Murder On Bwytheney

by Elizabeth. M. Newby

  “I couldn’t tell you were from the ‘Pool,” I teased. Most of those on the island had a Welsh lilt to their accents despite being as near to Liverpool as they were Wales. But Pete had the higher and harsher sounds of a scouser, an accent that had developed from the melting pot of nationalities that flooded into its port.

  "You may tease, but I catch the dulcet tones of the city in your voice too, now and again."

  “Ha, yeah. It’s infectious. I lived there for a few years when I was at Uni. So, what was your childhood like?”

  "Average, I guess. We lived on a nice estate in a three-bed semi. The same sort that you see in every town and city on the mainland. I made the most of being in the city as a youngster, acquainting myself with many of its bars. It's a great place to live. It's changed in recent years, of course, and for the better. The docks are almost recognisable. But the people have always been friendly."

  “So why leave? What made you want to move on?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Fancied a change, I guess.”

  “Do you miss your family at all?”

  “I don’t really have any. Can I get you anything, a tea, coffee, perhaps?” Peter was now shifting around in his seat, avoiding eye contact.

  "No, I'm fine, thanks. Sorry if my question upset you."

  He took a deep sigh, “It’s okay. My parents died in a car crash a few years ago. It was just time to move on, you know?”

  "Oh, Peter, I'm sorry. That's terrible. I should never have pried. You must miss them dreadfully."

  He shrugged, "I do. They gave me a good childhood, but…"

  I remained quiet, giving Peter the room to open up and talk should he wish. It was a technique I learned back when I trained as a journalist, although it tended to be used more manipulatively in that job. People don’t like uncomfortable silences and will often want to fill them. But something told me that Pete wanted to share.

  "There was always something missing like I didn't quite belong somehow. It's common apparently with adopted children."

  “You were adopted?”

  Pete had been looking off into the distance, but his eyes snapped back to mine, "I feel guilty, even mentioning it. Like I'm betraying my parents. They adopted me as a baby, so I've really never known anyone else, and they really did give me a good life."

  "I understand. I can only imagine how difficult it is. So, what do you hope to gain from Bwytheney then? What kind of life would you like to build here? Assuming you want to stay, of course…"

  "Haha, yeah. I think I'll stick around. A sense of peace, I suppose. I mean, I like being near the water. I could never be far from it. But it's just more relaxed here. What do I want? The usual. A family and to live happily ever after."

  Pete gave me a small smile, but there was a sadness in his eyes, an aching. It must be so hard to be alone in the world. I could only hope that these islands would give him what he wanted, and he could finally feel whole.

  "Okay, final question. As you know, I like to support local businesses with my blog, and as you're sticking around, that includes you. Tell me about what you offer so I can include it in the post."

  "In terms of the carpentry, anything from practical furniture to ornate wooden gifts. I've rented a small workshop and have all my tools with me. Then there are the odd jobs. I can't cover electrics but any DIY jobs, things that need fixing around the house, a bit of plumbing, that sort of thing."

  “Ooh, Melissa at Beachview Campsite might need your services, then. She said something earlier about the sinks backing up.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t need my help.”

  "I'm not so sure. Melissa pretends that she doesn't need help—"

  Pete interrupted, “Is that it? Are we done now? It’s just I’ve got a job to get to before the day’s out.”

  “Oh, yes, sure. Sorry. Are you still okay to finish my bookshelves tomorrow?”

  "I'll be there at about 9 o'clock."

  "Right, well, the blog post should go up in the next couple of days. I'll let you know once it does."

  I stepped out the door with Shadow and turned around to say goodbye, but the door was already closed. It was like I was being shut out on something unsaid.

  Chapter 4

  Melissa was right. A storm had blown in and was now thrashing rain down on the island. But it had been a hectic day, and a little bit of rain was not going to put me off the Sunday night quiz at Islethorpe's village pub, The Bell Inn. It was a weekly event that attracted most of the village, encouraged by the butcher's meat raffle that took place while scores were counted. It was also Shadow's favourite time of the week, probably because he enjoyed tit-bits from all the regulars. It was just as well we walked everywhere on this island, or Shadow would be enormous.

  As I walked in the door, the heat from the open fire hit me. I shook off my umbrella and removed my coat. Two of the other girls were already there. Emma gave me a wave and tapped the seat next to her. I squeezed into it, and Shadow wandered off to grab his spot lying in front of the fire where he could dry off.

  "Here, she is. We hear that you had quite the morning," said Caz.

  “It was certainly not what I expected from my Sunday morning walk. How are you, Caz? How are the kids?”

  “Driving me to drink,” she said as she raised her glass.

  “Well, it meant a day of bumper takings for me at the café with everyone avoiding the beach and then the rain. Had to whip up extra cupcakes by lunchtime.”

  “Emma!” I said.

  "What? It's true. I wouldn't wish harm on anyone, but there's no denying it was good for business today."

  Just then, the pub door was thrown open. Cold air blew in, and the pounding of the rain could be heard. As the thick wooden door closed, the cosiness of the pub returned.

  “Hey, Jo, over here,” shouted Emma.

  Jo slumped down in the chair, not bothering to remove her wax coat. I wondered when it was that I'd last seen Emma in anything other than her trademark green wellies.

  “I’m knackered,” she said, “don’t mind me if I doze off during the quiz. Just give me a nudge if any animal questions come up, eh?”

  “Had your hand up plenty of cows this week then?” asked Emma.

  Emma and Jo had grown up together in this village, sitting side by side in the same classrooms. They’re teasing of each other didn’t stop as they became adults.

  "Yes, yes, I have. I've been on call all week, and it's been a busy one. I've just got back from the sheep farm out at Haf Houlme. Way too many twins and triplets calving."

  Haf Houlme was the smallest of The Nord Isles and was inhabited by more animals than people. There were a few farms, homes and shops there but not much else, although it did boast the best chip shop in this part of the world. The island was also an excellent spot for watching the wildlife. Emma was one of only two or three vets on the islands, which meant she was often on-call or travelling between the isles. All the girls were keen members of my weekly book group, but Emma would often have to call off or disappear halfway through to help an animal in distress.

  They made a good quiz team. Jo covered animals and science, Emma was all over the food questions, Caz tended to get the popular culture and celebrity type ones, and my expertise was literature. Now, if we just had someone with sports knowledge, we would be unstoppable.

  I went to the bar to get a round of drinks before the quiz started. Gregory was there nursing a pint and looking sullen.

  “You alright, Gregory?” I asked.

  “Hmm? Yes, sure.”

  “What are you up to these days? Haven’t seen much of you recently.”

  “Huh? Oh, I’ve been over on the mainland. I’ve been tied up with a bit of business. You? How’s the blog going?”

  "Good, it's going really well, thanks. Always room for a sponsor, though, if you fancied it?"

  “Oh, I don’t know it’s my thing.”

  "It's okay, Gregory. I was teasing you. It doesn't need sponsors any more. So, what's
this business you've been doing? I'm not even sure I know what you do other than hang around that big house of yours." I flashed him a grin.

  "Oh, it's nothing really. Just some contracts to sort for some acquisitions. It's all very boring, really."

  Gregory's phone started ringing, and he patted his pockets, trying to locate it.

  “It’s there,” I whispered. The glow lighting up his lower left pocket was a bit of a giveaway.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled before answering the call. “Hello?...I told you not now…It’s not happening…” Gregory looked even more agitated as he exited the pub out the back door where it would be quieter.

  “Here you go, girls,” I said as I took the drinks from the tray and placed them on the table just in time for the quiz starting.

  The quiz lasted for about forty minutes. This week, there had been fewer sports questions, so we felt confident while waiting for the results. But before the results were announced, there was a shout from outside. The door flew open, and stood there, sopping wet, was Linda who ran the post office.

  “A body has been found. A woman’s body up at Beachview Campsite.”

  Chapter 5

  The shock of events continued to ripple through the village the next morning. Within an hour of Lisa storming into the pub, everyone on Bwytheney knew Melissa Palmer from Seaview Campsite had been hit over the head and killed. Apparently, a camper had gone to report a problem with the showers and found Melissa's body lying on the ground near her house.

  Traffic to my blog was going bonkers, and I had to turn off the notifications on my phone from all the emails being sent from people wanting to know more. I would need to respond at some point, but right now, I was still trying to process what was happening.

  As someone who saw Melissa earlier that day, I had to give a statement to the police. Peter was then supposed to be coming over to mine to put up the bookshelves he’d been making. But he called and said he wouldn’t be able to make it until later in the afternoon. Rather than work, I decided to head to Emma’s Cupcake Café with Shadow in tow. I was sure I would find the other girls there. If there was ever a time when I needed a steaming hot black americano and a fat slice of salted caramel chocolate brownie, it was now.

  I pushed the door open and heard the familiar tinkle of the bell above the door. It was there for the quieter days when Jo was on her own and busy in the kitchen out back. But today, quite a few of the locals were gathered around their teas, talking about the murder.

  “Hey Cara, Caz is at our table over in the corner. I’ll be there in a sec. Just going to make sure Dilly is okay to take over,” said Emma.

  Dilly was a local teenager who Emma had taken on to help out in busy periods. She mainly worked weekends and holidays.

  I made my way to the back corner. It was our favourite spot having windows on both sides, perfect for people watching. Shadow curled up under the table, on guard for any crumbs that might fall his way.

  “How you doing, Caz?” I said as I sat myself down.

  "I'm okay, thanks. It's all a bit of a shock. The kids won't stop talking about it, of course. So, Phil has taken them out of my hair for a bit."

  Emma placed our coffees and slices on the table and slipped into one of the other seats, “Jo’s working, I think. Gosh, it’s been crazy in here today. Everyone is talking about it.”

  "Not surprising, really. It's not as though this kind of thing normally happens around here. My notifications haven't stopped. Everyone's emailing the blog, asking what happened."

  “Have you written anything about it yet?” asked Caz, sipping her coffee.

  “God, no. I mean, what do you even say? I’ll have to address it at some point.”

  "Well, the big question is whodunnit?" whispered Emma.

  “Not one of the locals, surely? It must be a visitor to the island,” said Caz.

  “I’m not sure that makes sense,” I replied, “I mean, what motive would they have? That their shower was muddy?”

  “Who knows what drives someone to murder?” said Caz as she took a bite of her brownie.

  “Motives for murder tend to be jealousy, greed and revenge. I’m not sure showers or any other camping problems are really something people take revenge for. No, I’m afraid my money is on a local. Horrifying thought, I know.” I placed my coffee back on the table.

  “Ah, of course,” exclaimed Emma, “the crime fiction books! I bet you have to research all sorts when writing them.”

  “Hey, you should look into it, find out who the killer is amongst our midst.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that—”

  “Oh yes,” said Emma, “it makes perfect sense. You write about crimes. Your blog means you've got to know more about these islands and who lives on them than anyone else. Plus, you have incredible research skills – you've dug up all sorts for your blog."

  “Total sense,” added Caz, “didn’t you used to be a journalist? Don’t they investigate stuff like this? And you could write about it on your blog too. Come on, Cara. You know the police round here have few resources. Just think of it as a little blog project—”

  At that moment, we were interrupted, "Hello, girls, shocking news about Melissa." It was Bronwen Jones. We all knew her, everyone knew everyone on Bwytheney, but she wasn't someone we would sit down with for a chat. We were in our thirties and Bronwen was in her fifties. I suspected she just wanted to gossip with someone.

  “Yes, it is,” I replied, “Did you see or hear anything, you know, being next door to the campsite?”

  "Didn't hear a thing. It was such a shock when flashing blue lights started shining through the windows. I'd been watching a box set, and Matthew was working in his office. Neither of us saw anything. Such a shame, a woman struck down like that."

  “Can I get you anything, Bronwen? Or has Dilly sorted you?”

  "Oh, I'm all sorted, thank you. I was just picking up some treats for Matthew. I think he deserves something sweet after his rescue efforts yesterday."

  “He sure does,” I replied, “I put the article up yesterday and linked to your B&B.”

  “Oh, thank you, dear. You didn’t need to, but it’s appreciated.”

  Caz stared at Bronwen with a fixed grin on her face. There was an awkward silence.

  “Right then, I best get going. Bye.”

  “Bye, Bronwen,” I said.

  “She couldn’t be more obvious,” said Emma, “she’s in here trying to get all the tit-bits of gossip to pass onto her crocheting ladies. They’ll be meeting later today.”

  I laughed, “It’s human nature. We’re all talking about it.”

  “Talking of gossip…”

  “Don’t you be holding out on us, Caz. Spill. Now.”

  “Well, I heard that our local hero Matthew is actually having an affair. I kind of feel sorry for Bronwen. Always after the gossip and doesn’t know when it’s about her husband. If Phil even dared to think about…”

  “Wait, what? Matthew Jones is having an affair? Who with?” asked Emma. She turned to me, “Did you know about this?”

  "Not a whisper," I shrugged, and we both looked at Caz.

  “Oh, I don’t know any details. Just that he’s been seen with someone a couple of times up in Brynness. But you know what it’s like around here. Rachel’s cousin’s wife’s sister said…. There’s probably nothing in it.”

  Brynness was a small village further north on the island, nestled in Bwytheney's hills. Most people headed out there for the walks and views.

  “Well, as much as I would like to stay here gossiping with you two, I have things I need to do,” I said, standing up. Shadow stretched and came to my side.

  “Yes, you’ve got a murder to investigate,” teased Caz.

  “Yeah, yeah. See you later.”

  Chapter 6

  Turning left onto the high street, I headed towards the post office. But I couldn't shake what Caz and Emma had been saying. Yes, I was once a journalist. But it was such a cut-throat busine
ss, and I didn't have the ruthless streak required to stick it out long-term. I cared about the people in my stories and didn't want to drag them through the mill. I loved writing, and I loved telling stories, but journalism wasn't for me. The blog, however, had been a different story, and it was entirely within my control. Life was now comfortable. Settled.

  But I couldn't deny that there was an itch inside. Of course, in an ideal world, I would be the next Agatha Christie and would have a publishing deal. But that would mean sending off my writing to be judged and I wasn't quite ready for that. However, I did love a good puzzle and getting lost in research. And maybe life had become a little too sedate for a woman in her thirties. No doubt, writing about it on the blog would increase traffic to the site bring more business for The Nord Isles. But could it be done without hurting people?

  I skipped up the steps into the post office and found a queue waiting to be served. Of course, with Linda breaking the news in the pub last night, everyone was probably here to see what they could find out from her. My letters needed to go, though, so I joined the end of the queue.

  A minute later, the door opened, and Gregory lined up behind me.

  “Morning, Cara.”

  "Morning, Gregory. Where did you get to last night? You missed all the drama."

  Gregory's fingers drummed on the A4 brown envelope, and he stretched his neck to see how many people were waiting in front of us. "Oh, I had a headache start and decided to give it a miss and walked home. Just as well, from what I've heard."

  “Yeah, it was a late one. Things were crazy for a couple of hours after Lisa came bursting in to tell us.”

  “It’s awful. Do the police have any leads? Have they said anything?”

  “I don’t think so. They interviewed me this morning but they weren’t giving anything away.”

  “They interviewed you? Why would they do that?”