Murder On Bwytheney Elizabeth. Newby (ebook e reader txt) 📖

I replied. "Murders tend to be committed for greed, jealousy or revenge. This is greed. Build here, and it has the potential to make a fortune. It would ruin Bwytheney. But it would make money."

“This is so far-fetched…we don't know that Pete was her son or that anyone knew about her having a child. And how would anyone know about the contents of the will? And yet—”

"I know it seems bonkers, but this guy lied to me about the day Melissa was killed. He was in the pub that night but left early. He told me his car was broken, but I saw him in it just a few hours before. He was really cross. If he was after the land and then saw you at the campsite, I thought—”

“He would come after me.”

“Exactly. What did Melissa want to do with the campsite?”

“She always hoped her son would show up and could take it over. If that wasn’t the case, she wanted me to have it on the condition that half of any profits were put in a trust fund for her son. If he never showed up, she wanted that money to go to a children’s charity. She never stopped thinking about him. But that means it’s not safe for me to be here. If you’re right, then I could be next.”

“Until half an hour ago, I was convinced I was right. But now I’m not so sure. There's something else we've not considered, but I need to make a phone call later.”

Pam and I spent the afternoon together, talking and reading books waiting for the hours to pass. As soon as it was 5pm, I pulled out my phone and called Beryl.

“Hey, Beryl. It’s Cara.”

“Oh, hello, Cara. How lovely to hear from you.”

“How are you?”

"I'm okay. Sad about Pete. He seemed like such a lovely man. He visited me not long before, you know. Reminded me of you, asking me all about stories from the past. Who would do such a thing?” Beryl sobbed.

"Oh, Beryl, don't upset yourself. You're right, it's awful, but they'll catch who did this, I know it. Tell me what you’ve been doing today?”

“Same as every Sunday. I went to church, had some lunch at Cupcake Café and then headed for the crib club. I won three games today!"

“That’s great! I saw Gregory Albright heading to the club today.” I hoped this was a subtle way of bringing him up in the conversation.

“Oh yes, Gregory comes every week. He’s a very fine crib player. But now and again, I manage to beat him."

“Was he there last week?”

“Of course, he comes every week. There’s only about five of us left now, you see. You younger ones seem to have no interest in the game. If one of us doesn't turn up, it's not much of a club. Although Bert couldn't make it for a whole month last year when he had that heart attack.”

“Hmm, maybe I should learn more about this game, eh? I could write a blog post about it and try and drum up some interest on the blog?”

"That's a marvellous idea, and I know you'll love it once you give it a go."

“What time’s it on?” My heart was beating. I felt awful using Beryl this way. Yet, there was no way I was going to reveal why I really needed this information and risk upsetting her. It was best she didn’t know what I had been thinking.

“We usually start at about 1.30pm, and we finish up around 4.45pm. That gives people time to enjoy dinner at the pub before the quiz. When you get to our age, you don't want to keep going in and out of the village. It's better to just stay there for the day. I don’t bother with the quiz, of course, but the others do...except for today, with it being cancelled.”

“It sounds like quite the day,” I said. With two murders on the last two Sundays, the pub had decided that it was probably best not to run the quiz this week. “Does Gregory never leave part way through crib? I mean, he seems very busy.”

“Never! It’s why we do it on a Sunday. No one has to be anywhere.”

“And will you teach me to play, Beryl?”

“Sure will. We’ll make a start the next time you visit.”

After saying goodbye to Beryl, I put my head in my hands. No one could have got hold of the cakes before 2pm. It wasn’t Gregory. Unless his business partner was in on it too. But I could feel my theory slipping through my fingers like the sand on Islethorpe beach. A headache was beginning to thump inside my skull. There was something else I needed to consider, but I couldn't face it quite yet.

“Well?” said Pam.

I had almost forgotten that she was there. “It looks like my suspect has an alibi. I need a break. Fancy helping out with the blog for a bit?”

“Sure, that sounds exciting.”

“Hahaha, not really. I’ve got a bunch of emails and photos to go through. Tourists send them to me all the time. However, I also want to put together a piece on Melissa, celebrating her, you know. I have a few stories from others on the island, but it would be great to have something from her best friend.”

“Right…”

“If it’s too upsetting, I understand.”

“No, no. It's a beautiful idea, and I have lots of stories. It just still doesn't feel real – talking about her as someone no longer here.”

Pam curled up with her laptop on one of the armchairs, and I stretched myself out on the two-seater sofa. Usually, I was religious about working at my desk, but all the rules were being thrown out.

There was email after email of people saying how sorry they were about Melissa and Pete.  Many of them had favourite photos from their holidays attached. For some reason, people seemed to love it when their photos got used on the blog. There was one from someone called