Murder On Bwytheney Read online

  Murder on Bwytheney

  A Nord Isles Cozy Mystery Series

  by Eizabeth M. Newby

  Contents

  The Nord Isles Cozy Mystery Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Stay In Touch

  A Letter From The Author

  The Nord Isles Cozy Mystery Series

  The Nord Isles are a fictional group of islands set off the coast snuggled in between North Wales, Ireland and the North West of England. Our protagonist, Cara, has been living on one of the islands called Bwytheney for fifteen years. She is a writer with a successful blog Nord Isle Living. She becomes the Nord Isles’ amateur sleuth almost by accident. Follow her and her trusty sidekick, Shadow the border collie as they solve mysteries on these islands.

  The first book, Murder on Bwytheney is available now and more in the series will follow very soon.

  Keep In Touch

  To discover the latest news and be the first to hear when Elizabeth M. Newby releases new titles, sign up to the Nord Isles Newsletter here.

  Chapter 1

  "Shadow, Shadow, come back!" I ran across the wet sand towards the sea, senses on full alert. My heart was pounding against my ribs, and I was trying and failing to suck in enough air. In seven years, Shadow had never left my side, let alone gone tearing off. It was fair to say he was faster on his feet than me. He paused at the water's edge and began barking, which gave me a chance to catch up.

  It was early in the morning, but Islethorpe’s beach was already filling up with a mixture of tourists hoping to catch some rays and locals taking their morning walks in the brisk air. I was aware of eyes trained on me. Who was this strange woman, feet flailing, as she attempted to run across the beach and grab her out of control dog? The shame.

  As I caught up to Shadow, I bent over, trying to get my breath back, "What is it, boy? What's wrong?" He was still barking and was staring out to sea. Usually, Shadow's only interest in this salted water was to play chase with the waves.

  The sun was low, and so I cupped my hand over my eyes to see what was upsetting my boy. There in the distance, I could see an orange inflatable of some kind. I couldn't work out if it was a boat or one of those sunbeds for lazing around in a pool. It was drifting further out, and a small hand was waving. A distant shout drifted in on the breeze. That’s what was upsetting Shadow.

  By now, a sense that there was something wrong was spreading up on the beach. A woman in her thirties was stood with a man, looking around. “Fred? Freddie? Where are you?”

  “HELP! HELP! There’s a boy out there,” I screamed, waving my arms madly in the air.

  I could hear the woman screaming, but I was scanning the beach to see if help was coming. I could swim. But barely. There were a couple of men running towards the shoreline, one of whom I recognised.

  Matthew Jones lived at the B&B farmhouse not far from the clifftops. He was also a volunteer with the local island rescue service. He would know what to do. As he dived into the water, Shadow ceased barking, knowing that his job was done. The alarm was raised, and action was under way. He lay down a few feet from the water’s edge, waiting for both Matthew and the child to return to shore.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled out my phone and called the emergency services, followed by the local doctor, who was likely to be quicker on the scene. As I ended the calls, I switched over to the camera app and started snapping. First Shadow and then the gathering crowds, being careful to avoid the distraught parents holding each other. That kind of reporting would never go down well on Bwytheney or any of the other The Nord Isles. It's part of the attraction of this place.

  Matthew seemed to have reached the child and was beginning to make his way back. He was still too far out for me to get a decent shot, though. Within a couple of minutes, they were nearing the shore. Matthew stood, water up to his thighs, cradling a boy in his arms who looked about nine years old. His blonde hair flopped over Matthew's elbow. The boy's parents rushed forward, their feet at the edge of the water.

  “He’s okay. He’s okay, everyone. Just a bit cold,” said Matthew.

  The boy lifted his head and turned towards the beach, “Sorry, mum.”

  With some careful framing, I managed to get a shot of Matthew and the back of the boy’s head as they came out of the water. A local hero saves a boy but nothing to identify the child.

  Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I pulled off my coat and ran over to wrap it around the boy's shoulders, who was now sat on the sand. Shadow was back at my side. But he soon lay down on the boy's legs, leaned against his chest and sniffed his face. It was as if he knew the boy needed warming up.

  “Thank you, thank you all so much. I don’t know what I’d do if…” the boy’s mother wept.

  "No, problem. I'm glad I was here. And I think we all owe thanks to Shadow," said Matthew with a smile.

  Matthew's wife, Bronwen, made her way down the beach, slipped her hand into her husband's and leaned on his shoulder, "I think we need to get you home."

  “Yeah, you’re right. Think I need a change of clothes and to warm up in front of the fire.”

  Not long after, the doctor arrived in his Land Rover. “What’s your name, then?” he asked the boy.

  “Fred. And I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I can see you’ve been in good hands with the people of Bwytheney.”

  “And the animals,” said Fred as he stroked Shadow.

  The doctor laughed, “Yes, and the animals. Only the best of both on this island – it’s far better than the other Nord Isles, you know?” He winked at Fred. “Hello there, Shadow. Hey, Cara. Well, I think you and your parents should come with me for a bit. I need to keep an eye on you for a few hours, just to be sure. But all looks well.”

  Shadow stood up, stretched and came back to stand by my side.

  “Thank you again,” said Fred’s mother.

  “Think nothing of it,” I replied, “but before you go, I wondered if you’d mind me writing about this on my blog. I won’t share Fred’s name or anything—”

  “Oh, you’re not the person behind Nord Isle Living, are you? I love that blog!”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  "No, no, of course not. Go ahead. And it might be a good warning to other parents not to let their children loose on a beach with inflatables. He was sat right there next to me just a few minutes before."

  “Thanks. I best get going. I think someone has earned a treat.” I ruffled the top of Shadow’s head and started making my way home, unaware that this would not be the only dramatic event of the day.

  Chapter 2

  As we headed back towards Islethorpe village, we passed the Beachview Campsite. Tents were dotted across the fields in an array of bright colours, and children ran around free from the usual ties to their electrical devices. A few of them seemed to have gathered some sticks from the woods and were now sword fighting with them.

  A red, old Jaguar came storming out the entrance and skidded round to the right heading towards the village. It kicked up dust, covering Shadow and me. Shadow gave himself a shake while I tried to wipe myself down. As the cloud of sandy mud cleared, I could see Melissa standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

  "Was
that Gregory?" I called across to her. There was only one person on this island that had a car like that, but, of course, it might have been a guest. Unlikely on a campsite, but you never could tell.

  “Yeah, he’s just having a tantrum. He’ll get over it. Fancy a coffee?”

  "I should get back, really—"

  "Oh, go on, Cara, I could do with a break from scrubbing showers and toilets. I might even be able to find a treat for Shadow. What do you say, Shadow?"

  One of his ears pricked up, and his head turned to the side.

  "Well, okay, then. He has earned a treat, haven't you, boy? Have you heard what's just happened at the beach?"

  “No? Come in and tell me all. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  We walked in via the back door that opened onto a boot room containing all manner of wellies, boots, hats, and jackets. This led to Melissa's kitchen, which was a typical farmhouse one. The floor was covered in old flagstones. Some of them had a few cracks now, but they'd done the job for over a hundred years. A place like this saw its fair share of mud, especially when the heavens opened, and flagstones were easy to clean down. A sturdy wooden table stood in the centre. It had been built decades ago by Melissa's father using wood he found lying around when the place had been a farm. It was now covered in dints and marks that told their own stories, enriching it with personality.

  “Tea? Coffee?” asked Melissa stepping out of her wellies and into slippers.

  "Coffee, please, black, no sugar."

  Melissa popped on the kettle and grabbed a couple of mugs from the welsh dresser standing proudly at one end of the kitchen. “So, what happened at the beach?”

  “A boy almost drowned. Well, that’s a bit dramatic. But he was on some inflatable and got taken out. Shadow here raised the alarm. Raced down to the shoreline and started barking.”

  “Oh wow, who’s a good boy, eh Shadow?” she said while pouring water into the mugs. “Is the boy okay?”

  "Yeah, he's fine. Matthew and Bronwen were at the beach too, and Matthew dived in and saved him."

  “Sounds like Matthew. But I can’t say I’m surprised he was swept out. There’s a storm coming, and the sea always gets unpredictable when one’s on its way. I put a warning up on the chalkboard this morning, but some have still chosen to go down to the beach.”

  I looked out the window at the blue sky that only held a wisp of clouds here and there. "How can you tell a storm's coming? There was nothing on the weather forecast."

  “One day, you’ll stop listening to the forecast. You must know by now it’s utter rubbish when it comes to these isles. I don’t know how I know. It’s in my bones, I guess. And a smell in the air. It comes with being an islander—”

  "Which, of course, I'm not."

  Melissa laughed, “What is it now? Fifteen years? Nowhere near being a real islander, yet.”

  Not many people moved in and out of The Nord Isles. Sometimes, people would go to the mainland for a job or university, but they would inevitably land back here. Nord Isle roots ran deep, and even when you were new, the place soon took hold of you. Many of the families had been here for generations. In the last few years, a new sheltered accommodation development had been built on Port Ynys, the largest of the islands, which meant many of the over seventies would relocate from the smaller isles. But generally, not many people moved on.

  “What was all that about with Gregory, then? He seemed in rather a sour mood,” I asked.

  "The bloomin' cheek of the man. Honestly. I would have been well in my rights to beat him out of here with my rolling pin." Melissa picked up her wooden pin, brandished it above her head and started running around the table.

  We both almost fell over laughing, and Shadow scarpered under the table.

  “He’s been pestering me for a bit. Kept saying he wanted to talk about a business proposition.” Melissa rolled her eyes. “I mean, what business could he and I ever be involved with together? Anyway, I finally caved and agreed to hear him out. Turns out he wants to buy my land. I mean…really?”

  “He what?”

  “I know. What would he want with my land? I can’t see him running a campsite and cleaning toilets, can you? And he’s right on the other side of town. Well, I told him where he can stick it.”

  "Didn't his family used to own a lot of land around here?"

  "Well, they were the landed gentry, weren't they. But then there was some bother with his father, Kenneth Albright; I don't think anyone ever found out what. Before you know it, his father sold off a load of their land and some of the houses. You know the Fisherman cottages just up the road?"

  “Yeah…”

  “They were owned by Albright’s until then. And a couple of the shops in town.”

  “But what could he want with your campsite?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care because he isn’t ever getting his hands on it. Seven generations of my family were born on this land…more maybe. Hey, you’re into that family tree thing, aren’t you? Maybe you can help me discover how far back we’ve been here.”

  “Genealogy? Yeah. I dabble in it. It satisfies my itch for researching stuff. So, Gregory didn’t take it too well then?”

  “Typical spoilt brat, that man. Thinks he can get whatever he wants. He kept upping the price, but I soon saw him out.”

  "Strange. Anyway, I best get going. I need to write up a blog post about what happened at the beach. Hey, maybe we could put our heads together sometime and come up with something about the weather in these islands. If people know before they come not to rely on forecasts, they might take more notice of your blackboard."

  “Sounds like an idea. Well, I best get back to the shower block – the sinks keep backing up. Fun.”

  As I strolled back to my own two-bed terrace, tucked away on one of Islethorpe's side streets, I thought about how lucky I was to live here on Bwytheney. When I'd lived in London, every day was filled with drama and death. But here on this island, it was much more of a rarity, and I fully expected island life to just continue peacefully bumbling along. I reached my door and pushed it open just as the first fat raindrops began to fall. I should have known it was a sign of what was to come.

  Chapter 3

  I pressed publish. Everyone would be talking about what had happened at the beach this morning, and all kinds of rumours would be circling, especially in the other villages of Bwytheney where news spread from third or even fourth-hand sources.

  But my blog would set the record straight with a simple story of what happened and how easily it can happen to any family. I’d also mentioned the differences in The Nord Isles currents and weather which can catch visitors out, and promised a follow up on Bwytheney’s weather peculiarities. At the top of the article was the photo of Matthew carrying the boy out of the sea with a link to Bronwen and Matthew’s B&B website. I knew the opportunity to holiday with a real-life hero would be too tempting for some to miss. More trade for the B&B also meant more business for others on the islands.

  The clock on the mantlepiece told me it was a little after two. I grabbed my coat and started out on the walk to Pete's place with Shadow strolling alongside me. Pete lived out at the fishermen cottages just beyond Melissa's home. They sat hunkered into the hillside between the Islethorpe beach and the harbour.

  A few years ago, one of the fishermen had died in a storm at sea, and his wife and child had packed up and moved to the mainland, unable to look at the rolling waves without each bringing in new pain. Since then, their cottage had been rented out. Usually, it was tourists wanting a second home to escape or a change of scenery. But six months ago, Peter Langley had moved in and was slowly becoming a part of island life.

  From the little I knew, Peter was a carpenter by trade. He'd already built me a beautiful, rustic wooden table. It was smaller than the sort you found in homes like Melissa's, but I hoped that it too would be around for decades to come and would gather its own stories to tell future generations. On the island, Pete was more of a handyman as
there wasn't a huge demand for furniture. If you had a squeaky floorboard or a leaking tap, Peter was your man. At only 27, he was already turning the heads of some of the younger women on the island too.

  I had been trying to pin him down to an interview for the blog for a few months, but Peter was a quiet man who tended to keep to himself. Eventually, he gave in, and I was now armed with my trusty notepad and pen as well as my phone.

  As I approached the cottage, I could already picture the photograph I would take – Peter leaning on the tiny stone cottage's doorway, arms crossed. But before I could knock, Peter opened the door. He bent down and said, "Hello Shadow, old buddy," and promptly gave him an affectionate hug before ruffling his head and around his ears. "Come on in," he said to me.

  “How are you? Keeping busy?” I asked. As I took the photos I needed, we continued to chat.

  “Yeah, not bad. Heard a whisper that you and Shadow here had a bit of excitement this morning.”

  "I'm not sure I'd call it excitement, exactly. Eventful is probably a better word, but all ended well."

  “Well, you’re the word person,” he smiled, “talking of which, when are we going to see one of your novels in the book shop?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. They’re not that good. I just write them for fun. One day…”

  "Hmm, well, just make sure that day comes. You really ought to send them off to someone."

  “Yeah, the girls keep saying the same. I will…soon.”

  “Right shall we get this over with then?” he sat down in one of the armchairs by the log fire.

  I took the seat on the other side of the fireplace and laughed, “It won’t be that bad, you know? It’ll be good for business too. Raise your profile on the islands.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I’m just not a fan of talking about myself.”

  "I'll make it as painless as possible, I promise," I smiled. "Okay, well, maybe we could start with a bit of background. You were a carpenter before arriving here, yes?"

  “Yeah. When I was little, about seven maybe, we had a school trip to the maritime museum. I think every kid in Liverpool visits there at some point. But I remember being fascinated that boats were once built from wood. Once I got a smell of wood being planed during tech lessons at school, I was hooked. Started my apprentice straight outta school.”