still dripping from Sacha’s head wound, her jaw slack, until her body shudders back into life. Lily cradles her friend’s head as she coughs up water and Nile feels his shoulders relax. He’s found two corpses already this week; he couldn’t forgive himself if another victim died.

  Dr Pakefield remains silent when Nile calls his mobile, finally giving a few terse instructions before hanging up, but Lily is already using a towel to stem the blood from Sacha’s wound. Nile glances around the terrace, trying to gauge what happened. There’s a glass of juice beside her red pen on a table nearby, but her notebook is missing. He’s willing to guess that she came back from the memorial service and buried her sadness in writing, but the killer stole her journal, in case it held incriminating information. The story grows clearer when he sees blood spattered on the ground. When he traces it back he can tell she was struck near the stairs up from the beach, then ran towards her house. The young woman must have been holding her phone; she called him before being shoved into the water, her mobile phone still lying at the bottom of the pool. The killer must have believed his work was done, safe in the knowledge that her staff were at the Bamboo Church, enjoying the hospitality after Tommy Rothmore’s memorial.

  Sacha is reviving when Nile crouches beside her again. ‘Did you see who hurt you?’

  ‘He caught me from behind.’ Her voice is groggy, eyes closing like she’s desperate for sleep.

  ‘Stay awake, sweetheart,’ Lily whispers. ‘Dr Pakefield’s on his way.’

  ‘Not him, please. I don’t want to see him again.’ Tears spill from her half-closed eyes.

  ‘Why are you scared?’ Nile asks. ‘It’s okay, you’re safe now.’

  Dr Pakefield’s face is solemn when he arrives. He’s still wearing the dark suit he wore to Rothmore’s memorial, his appearance anonymous, yet his arrival upsets the victim. She tries to squirm away when he approaches.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ she cries out, then her eyes suddenly fall shut.

  ‘Don’t worry about her behaviour. Head injuries can make patients hallucinate,’ the medic says. ‘Help me lift her into the ambulance please.’

  The young woman is drifting in and out of consciousness. Lily clambers into the vehicle, leaving Nile alone on the terrace. There’s blood on his white shirt, trousers soaked by chlorinated water, and Lily has forgotten her sandals. She was so keen to help her old friend she stepped into the ambulance barefoot and soaking wet. A smile of admiration appears on his face when he remembers her plunging into the pool fully dressed, but Sacha had a narrow escape. Only a combination of luck and good teamwork kept her alive.

  Nile is about to drive back to the police station when someone appears on the steps to Sacha’s villa. The man’s figure is distinctive, with grey dreadlocks and a garish shirt, his jeans bleached pale by time. Dexter Adebayo’s sartorial style hasn’t changed in decades, but he looks strained when their eyes meet. He keeps his sunglasses on when Nile approaches, scanning the terrace before giving his greeting.

  ‘Where’s Sacha? Is something wrong?’

  ‘She was attacked. The ambulance just took her to the medical centre.’

  Nile is interested by his reactions. Adebayo seems shocked, but he’s also struggling to keep still. The sheen of sweat on his face and rapid hand movements suggest intoxication.

  ‘Why are you here, Dex?’

  ‘Sacha invited me, but didn’t say why. She’s a pal of mine, and I know she’s having a hard time. I guess she had a thing for Tommy Rothmore, and now he’s gone.’ Adebayo shuffles backwards, trying to escape Nile’s stare.

  ‘You seem tense today, Dex.’

  ‘The memorial put me on edge. I moved here from St Lucia for peace and quiet, not violence.’

  ‘Tell me what you know about coral, please. You’re a diver, after all. You see it every day.’

  Adebayo nods his head. ‘I’ve known its importance since my childhood. My dad was a fisherman, like yours. He taught me that it protects marine life. If it dies, we all go hungry.’

  ‘You were raised the Obeah way, weren’t you?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything to me now, just old voodoo that stopped working a long time ago.’

  ‘Tell me more about that Bayrider you share with Basil’s. Don’t you ever take it out, early in the morning, for a solo dive? You were passionate about it, back in the day.’

  ‘Every ride has to pay for itself; I never take it out alone,’ the man replies, his gaze slipping to the ground. ‘Give Sacha my regards, please. That young lady’s a favourite of mine.’

  Adebayo backs away, leaving Nile alone on the terrace, the swimming pool’s filtration system already removing the pink tinge from the water, like nothing had happened. He searches for the
killer’s calling card, but finds nothing, until he walks down the steps to the beach. A piece of coral has been dumped near the top, just like the pieces Nile found in the victims’ homes. The detective takes a photo of the carved spider’s web cut into its pale surface, but something snaps in his mind when he looks at it again. He’s so sick of the killer’s games he hurls it onto the beach below. Dexter Adebayo could have attacked Sacha earlier, aware that she’d be alone, then returned to gloat over his success and leave his calling card. The case is forcing him into unfamiliar territory, where people he’s liked and trusted all his life are starting to look like murderers.

  36

  WESLEY’S ATTENTION TO detail shows when I enter the kitchen. Platters of salad, pâté and cheese have been left in the fridge, as if Lily and I would starve without his expertly prepared food. The idea that someone may have taken my spare set of keys to Eden House has left me jittery. I wander from room to room, checking every window and door, but the locks are intact. The keys lie in my desk drawer inside an old cigar tin, exactly where I left them, until I slip them into my pocket. The island still looks idyllic, but the storm is making its presence felt. A hot breeze is blowing through my garden, tearing petals from the orchids, young banana plants swaying in the breeze. The forecast says that Storm Cristobal will arrive tomorrow. The chances are even that it will skim past us, or leave Mustique ravaged, and the island’s fragility has never seemed more obvious. Mustique is just a speck of coral, caught between the Caribbean and the Atlantic, at the mercy of competing forces.

  I’m still thinking about the storm when I call Jasper’s hotel, on the off-chance he’s there. It’s a relief when he picks up immediately.

  ‘This is extraordinary, Vee. It’s the first time you’ve phoned me in forty years.’ The delight in his voice echoes down the line.

  ‘That’s a huge exaggeration. I’m just checking how you are.’

  ‘Ecstatic, actually. The contractors are listening for once, and the second shipment of marble is perfect quality.’

  ‘Well done, darling.’

  There’s silence before he speaks again. ‘What’s up, Vee? You sound low.’

  ‘It’s awful news, I’m afraid. We found Amanda’s body this morning. I’ve organised a wake tonight, for her and Tommy, but I feel like going to bed and crying.’

  ‘You phoned for moral support?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘Listen, darling girl, I’m worried about you, and promise me you’ll take care of Lily. You matter far more than these stupid villas.’

  ‘You really are the oddest man. You drive me mad with worry about your building project for days, then you say something incredibly sweet.’

  ‘I mean it, Vee. I’d go to hell in a handcart without you.’

  Jasper rarely expresses his emotions, as if it would involve a loss of face, so his words linger as I replace the receiver. My husband may be heedless sometimes, but he struck exactly the right tone, reviving my spirits in moments. I set off to Phillip’s villa on my buggy without calling in advance. I feel bad about abandoning him after the church service without saying goodbye. It’s only a short ride on the buggy, but the humidity levels are rising with the oncoming storm, my clothes sticking to my skin.

  Phillip’s villa looks appealing as I pull up outside, even though the wind is shaking blossoms from his trees, purple flowers scattered on the ground. Jacaranda may be one of the smallest homes on Mustique, but I love its quirky style. The swimming pool looks like a tropical spring, surrounded by slabs of petrified coral, with wildflowers growing in between. My friend is sitting outside, gazing at the water’s surface like it holds the answers to life’s deepest mysteries. He’s abandoned the Armani suit he wore to Tommy Rothmore’s memorial, dressed now in shorts and a white linen shirt that accentuates his tan. I can tell that something’s wrong. He doesn’t notice me crossing the lawn, his expression shell-shocked when he finally looks up.

  ‘Jesus, Vee, you frightened the life out of me.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. Are visitors here really so rare?’

  He manages a shaky smile. ‘My nerves are shot, that’s all.’

  ‘Let me get us both a drink, I know where you keep everything.’

  ‘Don’t go inside, please. The place is so infested with bloody mosquitoes I’ve sprayed everywhere with Deet. I won’t let you inhale those nasty chemicals.’ He gazes back at me. ‘Did Lily get hold of you? She just called me from the medical centre.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Sacha Milburn was attacked just now. She’s okay apparently, but I can hardly believe it.’ His face looks haunted.

  ‘All of this hurts you a great deal, doesn’t it?’

  ‘My childhood was a warzone, Vee. It’s ringing all the wrong bells.’

  ‘I wish you’d tell me about it.’

  ‘It’s not a pretty story. My parents were too poor to feed their big pack of kids, so we ended up fighting for scraps of food and affection. There was never enough to go round, so the attacks were brutal.’ He gives a shaky smile. ‘Isn’t it weird how the past seems to get bigger, instead of fading, as we age? I thought it would get easier with time.’

  ‘Have you seen a therapist?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Too many Hollywood shrinks sell your secrets to the press. I’ve always hated being talked about, unless it’s for a stellar performance.’

  ‘There must be someone discreet, darling, if the past still troubles you. I promise this place will soon be calm again.’ I lay my hand on his arm. ‘If we let it scare us, the killer’s won. Would you mind staying with Lily and me at Eden House until the danger’s over? I’m going to ask Wesley too. We’d both feel safer with you around.’

  His face brightens immediately. ‘I’d love it.’

  ‘I’ve brought you keys, so you can come and go as you like. Lily will be overjoyed, and there’s safety in numbers.’

  Phillip plants a kiss on my cheek, leaving me wondering why I didn’t invite him sooner. The man’s been alone all summer, with a broken heart. I remember hearing about the misery of his childhood in Canada, on a rundown farm. His mother and father blamed each other for their poverty, leaving Phil and his siblings caught in the crossfire. I feel a fresh wave of admiration for the man he’s become and notice the spring in his stride when he dashes off to fetch us both a drink. He returns with two Manhattans on a silver tray, the blend of rye and vermouth just right, with a maraschino cherry to sweeten the mix. His impeccable style will be an added bonus to having him as a house guest.

  ‘Let’s forget our troubles, Phil. I want to enjoy tonight’s soirée; all we have to do is stick together, and keep watch. I’ve got the oddest feeling that the killer’s right under our noses, if we could only see the wood for the trees.’

  ‘I love your fighting spirit, Vee.’ Phillip’s face breaks into a grin at last.

  ‘I’ll find the bastard that’s doing this, believe me. When I discover who it is, I’ll have him locked up for good.’

  ‘Don’t take any risks, and promise me one thing. Carry a phone from now on; I’ve got a spare you can keep. It’s madness to be out of reach at a time like this.’

  ‘No, darling. Those things are sent to torment us. If a conversation’s worth having it can wait till I get home.’

  I take another sip of my perfectly mixed drink, while Phillip tells me about his preparations for the storm, fitting shutters, and carrying furniture inside. I mustn’t alarm Phillip in his fragile state, but the most recent attack has shaken me. Sacha Milburn is the third member of Lily’s social circle to be targeted, making me afraid she could be next. All the more reason to gather everyone I love close tonight, so no one gets hurt.

  37

  IT’S 7P.M. WHEN Nile returns to the police station, still reflecting on Sacha Milburn’s attack. Dex Adebayo’s behaviour will need checking, and so will Sacha’s defensive behaviour towards the doctor. He’s determined to find Jose Gomez, before riding down to Britan
nia beach. The young man can’t keep running forever. He’s failed to report for duty three days in a row, and his mother has been close-lipped on the phone, but now it’s time for answers.

  The Gomez family’s cabin still looks vulnerable, raised on its flimsy platform beside the beach. Papa Gomez is a fisherman, but his small boat lies stranded on the pink sand. Nile is glad to see that most of the boats have been dragged inland, to protect them from the storm. It looks like someone’s at home this time. Luella Gomez is hard at work when he parks the motorbike. She’s halfway up a ladder, nailing hardboard to a screen door, as if the thin material could prevent her home from being ripped apart, if the weather turns savage.

  Nile is surprised by Luella’s reaction when he calls her name. She rushes down the ladder, then launches herself into his arms. The gardener’s mother weeps until her tears soak through the fabric of his shirt, and he can only murmur words of comfort. Luella is a thin Creole woman of around fifty, the mother of five children, with a husband who’s either at sea, or in the local bar getting drunk, leaving her to cope alone. She juggles two jobs as a cook and a cleaner, just like his mother did, when she was alive.

  ‘Come and sit down, Luella. Tell me what’s wrong.’

  Mrs Gomez fishes a tissue from the pocket of her housecoat. ‘Sorry, I hate being like this, but I’m so worried.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Jose never came home from work yesterday, and he’s been so upset. I’m afraid they’ll pull him from the sea, like that boy in Old Plantation Bay.’

  ‘I saw him just now at the Bamboo Church.’

  ‘Thank God he’s alive.’ Mrs Gomez crosses herself several times, as if Jose’s fate will be decided by her faith alone.

  ‘Has he been okay at home? Jose’s been following Phillip Everard and Lady Vee around, day and night.’