Murder On Bwytheney

by Elizabeth. M. Newby

  As we wound our way down the path from the cliffs to the harbour below, the smell of bacon and sausages wafted over. We lined up in the queue and were soon joined by Larry. He owned one of the boat taxis that ferried people over to the mainland. He lived further up the coastland in a house that was reached by a mile-long track. There were no other homes in view from his – just the wide-open sea and some trees. Not being a morning person, Larry tended to work the late shift and was often on over the weekend.

  “Hey Larry, how are you?”

  “Cara, I didn’t see you there. And fancy seeing you here too, Shadow. Waiting for a bit of sausage by any chance?”

  “Of course,” I replied with a grin, “about to start work, I take it?”

  “Yep. No rest for the wicked, ha.”

  “Well, I hope it’s not too busy or messy for you this weekend. But give me the gossip on Pete last week, so I can tease him next time I see him.”

  "Hahahaha, that poor lad. But I don't have anything you can use, I'm afraid."

  "Oh, that's a shame. When he said he was out with his mates last Sunday, I got the impression it got a bit messy. I was sure you were going to tell me he threw up all over your boat."

  “Ha! Well, there will be no boat stories from Sunday night as they weren’t running. There was that terrible storm, remember?”

  “Are you sure? There were no boats running?”

  I'm sure. No one in their right mind would have taken a boat out in that. It was more likely Friday or Saturday. I haven't seen him for weeks, though. Ask Neil. He was working at the weekend too, and he loves sharing a story."

  “He does indeed.”

  As I walked home, I could feel the frown on my face. My grandmother would have told me off, "if the wind changes, your face will be stuck like that". It was just one of the many old wives' tales she used to dish out. But I just couldn’t make sense of Peter lying. Unless he had something to hide. But the idea was preposterous. Or was it?

  I mean, what did we really know about him? Not a lot – he avoided my interview for months. There hadn't been a murder on this island for over forty years, and just six months after Pete's arrival, one of the residents is hit over the head and killed. And every time I mentioned Melissa, Pete acted strange, changing the conversation or falling off ladders. Hadn’t I told Pete that Melissa could do with his help just a few hours before she was murdered? Maybe he went over there, and something happened. Would that make it my fault? Guilt seeped in.

  But I could only be certain of one thing. There must be a reason why Pete would lie about his whereabouts on the night of the murder. He no longer had an alibi. It was time to dust off those research skills and discover more about the mysterious and quiet Peter who joined our shores just a few months ago.

  Chapter 10

  Bwytheney had its own small church that dated back to the eighteenth century. The graveyard to the side of it was scattered with names that were still familiar on the island. There was upset and frustration within the village that a funeral could not be held for Melissa. But with the police having no suspects as yet, they were unwilling to release the body. It was Linda from the Post Office that came up with the suggestion of holding a celebration of life ceremony. Reverend Owen had agreed it could be held at St. David’s church.

  Emma had, of course, put on a wonderful spread with a variety of sandwich fillings and cupcakes. I helped her out serving teas and coffees to the many island's inhabitants who had shown up and a few people who had travelled from the mainland.

  Everyone now had a cuppa in hand, and I wandered outside to look out over the sea. The sound of crashing waves travelled on the breeze, and the sunlight sparkled a thousand stars across the water. It really was a beautiful place, and the thought it could be hiding a killer in its land sent a shiver down my spine.

  The last few days, I had been consumed by Melissa's case. My research hadn't turned up much, but I could not get Pete's lies out of my head. I had tried to look into his social media, but it seemed he was as quiet online as he was in real life. Although he was on Facebook, his profile was locked down and private. I could see that he once lived in Liverpool and there were a few friends but nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, it all seemed to match what he had told me. But there must have been a reason for lying. And I couldn't help noticing that here we were at a celebration of Melissa's life, and Peter was nowhere to be seen. There had never been a hint they were close friends or anything, but that's not how we did things on the island. Peter had been there long enough to know that. You showed up for events like this. Everyone else was here. Was he the murderer, or was there an innocent explanation for all this?

  “You look miles away.”

  My head spun around, unaware that anyone had approached. A vaguely familiar woman was standing there, her face looking strained.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.

  “No, it’s fine. I was just soaking up the view. It never gets boring.”

  “It’s certainly special. I can see why Melissa never wanted to leave. I’m Pam, by the way.”

  Pam looked of similar age to Melissa, although she was rounder and softer. Her cheeks were fuller, and her hair was twirled up in some kind of bun, grey wisps peppering the mahogany tones. She pulled her chunky cardigan tighter around her as if she too felt a chill pass over her, despite the warm air.

  “I’m Cara,” I smiled, “your face is familiar. Did you know Melissa well?” I asked.

  “We were friends from teenagers. We met when our families holidayed at the same place in Snowdonia and we’ve stayed in touch ever since. We’ve done a few holidays together, plenty of bars and clubs, and of course, I came over here a few times. She was quite frankly my best friend.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss. It just seems crazy. The island is so quiet and friendly and then this. I was sat in her kitchen earlier that day. It still doesn’t seem real.”

  “It’s unbelievably sad. I always hoped she would have more children, but it wasn’t to be.”

  I frowned, “More children?”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything—”

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

  “Well, I don’t suppose it matters much now. It’s probably the saddest thing about all this. Back in 1994, Melissa had a baby boy. No one knew. She came and stayed with me and kept it quiet. She was still very young, you see, and islanders weren't ready for a teenage mum. But to think there's a child out there somewhere that doesn't know their mum has just died, that she never got to see that baby again…"

  The woman let out a sob.

  I pulled out a tissue from my bag and handed it to her, “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, sorry, I know it’s silly to think like that, but I keep going through all the what if’s, you know?”

  “Yeah, I get it too. What if I had made Melissa come to the quiz night? What if I had stuck around at hers? What if there was something wrong and I had picked up on it?”

  A voice broke the moment, "Hello, ladies. What are we doing out here?"

  I turned to see Bronwen stood not far behind us. Neither of us had heard her appear. I couldn’t help feeling it was insensitive at the very least. She was always trying to poke her nose in and often chose the worst moments. There’s no way she couldn’t have known that Pam was upset.

  “We were just catching some fresh air. We’ll see you inside shortly,” I said without smiling.

  “Right. Yes. Of course.” Bronwen knew I had left her no choice but to walk away.

  “Sorry about that,” I said to Pam, “she can be a bit much.”

  "It's fine, honestly," Pam grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. "Right, this is enough of this talk. We should be celebrating Melissa, and I'm certainly not going to thank her for leaving me with that damn campsite to sort out.”

  “Oh, will you be taking it over then?”

  “The solicitor hasn’t gone into the details of the will, as yet, but I was down as someone to s
ort out her affairs. Her parents died, and there is no other family left…other than the baby she had."

  “Well, if you ever want a cuppa or someone to talk to, you can find me at Bramble Cottage. It’s on Bryn Road off the high street.”

  “Thanks, that would be good. I’ll be back and forth over the next few weeks, I suspect.”

  The crowd was now thinning, and people were making their way back to their homes. I headed back to mine and tried to settle down with a book. Yet, I couldn't focus. My mind was restless, refusing to let go of Melissa's murder and the lies I was uncovering. Whenever I tried to switch off, my mind just turned back to who could be responsible. If there was one thing that Pam's bombshell had shown me, it was that you never knew what secrets people were harbouring. Maybe Peter was hiding his own secrets. Either he was a murderer, or something else was going on.

  After a few hours of going round in circles, I decided there was only one thing for it. I needed to confront Pete and tell him I knew he lied about where he was that night. I needed to walk Shadow anyway. We could pop in on the way.

  We made our way out of the other end of the village and up towards the fishermen cottages. The sun was low in the sky and was obscured by clouds coming together. A mist was forming out at sea and would soon roll into the beaches.

  When I reached Pete's cottage, I took a deep breath and banged on the door. No answer. I tried again. Still nothing. Shadow began whimpering and looking up at me with puppy dog eyes – probably disappointed that it looked like he was going to miss out on a treat. I don't know why I was so sure that Pete would be in. Yes, it was a Sunday, but that didn't mean much on Bwytheney, especially for people like Pete, who could work any day of the week. He was probably out on a job. Or at The Bell Inn, ready and waiting for quiz night.

  As I turned away to continue my walk, I spotted his small van parked a little further up the road. I didn't expect it to be there. Frowning, I turned back and tried knocking again. Shadow was now laying down in front of the door, refusing to move, pawing at the wood. I looked through the window onto the lounge. There was no sign of anyone. I don't know what made me do it. Sometimes I can get a bit stubborn when I get an idea in my head. Or perhaps it was the way Shadow was behaving. But I went around the side of the house. Pete's was the first in the row of cottages, and a gate led onto the small back yard. It clicked open, and I walked in. The kitchen window was on this side of the house. Stretching on my tiptoes, I tried to peer in. I put a hand up to block the reflections that made it difficult to see, and that's when I saw him. Pete's body was lying still on the ground.

  Chapter 11

  Pete was dead. If it wasn’t bad enough that I had possibly been thinking the worst of a person as he lay on his floor, not breathing, the police were treating it as another murder. One of Emma’s half-eaten cupcakes was found near the body, and it was believed that it had been laced with poison.

  Emma was obviously distraught, although no one suspected her. She sold dozens of those cakes every day, and with the preparations for Melissa’s celebration, there had been hundreds of them lying around. Anyone could have got their hands on one.

  But it did raise the question as to whether someone wanted to frame Emma. You also had to wonder what the connection was between Melissa and Pete. The village was aghast at the thought that there was a serial killer in their midst. I think most of them just thought they were random attacks, but I knew they had to be connected somehow.

  Tonight, however, was book club night. It was a chance to drink some wine and let off steam. Even Jo was able to make it with one of the other island vets on call and covering.

  Emma swilled her red wine around in the glass, "So, not that I want to speak ill of the dead or anything, but who do we reckon Melissa was having an affair with?"

  “Emma! Have you had one glass too many already?” I asked.

  “To be fair, everyone is talking about it,” said Caz.

  She was right. It didn’t take much for a whisper to turn into a rumour and gossip in this place.

  “I reckon it’s Matthew Jones." It wasn't like Jo to join in the gossip, but nothing this big had happened in Bwetheney for decades.

  “Nah,” I said, “He was at home with Bronwen that night. She told us in the café, remember?”

  “Ah, so you are investigating then?” teased Caz.

  I poked my tongue out at her knowing there was no point in denying it.

  “Anyway, that’s a really out of date rumour,” I added.

  “Bronwen said they were at home together?” asked Jo.

  "Yeah, we were all having a catch-up, and she came over. It was really awkward. I think she wanted us to invite her to join us or something,” said Emma. She then turned to me, “And what do you mean out of date rumour? I heard nothing of it until recently.”

  Before I could wheedle my way out of dropping myself in it, Jo interrupted, “Matthew was definitely not at home all night. I saw him heading down the lane from the hills. Looked like he’d been out for a walk.”

  “What?” said Emma, “but that would make Matthew a suspect, wouldn't it? Lying about where he was and being out that night?”

  “Or Bronwen,” suggested Caz as she topped up her glass of wine. “Let’s not forget it was her who lied. Wife finds out about her husband’s affair – wasn’t jealousy one of the reasons you said people killed, Cara?”

  “Yes, I did say that. But there’s no proof of an affair.”

  "Maybe not, but I did see them together up at Brynness when I was out that way to check on some cattle. I thought it was odd at the time.”

  “Okay, before you all get carried away,” I said, “let’s remember that Pete has also been killed. What’s the connection? Why would Bronwen or Matthew kill Pete?”

  Caz sighed, “way to kill our fun,” she rolled her eyes in jest, “you’re right, of course. Maybe we should stick to the whodunnit books we’re reading and leave the detective work to you, Cara.”

  "Because you're great at guessing whodunnit in the books, aren't you, Caz? Didn't you once guess it was the dog?" said Emma as she burst out laughing.

  “Hey, I told you. I hadn’t really read the book with the kids and everything. I just picked a character’s name at random.”

  All of us were now holding our stomachs, laughing at the memory. Caz could always be relied upon to reduce us to giggles.

  Jo finished off her glass of wine and turned to me, “So, do you have any ideas about who might be responsible?”

  I placed my glass down and bent down to stroke, Shadow, “Not yet. Find the connection between Melissa and Peter, and you find the killer."

  “I wonder what will happen to the campsite now. I guess it'll get sold or something. It would be a shame to lose it,” said Emma.

  The campsite was a vital part of the island bringing many tourists to its shores during warmer months. It was a lifeline for many of the other businesses in Islethorpe and further afield.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “an old friend of Melissa’s is taking care of things at the moment, but if it goes up for sale, I reckon Gregory will snatch it up."

  Something else was bothering me too. Bronwen and Peter weren’t the only people who had lied to me about their whereabouts the night Melissa was killed. There was Gregory too, and I also saw him leaving Melissa's that day in a foul mood. He wanted her land but was that a reason to kill someone? And what could that have to do with Pete? Right now, nothing made sense. But I could also feel another thought forming, a hunch of some kind. I couldn’t touch it quite yet. But it would come in time.

  Chapter 12

  Now and again, I liked to have a change of scenery while I work on a manuscript or the blog. When it was warm and not too sunny, I would head for one of the island’s many picnic benches where Shadow could wander, and I could enjoy nature while writing. But on days like this where there was a chill in the air, I would plonk myself in the corner of Cupcake Café. All I needed was my laptop and WiFi.

 
With a second murder on the island, I couldn’t avoid writing about it any longer, but I was struggling to strike the right balance. The idea that a possible serial killer was roaming the isle was not exactly inviting for tourists, but Bwytheney relied on them.

  I sipped my black americano and saw Bronwen making her way in my direction. The book club conversation started running through my mind. If the rumours were true, I should feel sorry for Bronwen, but all I could think about was her lie. Maybe this would be an opportunity to do a little digging.

  “Hey Cara, mind if I sit down here?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Are you writing about the murders? For your blog, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I can’t avoid it any longer. The comments are getting a bit bonkers. The small post I put up initially held the tide back for a bit but now with Pete too…”

  “It’s so shocking. I can’t make any sense of it. How are you doing? I heard it was you who found him?”

  “I’m okay. He was just lying there. I thought he was ill or something. How did you find out? News always spreads fast here.”

  “We were at The Bell Inn having a meal. We were celebrating our wedding anniversary, actually. Georgewas working behind the bar and got a phone call from a mate who lives in one of the other cottages. Before you knew it, the whole pub was talking about it. We never did get our desserts.”

  Desserts? She’s thinking of desserts when a man has lost his life? Bronwen always managed to annoy me, somehow. There was never anything specific. She just irritated me every time we spoke. But at least it would be easy enough to check out this alibi and make sure she and Matthew were at the pub.

  “And you didn’t see anything odd the day Melissa was killed? No visitors or anything?”

  “Not a thing. You would think that I would hear or see something being just next door. But it seemed like any other evening. I was binge-watching Real Housewives – it's my guilty pleasure."