A Move to Murder: A Bride's Bay Mystery

by Helena Lamb

  “Did you like growing up in London?”

  Beth shrugged. “You don’t know any different, do you? You just accept where you’re born as normal.”

  Just keep the conversation centred on where she was born. No need to talk about the move, or the reasons for it. “I wouldn’t want to go back though. I love it here, the sea, the beach, the air.”

  “Mmm. I can understand that. It’s special. Always different, with the weather and the boats. Always something going on but so easy to go somewhere quiet and peaceful.”

  They were silent as they each gazed at the view ahead of them, the small frills of lace as the waves lapped on the shingle, the sun glinting on the water, the soft green of the countryside on the island.

  “What church is that, do you know? The one with the tall spire.”

  Beth took her sunglasses off to see more clearly. “Which one? I can see two.”

  Tom shifted, put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to the left. For a second Beth froze, then forced herself to breathe slowly and relax. He was very close. Beth could feel the strength and warmth of his hands though her blouse and smell his skin, slightly tangy and musky.

  “There, the one with trees all around, not the one with buildings to the right.”

  Tom was leaning close to her now so his chest was pressed against her back. She could feel and hear him breathing, felt soft breath against her hair. It would be too awkward to pull away, but she knew her spine and shoulders were rigid and tense against his chest and arms. He must have felt it too, pulling away and releasing his hold on her shoulders as she answered “I think it’s All Saints. It’s in Ryde, the ferry goes there from Portsmouth.”

  She put her sunglasses back on to avoid looking at him and missed his curious glance.

  “Anyway, you’ll have to get the ferry over there one day and explore. Just go as a foot passenger; you can get a ticket that includes buses and trains and it’s easy to get around, probably easier than driving on the narrow roads and parking.” Beth knew she was gabbling and jumped to her feet, calling Charlie.

  “I am” he answered easily, patting Tess. “Melissa and I are going on Friday. Neither of us has ever been so we shall explore together.”

  They walked back up the beach and Tom looked down at the top of her blondish brown head. “Same time tomorrow for another history lesson, Miss?”

  Beth laughed. “No, I won’t inflict any more facts on you. But you listened very patiently!”

  “Ah, but do I remember any of it? You can test me sometime” with a wave he walked up the path and Beth continued to her house.

  The answer phone was flashing as Beth let herself in. Carol, sounding a little more cheerful than she had earlier in the week. “Only me. Just to say I saw Doctor Clarke and she’s referred me. But I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

  Carol and Gina were already seated when Beth arrived on Thursday evening. She had dithered about what to wear, still feeling childish pleasure in her new clothes; finally selecting the linen trousers with the coral top and matching sandals, clipping the delicate silver and coral necklace that Nell had found for her round her neck. She picked up the matching stud earrings, reflecting that since her shopping spree she had even started taking more care of her jewellery and amazingly still had two of each earring that she had bought. But she did need to get her hair trimmed, she thought, glancing into the mirror. She didn’t want it any longer, feeling for some reason only the young could wear their hair long. But how silly was that? Gina had hair that swept over her shoulders, blonde and thick and silky. And what about Twiggy? Andie MacDowell? Joanna Lumley? Rachel Weisz? Though come to think of it Rachel Weisz wasn’t old, only in her forties. Still, any longer and she thought it would lose its bounce so she would stick to this length and make an appointment. At least she didn’t need to dye it. Naturally a very dark blonde with lighter streaks, as she had grown older the blonde streaks had become more pronounced, having the effect of lightening the overall colour. She would probably go white but hopefully the white streaks would blend in with the blonde and she didn’t plan to interfere with nature. She suddenly realised the time and rushed down the stairs to grab her bag and keys.

  A bottle of wine was already on the table and Beth poured herself a glass after greeting the other two.

  “So, tell us what he said, now Beth is here” urged Gina. Carol put down her glass, took a breath.

  “She felt my tummy and said it all felt fine, but any post-menopausal bleeding is always followed up so she has referred me to the post menopause clinic at Queen Alexandra’s. It’s within the government’s two week guideline but that’s routine.”

  Carol looked and sounded a lot more like her usual self.

  “And what about Ken? What’s happening there?” enquired Gina.

  “Well, as you can image, Ken is not taking it lying down.” Carol grimaced. “He’s instructed Jerome Caswell, our solicitor? Jerome is dealing with the police while they investigate but so far nothing, no evidence of any wrongdoing or cracks in security, privacy, what have you.”

  “But that’s good; much better to be proactive than to do nothing and worry” stated Beth, failing to see the irony that she was far better at worrying than facing up to things and tackling them. Carol nodded, her grey eyes brighter than they had been the previous Thursday.

  “And apparently nothing has been found with James or his lads either. It all seems to have gone quiet.”

  “So maybe it’s all outsiders after all?” suggested Gina and the three women sat back to enjoy their meal and put worries and suspicions on to the back burner.

  Beth squeezed her way between chairs, trying not to spill her cup of tea, over to the table in the far corner where Melissa and Gina, their backs to her, were looking at something and laughing. Ali motioned her to a seat between her and Frances and Beth sat down thankfully, smiling at Ali. Julian on Ali’s left was deep in conversation with Tom. Ali must have been a stunner as a young girl, Beth thought, not for the first time. Her long, fair hair still fell either side of her face in a centre parting, and her silvery blue eyes were large and expressive. High cheekbones and long dark eyelashes, delicate brows. She had seen their wedding photo; a nineteen year old Ali in a long white lace dress, bare feet, a circlet of white flowers in silvery blonde ringlets that fell softly almost to her waist, perfect luminous skin, eyes huge and innocent, an ethereal beauty. No wonder the young art student Julian had been captivated. Now that same slenderness had aged her, giving her brittleness, aged her skin, and her hair and eyes had lost their sparkle and were dull and colourless. Age had not been kind to her; but Julian, she wondered what he had been like as a youth? Gangling and awkward? Or confident and charismatic? He was certainly charming now; his dark curls soft and silky and his rich brown eyes intense. He had a habit of staring deep into the eyes of whomever he was talking to, listening intently, although Carol had once remarked tartly he probably just needed glasses and hearing aids but was too vain to wear them. Men as well as women got the same treatment and Julian was currently hanging on Tom’s every word as the older man emphasised something with his hands and laughed, lines creasing around his eyes and mouth. Laughter lines, thought Beth cynically, wrinkles on us. Melissa was also laughing and passing her iPhone from Gina to Frances.

  “See, that’s Tom, trying to hide his ice cream from the eagle eyed waitress, and managing to get it all over his jeans! Apparently, only drinks bought there were allowed to be consumed on the premises, not cones from the ice cream kiosk next door.”

  Frances sniffed and passed the phone to Beth.

  “I don’t hold with all these photos on phones. Whatever happened to taking your photo on a camera and having it printed?”

  “But it’s just another way, Frances. You can take photos on a digital camera, or a tablet or iPad, or a phone. Then you can play around with them and create wonderful pictures. Look at David Hockney. His Big Picture exhibition had wonderful work he had produced on his iPad.” Meliss
a sought for further incentives to persuade Frances. “Think of the photos you could take of your garden! They would be wonderful.”

  Another sniff. “I’d rather see the real thing thank you very much. Nature is the best artist.”

  There was no answer to that. Frances’s good mood had obviously been short lived. Beth diplomatically said how good it was to have all these options these days and looked at the photo. Tom was laughing, holding an ice cream cone below the table. His sandy reddish hair flopped over his forehead and his jeans emphasised his long, muscular legs. His arms were tanned and strong, covered with sandy hairs. He really was a very good looking man; the pair of them must have turned a few heads as they strolled around Ryde.

  The phone had reached Julian who looked at the photo and laughed. “A 99 in a cone! Tom man, you need to ask for New Forest ice cream here, not that muck from a machine! Melissa, when we go to Winchester on Friday remind me to take you to Dolby’s. Now they do proper ice cream and you don’t have to eat it under the table!”

  Beth stood up to go and looked round the table to say goodbye, catching Ali’s expression with a shock, a look of part desperation and part fury on the other woman’s face.

  “So the appointment is this Friday, 28th, 10.30. I see the consultant and have a scan.”

  “Do you want me to take you?” Gina offered, knowing Beth would be at work.

  “No, thank you for offering, but Ken is taking the morning off, Harriet can cope.”

  The three women were in the kitchen; Ali, Melissa and Maggie circulating, ensuring everyone had a drink and someone to chat to.

  Maggie appeared and passed a tray of dirty crockery to Beth.

  “I’ll come round and help, those two can cope now.”

  Beth began to wash the dishes that couldn’t go in the dishwasher and Maggie dried them. They had just about finished and were putting them back in the cupboards when Mark appeared, rubbing his hands.

  “Wonderful news” he beamed. “Melissa has just offered to give one of her paintings for the auction of promises next month. She says she will either donate one, or the winner can chose one or commission one. Isn’t that so generous?”

  “That should make some money, it will be very popular.” Gina smiled at the vicar’s obvious excitement.

  “I’m going to pop round later to look at some of the pictures, see if we think it’s best to offer one or let the winner choose. I’m not sure about commissions” frowning “it could put her in an awkward situation. Anyway my love” a kiss was dropped on the approximate area of Maggie’s right cheek “I’ll see you later. Go ahead and have dinner if I’m not back, I’ll heat mine up.”

  Mark almost bounced out of the kitchen.

  “He’ll already be thinking of how best he can use the money, who he can help,” smiled Carol. “Honestly, he would do anything for this church and congregation, wouldn’t he?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Maggie angrily snatched up the cleaning materials from the worktop and tidied them away under the sink, slamming the cupboard door, her face red and her eyes watering as the three women stared at her in astonishment. Then she walked stiffly out of the kitchen and they watched as she walked over the lawn towards the vicarage.

  “Do you think we should follow her?” Beth asked uneasily.

  Carol shook her head. “No. Just leave her. I’ll give her a ring later.”

  They finished clearing away in uneasy silence then left, to go their separate ways.

  Carol phoned Beth later, just as she returned from walking Charlie.

  “She said she was just tired and to ignore her, and that she and Mark had been more affected by the burglaries and gossip than people realised.”

  “Do you think that’s true?”

  “It could be. The Wrens’ stayed with them for over a week, then they’ve done a lot to support James and Becky as well as checking up on me and Ken... but I don’t know, she seemed so bitter.”

  “I know she’s missing the twins. Maybe she’s a bit depressed?”

  “Maybe.” Carol sounded doubtful. “But I get the impression it’s more between her and Mark.” The call ended suddenly as Carol’s doorbell went and Beth looked at the clock and realised it was nearly time for her favourite television programme.

  “So he used to sail down here?” Tom was fascinated by the history of his new town. “Was Cowes Week an event then?” They sat on the shingle in the evening sun, looking over to Cowes on the island.

  “Well, Cowes Week as such began in 1826, though there were races there from the beginning of the 1800’s, but the first cups were presented at the 1826 regatta and that’s the date Cowes Week is taken from. So our William’s father would have raced in the first Cowes Week and then William sailed here from childhood. Of course, the sailing and the area became even more popular after Queen Victoria leased Osborne House in 1844.”

  “I’m impressed.” Tom grinned at her. “You know so much, you should write a book on it.”

  “You’re the writer! Have a change from economics or whatever and write history instead. I might read it then!”

  “Cheek!” Tom jumped up and pulled Beth to her feet, smiling down into her face. “I’ll have you know my books are very popular – amongst economics undergrads who don’t have any choice!”

  Beth laughed, the wind whipping a strand of hair across her face and into her eyes. Tom reached down and pushed it aside, tucking it gently behind her ear. His fingers were soft and warm. A jolt of electricity shot through Beth and her eyes widened as they met his. His fingers lingered on the soft skin behind her ear and his face seemed very close, so close she felt breathless. For a moment she gazed deep into his eyes, seeing the black pupils, the hazel irises with specks of golden amber, the thick lashes and the wrinkles at the corners. Then she jerked back and turned away to pick up her bag, her hands trembling. Tom watched her quietly while he called to Tess and clipped her lead on. Beth couldn’t bear the silence.

  “I’ve got a book on Osborne House if you want to borrow it. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

  “Yes, please. That would be good. Melissa and I want to go back sometime and the house and Carisbrooke Castle are on our list of places to see. We were going to go this Friday but Julian has arranged to see his artist in Winchester, so she blew me out for that!” Tom was back to his relaxed self, striding easily along but stopping every now and then to wait for Tess, and the walk home was made in the usual companionable way.

  The wind dropped and the air that night was still and humid. Beth tossed and turned, getting up to open the window, then to close it as moths flew in. One flew close to her head and Beth had a vivid memory of Tom’s warm eyes and his gentle fingers in her hair, followed by an image of Melissa and her laughing, beautiful face. She wouldn’t have jumped like a scalded cat. The memory was painfully embarrassing. But so what? Tom wasn’t interested in her; he was out and about with Melissa. Or Gina. Gina had been out for dinner with him a couple of times, before going to local concerts together, both sharing a love of classical music and choral singing. She hadn’t said much about the evenings simply that they had been pleasant and he was good company. Beth was reluctant to quiz her friend about it and Carol had been too preoccupied, worrying about her doctor’s appointment, to exhibit her usual curiosity. What difference did it make anyway? Beth could never let him get close, even if he wanted to. Her last jumbled thought before she went to sleep was that he wouldn’t want to and she didn’t want him to, and even if she did, or he did, she couldn’t, could she?

  Julian dressed carefully for his day in Winchester. Ali watched him bleakly, as he brushed his hair and splashed cologne on his face. Designer stubble. He was wearing his best summer suit, linen, in a pale biscuit colour, with a sage green shirt, open enough to reveal the dark curls on his chest. He planned to introduce Melissa to his artist in the morning then take her out for a good lunch and spend a leisurely afternoon showing her around Winchester. He knew a small hotel that was very discreet. Smiled at the
thought they may end up there. He had already told Matt Brett that he couldn’t take him for lunch this time, pressure of work and all that, he would make up for it on the next visit. A few last minute instructions to Ali and he bounded out of the door, grabbing his keys and briefcase on the way.

  But he wasn’t going to take Melissa to Winchester that day. Or any other day.

  Parking the car outside her house, he strolled down the path and followed it round to the back of the house, hands in his pockets. The kitchen door was open, sunlight streaming in. He stepped into the kitchen, called out hello. No answer. Through into the hall. Called again. Silence. Was she upstairs? Or maybe she was in her studio; trust her to be working before they left!

  She wasn’t working.

  She was lying on the floor; face turned away from him, long legs stretched out, in her short red linen skirt. A matching red blouse. And a red hat. Why was she wearing a hat, in this weather? He slumped against the wall and opened his mouth in a silent scream as his brain processed what his eyes were seeing. It wasn’t a hat. Or a red blouse. Melissa lay in a pool of blood.

  Chapter 7

  Of course the news spread like wild fire.

  The sirens were heard first, by the visitors strolling along the beach path, and then police cars and an ambulance were seen racing along Bay Road West, turning into Church Road, then Addison Road, then Addison Crescent. People stopped what they were doing to watch the screaming procession, a mix of excitement and concern on their faces. Shop owners appeared at their shop doorways, peering along the road, then shrugged and returned to serving their queues of customers. The trio of noisy vehicles screeched to a halt at the same time, at the same place, outside the unremarkable detached house halfway along Addison Crescent.

  Paramedics and police ran round to the back of the house, entered the Kitchen, stopped at the sight of the crumpled figure on the hall floor. Julian sat huddled against the wall in the hall, shaking and sobbing, his head on his knees, his arms clasped tightly around his skull, flattening the curls, tears dripping down his face, soaking his jeans. His legs shook violently and his shoes drummed a rhythm on the wooden floorboards. A paramedic squatted down beside him as the police disappeared into the studio, called to him, asked his name. Julian pulled at his head, his hair, his skull. Heard the banging on the floor, the voice calling him, but wouldn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He was underwater; he could see faces and bodies swimming close to him then retreating silently, their mouths moving but making no sound. Yes, there was a sound, a roaring in his ears. He tried to release his grasp on his hair, move his head. Opened his mouth to talk to the faces swimming past him but couldn’t make them hear him. They weren’t listening. Why wouldn’t they listen? He opened his mouth wider, shouted at them. Get her up. Make her talk to me. We’re going out. Tell her to wake up. He yelled louder, louder and louder but still no one listened. He was screaming, saliva flying out of his mouth, teeth bared and aching. A face swam right up to his and opened and closed its mouth. Julian could see pockmarks in the face, black pupils, gold teeth, but still no sound, except the roaring of the waves and his screams. He felt his arm picked up, heavy, it was too heavy. Put it down. It’s too heavy to hold up. It’s not flesh and bone. It’s rock. Solid rock. The waves are pounding on the rocks. Pulling and pushing at anything in their way. Then the waves crashed over his head and he was swept away, floating, floating.