Murder On Bwytheney

by Elizabeth. M. Newby

  “Oh, I saw Melissa earlier in the day. Have they talked to you yet?”

  “No, I suspect they’ll want to talk to everyone in the village at some point.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Hey, did you say that you walked home last night? That’s not like you. Did Sam have the night off?”

  Sam was the local driver and taxi man. If you needed safely delivering home after a night at the pub, were heading to a mainland airport, or needing to be driven anywhere else, then Sam was your man. Gregory used him often. Many joked that he kept whisky in his pocket and sipped at it throughout the day, so much so that Sam was a part-time employee. I'd never seen him drinking anything except ale in the pub. But now and again, there was a tang about him.

  “Ha, pulling my leg again, right?”

  “Right,” I laughed.

  “Actually, you’re half right. Sam had other plans. Not usually an issue as I can drive myself, but my damn car isn’t starting. I’ve been waiting on Nick to come and take a look. Decided to take a leaf out of your book and walk to the pub. It’s probably what gave me a headache.”

  We both laughed. It was something I had become known for on the island – walking everywhere with Shadow. But the exercise did us both good, and most places were within easy reach. It just seemed pointless to keep a car while living on the island. When I first moved here, money was tight, so I sold my Renault Clio and hadn't bought another car since.

  “Hey, do you want me to post your letter for you? Save us both standing around here while everyone gets the juicy details from Linda?” I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh, that’s very kind, but no. It's okay. I really need to make sure this goes urgently." Gregory tucked the envelope inside his jacket and held it close to him, "Important business papers, you know how it is. I can send yours for you, though."

  “Thanks, that would be great. Peter’s coming over in a bit to put up some shelves. They just need to go first class.” I handed him some money to cover the cost and headed back out on to the high street.

  Between my conversations with Caz and Emma and then Gregory, my head was spinning with thoughts about Melissa's murder. I had a dreadful feeling that it was someone local, someone we all knew. If I'd been asked yesterday morning whether anyone had a grudge against Melissa, I would have laughed them off. But in the last twenty-four hours, I had witnessed two local men acting out of character when it came to Melissa. Gregory had just lied to me about his car not working and then there was Pete's frostiness when I mentioned her.

  Maybe Caz and Emma were right. I might need to look into it for my own sanity. The police would be running their own investigation, but there was no harm in me doing a little digging of my own if only to quieten the questions and suspicions racing around my head.

  Chapter 7

  Pete arrived at mine with a carload of wood. Not only had he been working on my oak bookshelves with their live bark edge, but he also had something for Shadow – a handcrafted bed with carvings of dog toys and bones in the side. It was perfect and big enough for Shadow to stretch out as he often did. He deserved a treat. No one else has ever stuck by my side in the way Shadow does. It’s true what they say about them being your best friend.

  “Do you fancy a brew?” I asked.

  “Oh, go on. It’s about time I took a break.”

  “Your blog post went live this morning, by the way.”

  “Ah, that’ll explain the extra calls I’m getting today then!”

  Shadow's bed was now taking shape, and Pete only needed to finalise a few details on the shelving before fixing them to the wall.

  “Have you got any other jobs on today?” I asked.

  "Not today, no. Although tomorrow's a busy one, and I'm getting booked up for the next few weeks. Just think, one day, these shelves will be full of books you've written," said Pete.

  "It's a nice thought. We'll see." I handed him his tea and made myself a coffee. "Please, sit," I said, waving my hand in the direction of my sofas.

  My stone cottage was not big, but it was cosy and rustic. Some of the stone walls were painted cream, but here in the lounge, they remained their natural grey. Colour was added by the assortment of cushions scattered on the two small sofas and armchair. They were a mix of lime, fuchsia, mustard and aqua. The seats were arranged around the open fireplace, and rugs adorned the flagstone floor. Some were striped with bright colours, but a small sheepskin was situated in front of the fire. It had come from one of the farms up at Brynness. There was a couple of side tables as well as a set of wooden drawers in one corner, all of which were covered in books. I've never been the sort that can read one book at a time. I like to pick something based on my mood, and so quite a few of these books had bookmarks stuffed in them, marking my progress.

  “Don’t you have a TV?” asked Pete.

  "There's one somewhere in the attic, but I don't bother with it. It's a distraction. There are so many books I want to read, and if a TV was on all the time, they would be left to gather dust and get lonesome.”

  “So, you don’t ever watch TV?”

  "Occasionally, I do. I might binge watch something on my laptop, but it's rare. But between my books, writing and quiz night and everything else going on here, there's not much time for it. Island life changes you. You'll see," I smiled.

  "Maybe, I can't imagine ditching the TV, though. There are some great shows on at the moment.”

  “Is that what you were doing last night? You know, the Sunday night quiz is far more entertaining than any show. Last night, especially.”

  "Oh, I headed over to the mainland last night. I needed a bit of escapism. Ended up bumping into one of my mates and visited one too many of Liverpool's bars. Got the first boat back this morning."

  “Ah, that explains why you wanted to come over later, then,” I teased, “I bet that was an interesting boat journey back!”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “You missed all of last night’s drama, then.”

  He gave me a small smile, "Sure did. I best get back to it, or I won't get finished today."

  Back to work it was, then. Sitting down at my desk, I started trying to put together a post about Melissa's death. Something needed to go out that day, and it needed to quell the deluge of enquiries. Maybe there was no choice but to investigate what happened and write about it. I chose to write a short post on "what we know so far" hoping that would be enough for now.

  Pete put down his drill and picked up a screwdriver. He climbed back up the small ladder and leaned over to the far side of the wall.

  “What do you think happened to Melissa Palmer?” I asked.

  The screwdriver fell to the floor, clanging against the toolbox and Peter half fell, half leapt from the ladder before it toppled over too.

  “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” I dashed over to where he was crumpled on the floor.

  “Damn, sorry, Cara, I should know better than to try and stretch. I'm a bit out of sorts today." He stood up and brushed himself down. "I'm a bit sore, but I'll be okay. My ego's more bruised than anything else." He offered a little smile.

  “We do not need any more mishaps on Bwytheney! An almost drowning and a murder are more than enough to last us a year. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’m sure. No damage done and I’m almost finished.”

  “It’s my fault, distracting you with my questions. I have a terrible habit of thinking out loud. I’ll keep quiet now. I need to do a bit of research, anyway.”

  I was putting it off, telling myself that I hadn’t made a decision yet. But who was I kidding? Of course, I was going to dig into this Melissa business. I could think of nothing else. Sitting back down at my desk, I opened a new window and searched “Melissa Harper”. Of course, the results were now full of newspaper articles reporting on her tragic death on a sleepy island and quotes from the police spokesman. There was nothing new in these. They simply confirmed that Melissa had died after a blunt force trauma to the back of her head
. The whole of Bwytheney already knew this.

  Next up, I headed to social media. We were friends on Facebook and followed each other on our Twitter and Instagram accounts. But much of Melissa's online efforts were directed towards the campsite. There was little on her personal accounts, although she had shared a meme a couple of days before about the past never being quite as finished with us as we think. Was there something in it? It wasn't unusual for Melissa to share the odd quote or musing on life. Or had something from her past cropped up? I pulled out a new notebook from my bottom drawer and opened it to make a note of the quote.

  As Melissa had grown up on the island, I knew it wouldn't be too difficult to find out more about her past before I arrived on Bwytheney. There were plenty of people around who would have known Melissa all her life, and I knew just the person to help me out. I was overdue a visit, anyway.

  Chapter 8

  Beryl lived a mile outside Islethorpe, part way up the hills that overlooked the village and seafront. Her house was one of those double-fronted stone cottages you see all over Wales and the islands. It was the same house that she was born in 84 years ago. But Beryl had done a better job of keeping herself up-to-date than the house. The only heating came from the black aga in the kitchen or open fire in the lounge, and the electrics looked like they were last updated back in the fifties.

  But the locals had made sure she was connected to the internet so she could speak to her son every week. He wanted her to move to the new sheltered accommodation on Port Ynys. But Beryl was adamant, "I came into the world in this house, and I'll leave it from here too!".

  Beryl was also an avid reader, and although she wasn't interested in joining a book club of youngsters, she did enjoy sitting down to talk about books with me. She was also one of my biggest fans and read every post on Nord Isle Living as well as all my manuscripts. Despite having written quite a few novels during my years on Bwytheney, most had not been seen by anyone other than myself or Beryl. She had also asked that I start recording her memories. There were not many people left whose memories of The Nord Isles went quite as far back, and Beryl seemed to be scared that the history would get lost.

  So, with over eight decades of living near Islethorpe, if anyone could tell me more about Melissa and her past, it was Beryl. Usually, I tried to visit weekly, but it had been a little longer than that with so much happening.

  We were sat in her front room that commanded views across the sea towards Wales, although it was too foggy to spot the land in the distance today. I was sat in one of the wing-backed chairs by the fireside, and Shadow took up his spot by Beryl's chair, knowing she always had a treat or two for him. Both arms of my chair had pieces of cloth covering them. They disguised the threadbare material below. I wondered how many people had sat in this exact place over the years. It was twenty years since Beryl's husband had passed away after a heart attack, and since then, the villagers had been proactive in ensuring Beryl did not get too lonely.

  "Here you go, dear," said Beryl as she placed a cup of tea down on the wooden table at the side of the chair. The cup was Beryl's finest china, and it clanged against the saucer and spoon as she struggled to contain the shaking that came with age. I had long ago learned not to try and help out in Beryl’s house. She prided herself on her independence and was horrified by the idea that a visitor would make their own cuppa or do the dishes. Beryl reached into the pocket on the front of her floral pinny and pulled out a gravy bone. “And this is for you, boy,” she said to Shadow while patting him on the head.

  “How have you been?” I asked.

  “All the better for reading this,” said Beryl, holding up my latest manuscript, “you really ought to see if you can get it published. It’s a marvellous read. Kept me guessing right to the end.”

  I gave a little laugh, "Well, I'm glad it entertained you."

  “And that article you published on Pete this morning was great too. It’s so lovely seeing younger people coming to the island. I reckon he’s going to fit in great around here.”

  “Yes, he seems like a nice guy. And finally, I’m no longer the new kid on the island.”

  Beryl laughed. “Have you heard any more about our Melissa? It’s such a shock. Nothing like this ever happens here. She was such a lovely girl.”

  “No, not heard a thing. Only what’s been in the papers. I have to admit I’ve been locking my doors at night.” Taking a deep breath, I decided this was the moment to broach the subject, “Did you know Melissa when she was younger?”

  “I’ve known her all her life. I knew her parents and her grandparents too. Watched her growing up on that farm and then help her dad turn it into that campsite. Who would do such a thing?”

  "I wish I knew. She was always so friendly to me, right from the moment I arrived. I can't imagine anyone ever having a grudge with her."

  "Oh, just like anyone, she had her moments, especially as a teenager. But you're right. I've not heard anyone say a cross word about her for ages. The last one I remember was that couple who arrived last year expecting the place to be the Ritz."

  “Oh, gosh, yes. I remember them. Stayed one night in one of her tents and got the first boat back to the mainland the next day!”

  “There’s no pleasing some, eh? Honestly, you’d think the word campsite would be a giveaway.”

  “You’d think,” I smiled at Beryl. “So, what happened when she was a teenager?”

  “Oh, the usual teenage stuff. There were a few boys and parties. Mostly harmless. But you know the sorts of things they start saying when a girl goes out with a few different boys, especially back then. Her first boyfriend was a lad from her class at school, Mark. They would have been about sixteen or seventeen. He now lives over on the other side of the island in Hulme. You might have met him – runs the bank?”

  “I think I’ve seen him about, but we’ve not spoken.”

  “Well, it was after him that the tongues started wagging. Melissa started seeing a lad who was a little older than her, Nick. There were only a few years between them, but it was frowned upon.”

  "Nick, who has the garage?"

  “That’s the one.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know they had any history.”

  "Oh, everyone has a history with everyone here. It comes with island life. As does gossip, as I'm sure you know."

  “Haha, yes, I may have noticed that.”

  “Yes, well, once you become the focus of some gossip, people are always looking for something else, waiting for you to slip up again. And sadly, poor Melissa became an easy target. Every time she was seen as much as talking to another man, the rumours started. She got labelled the village bike.”

  “Oh, that’s horrid. Poor Melissa.”

  "It was horrid. The best thing she could have done was to ignore them and kept her head down. But instead…"

  “What? What happened?”

  “This is not to be repeated anywhere. It’s old island news anyway.”

  “Of course…”

  “Well, there were rumours that she had an affair with Matthew.”

  “Matthew? Matthew that lives next door to her?”

  “Yes, that Matthew.”

  “But he’s like twenty years older. And…wouldn’t he have been married to Bronwen by then?”

  "Mmm-hmm."

  “And was it just rumours?”

  “Only they know for sure. I did see them together once up at Brynness, out for a walk. They weren’t doing anything, but it didn’t seem right, them being together, you know?”

  “Gosh, what happened next?”

  "Nothing, really. Melissa kept her head down and grew up. There's been a couple of boyfriends over the years since, but none that went anywhere. She went to the mainland for a bit but came back to the campsite. To be honest, I think her dad was struggling to run it on his own. She worked really hard to make it what it is today. Maybe she was so busy running that place that she never stopped to find someone or have a family. So sad.”

  “
I’ve still got so much to learn about life on Bwytheney.”

  “Ha, you have, and you shall hear all of it in good time. Don’t forget that you’ve promised me that you won’t let the history of this place just disappear into a grave with me. And one day, it’ll be your turn to pass it onto someone else.”

  “And it’s a promise I shall keep, don’t you worry about that, Beryl.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder how many other secrets were hiding in Bwytheney and its older residents.

  Chapter 9

  It was Saturday afternoon, and as usual, Shadow and I started the day with our walk along the beach, passed the harbour and along the clifftops. When you reach the cliffs, there are benches at various points alongside the path where you could stop and take in the view. Weekends meant more time to enjoy walks and the outdoors.

  On our way back, I perched myself on a bench and pulled a flask out of my backpack. With a hot cup of coffee in hand, I could relax and take in the beauty of my surroundings while Shadow sniffed every inch of grass, inspecting it for scents of other dogs. It was one of those spring mornings where the sky was a deep blue, the breeze cool and the sun comforting. Later in the summer, days like this would make for a hot walk, but this was perfect.

  We weren't far from the harbour that lay below. Bobbing on the sea were an array of rowing boats, fishing vessels and small yachts. There was even the odd jet ski sitting next to the holiday boat hires. You could just make out the short queue of people waiting near the jetty. Most were probably heading to Liverpool on the mainland. Although you could also travel from here to Rhyl in North Wales or the other islands.

  I was overdue a visit to the mainland. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I last made that trip. While I loved island life and could never imagine leaving, I still had friends and family I valued across the north of England. They didn’t understand my desire to live here but didn’t complain when they got to come and stay for a free holiday.

  Coffee finished, I replaced my flask and called Shadow over. Saturday was also when I treated myself to a bacon sandwich from Ron's Rolls next to the harbour. He always had a spare bit of sausage for Shadow too.