What Everyone Knew (A Disappearance Mystery Thriller Book 2) Read online

  Suddenly, Rebecca's glum expression turns into a wide smile. “You mean it!?”

  Rebecca nods. “Of course, as long as your Uncle Will doesn't mind?”

  Will clears his throat and then seems to admit defeat. “That is fine. I must go in any case. There is work to be done. You be good, Rebecca.” Will pats her on the head before turning to Melody. “Good day, Miss Winter.”

  With that, Will's confident footsteps move off with him into some vast passageway of unknown possibilities. They carry with them the air of a man uncomfortable in his role as a makeshift father figure. To Melody, Will appears as someone who has been thrust into the role without having been prepared for it. She can sympathize with anyone whose world has been turned upside down immediately. After all, such a thing has happened to Melody herself, and it is the reason she is in Deacon House in the first place.

  Waiting until Will is truly gone, Melody smiles at her new student and says: “Shall we get started? You, me, and Sarah?” Rebecca takes Melody's hand gleefully and they walk back up the staircase to the study.

  Once inside, Melody notices that the air has gotten substantially colder as the door was left open.

  “It's a little chilly in here, isn't it?” Melody asks.

  “I can put another log on the fire, Miss Winter. It's nearly gone out. Shall I?” Rebecca asks with enthusiasm.

  “I'm not sure you should be playing with fire, Rebecca. Best leave that to the grown-ups, okay?”

  Rebecca looks disappointed as she sits down on a small wooden seat in front of an old oak school table.

  Melody puts a couple of logs in the small fireplace beneath the mirror and then prods them with an iron poker. The flames roar up and consume the wood slowly, finally reaching a wholesome yellow glow.

  “Uncle Max lets me start the fire, Miss Winter.” Rebecca says, placing Sarah on her small wooden desk.

  Melody senses that Maximilian is the typical “fun uncle” who gets to be the favorite without ever doing the difficult stuff. Perhaps that is why Will so easily angered him earlier. In the study, however, Melody knows that she must exert herself as the sole authority.

  “Oh, really? Well, your Uncle Max isn't here. So, when you're in a lesson with me, Rebecca, I'd appreciate you sticking to my rules. And Sarah, too.”

  My word, I sound so stiff, Melody thinks to herself.

  “I don't like rules, much.” Rebecca puts her elbows on her desk and rests her chin in her hands glumly.

  “I tell you what,” says Melody, standing up from in front of the now roaring fire. “I'll make a deal with you.”

  “What sort of a deal, Miss?”

  “If you follow my rules, I'll make sure that each day we'll have some fun. We'll play a game together around the house and the estate. But it will only happen after your studies. If you're good, then you'll always have something fun to look forward to. How does that sound?”

  Rebecca beams. “Oh, yes, Miss. That sounds lovely!”

  “Put it there, then.” Melody shakes hands with Rebecca.

  “This is going to be so much fun! Much better than with Mr Sanders, he would never play with me.”

  “Mr Sanders?” Melody asks, pulling out some notes on the school work Will wants Rebecca to swot up on. In her mind, that name shocks her. As a child, whenever her father would randomly appear for a day or two at home before disappearing for weeks at a time, he had a habit of wanting to watch old movies with Melody. One of them involved a cuddly bear who occasionally went by that name.

  “Yes,” Rebecca says. “Mr Sanders was my last tutor. He was very good at history, but not very good at maths.”

  This cuts Melody through the heart. She feels her pulse begin to race. Good at History, bad at math, she thinks. Again, all too familiar.

  “And... What happened to Mr Sanders?” Melody asks, trying not to show little Rebecca that she is perturbed by this information.

  “I'm not sure, really. He was staying here at Deacon House, then one night he just left. Without so much as a goodbye. I'm still very cross with him about that. I thought we were friends.” Rebecca says with a frown. “He was fun for a while, but he got really serious before he left... No... Not serious, sad.”

  The illusion of being a teacher on that vast estate is briefly broken. She thinks about her father. About the note he left. A warning for her to leave should she ever follow.

  “What did your uncles say about Mr Sanders leaving?”

  “They didn't seem too bothered. I don't think they liked him...much. But there aren't many people on the island who teach. Until you came.”

  Melody starts to doubt herself. “Oh, so he comes from Deacon Island?”

  “No, Miss,” Rebecca says. “He has an English accent. But a strange one. Every now and then it sounded more American to me. A bit like yours, Miss... Miss... Are you okay?”

  “Yes...” Melody answers. “I'm fine, Rebecca. Let's start with some Math since you've already got a head start on History.”

  Melody proceeds to teach Rebecca. She plasters a smile across her face as she teaches. In any other circumstance, she would have enjoyed helping Rebecca. But for the moment, all she can think about is the possibility that Mr Sanders is her own father, and those perilous words from Rebecca's innocent mouth.

  One night he just left...

  Chapter 2

  A week has passed. Melody's time on Deacon Island is going by quickly. Each day, she sleeps in her room which looks over the town and the shore beyond. Occasionally, she wanders the streets and lanes which meander between white stone cottages. The Howling Dog remains cozy, and she is slowly getting to know the locals — Morrison the bartender most of all. For the past several days, she has been back and forth to Deacon House to teach little Rebecca. Melody loves her company, but the job has so far provided few opportunities to snoop around and see if her father has left her any other clues.

  She is grateful for a night off. Melody just wants to switch her brain off, move it from the worry, and have one good night where she can enjoy the ambience and the Celtic charm of Talon's Point.

  It is now Saturday evening. The Howling Dog inn is busier than usual, and those who live in Talon's Point are revelling in the atmosphere. It smells of stale beer and whiskey, and there are enthused shouts of joy as a band plays in the corner. The melodious sound of the accordion, fiddle, and bagpipes feels to Melody as Scottish as the landscape itself. It is as though the joyous, life-affirming place that is Deacon's Island, has given birth to good cheer at the correct hour — what should be a tonic to Melody's worries about her father.

  Having some relief from the domineering atmosphere of Deacon House is welcomed, though she still feels very much like an outsider feigning enjoyment to a degree.

  She cannot stop thinking about her father, entirely. It comes in waves, a mixture of anxiety, grief, and unresolved questions. Growing in her mind is the belief that her father may have come to a frightening end at Deacon House, and that she is working for those involved.

  “Do you like the music?” Rob asks, sitting beside Melody in front of a wooden table that gets shunted every time a dancing villager knocks into it. Both the shunt and the question break Melody's diminished mood. She is happy to see people enjoying themselves.

  “Yeah,” Melody says over the cheery music. “I've heard some Celtic music before, you know, during St Patrick's Day. It's pretty big in Boston as a lot of people moved to the East Coast from Ireland.”

  Rob laughs and then shouts across to Morrison behind the bar, serving at speed. His bushy moustache is still as full of character on his top lip as ever.

  “Morrison! Do you hear that? Melody says it's like St. Patrick's Day at the Howling Dog!”

  From behind his bushy moustache, Morrison lets out a lively laugh and a few of the local barflies sitting on stools nearby join in.

  “Nae, lassie!” Morrison yells over the music. “This is Scotland! Not Ireland! Though we do count the Irish as our Celtic brothers and sisters
here.”

  “I didn't mean any offence,” Melody says, thinking once more about her old professor's words about Academic Whiplash. Melody had read a lot about Scotland, but it was no substitute for being there.

  “None taken,” Rob says, taking a sip from his whiskey glass. “Ireland and Scotland have influenced each other greatly for centuries. A lot of people have moved across the sea one way or the other. This music... This is called a cèilidh.”

  “Kaylee?”

  “That's right, but don't try to spell it. There aren't many Gaelic speakers left in Scotland, but there are a lot of words that have slipped through into common use.”

  The band finishes a song and there are wild hoots and hollers from around the room. The singer, with an accordion wrapped around his neck and held between his arms, addresses the inn.

  “We have a very special guest wae us the night,” the singer says. “Aw the wae fae the good ole U.S. Of A.” He tries his best to put on an American accent but butchers it to Melody's native ears. She realizes that must be how she would sound to them if she tried to put on a Scottish accent.

  Many drunken faces turn to Melody, their cheeks red, their skin weathered by countless trips out to fish the wild seas. Many raise their glasses and smile.

  It then gets a little embarrassing for Melody as the band clanks through a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner, before breaking into Don Maclean's famous American Pie. The latter is much more musical to Melody's ears and it's clear it's one they've played before, unlike the American national anthem.

  Rob grins from ear to ear and grabs Melody by the hand. He ushers her up into a space on the floor between several couples dancing away, fuelled by spirits both emotional and fermented. They dance, and Melody feels good in Rob's strong embrace. She likes him, though she knows she cannot allow herself to fall for him; not when so much is at stake.

  I need to keep my mind clear. Still, Rob seems to be enjoying himself, picking Melody up in his arms and moving her around at pace. After a time, Melody starts to get the steps, and by the end of the song she's jigging away like the rest of the pub.

  It strikes Melody as she sees the world becoming a blur of happy, smiling faces, that some there might know about her father. But she dares not ask openly in case someone involved in his disappearance is listening. Instead, it is little Rebecca's assertion that she was taught by a Mr Sanders, that allows Rebecca a cover story of sorts; a route of inquiry that might help yield some answers.

  As the band finishes the line “this'll be the day that I die,” and the inn erupts in applause, Melody leans into Rob's embrace and whispers in his ear.

  “Did you ever meet Mr Sanders up at Deacon House?”

  Rob continues smiling as she leans back, but Melody is certain that, upon his brow, worry has momentarily made itself known. It's as though her words have clouded his enjoyment. More than that, he now seems intent on addressing Melody's words in a more secluded environment, as though conversing about them might be dangerous.

  Taking Melody by the hand, he leads her to the stairs that shoot up to the rooms above. Melody is worried by this herself. She never allows a man to push her around, but she must play along. She has to know what Rob needs to say.

  There are a few well-knowing glances and cheeky comments from fellow drinkers as Rob leads Melody up the stairs.

  “On yersel', Rob!” one man shouts.

  “Do Scotland proud!” another jokes from the bar.

  There is then a rowdy conglomeration of laughing mixed potently with innuendo.

  Melody tries to ignore the disdainful jokes, there's no way she's going to sleep with Rob, but she doesn't have time to correct the onlookers. However, the one thing that does hurt her is a disapproving glance from Morrison behind the bar. It's almost like a parent looking disappointingly at their child. Melody feels a pang of guilt, then remorse that her own father has never been around in her adult life long enough to disapprove.

  Rob leads Melody by the hand up the rickety wooden staircase that bends, almost spiralling as it reaches the next floor.

  “What is it, Rob?” Melody asks as they walk along the creaking hallway to Melody's room. But at first, Rob does not answer. This silence is unnerving to Melody. She tries to break the ice. “I hope this is just for a talk, because conversation is all you're getting,” she says quietly.

  “Ignore them downstairs,” Rob finally says as they reach the door to Melody's room. “I'm not here to make a move on you. But it's clear we need to have a talk. Well... Are you going to open the door?”

  Melody considers forcing him to say what he has on his mind before she puts herself in a vulnerable position. I barely know this man, she thinks, tightening her grip around her room key in her hand. He's all smiles and happy-go-lucky, but what if he's more? Something worse that I can't see?

  As though sensing Melody's nervousness, Rob gently places a hand on her shoulder. “It's okay, Melody. You've nothing to worry about. I just don't want that lot downstairs listening in to what I have to say. You'll understand soon enough. Please, trust me.”

  Melody says nothing, but she nods, puts the key in the door and then invites Rob into her room. She closes the door, but does not lock it. She wants to have a route of escape if needs be.

  Once settled in Melody's room, Rob still nestles his drink in one hand, sitting on a wooden chair that looks out across the town and to the sea, while Melody sits on the edge of her bed and looks at her companion.

  Melody can feel it in her bones. He knows something, she thinks to herself. But Rob just stares out at the night.

  It's up to Melody to break the tension. “Mind telling me why we left the party downstairs?”

  “What's your concern with Mr Sanders?” Rob says grimly. The joviality normally present in his voice is all but gone. This is a different Rob.

  “I was just asking...”

  “Well maybe you shouldn't, Melody.”

  Rob gets up and starts pacing the old worn floorboards, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, as if trying to remove tension.

  “I should have known better,” he says, grumbling out loud to himself.

  “What?” Melody asks, but her stomach is full of butterflies. She's beginning to think that he knows her true purpose on the island, but she has no idea what he'll do with that knowledge if he does have it.

  “I should have known,” he continues, “that it was more than coincidence that we'd have two outsiders come to the island in such a short space of time.”

  “It is a coincidence. I'm writing a book...” Melody sticks to her story, hoping she can get things back on track.

  “Maybe..” Rob looks at Melody intently. “You're not here chasing ghosts, then?”

  “You think Sanders is dead?” Melody tries to keep her worry from showing, but she was never good at Drama. Science is her realm of expertise, not deception. And yet here she is, trying to deceive an entire island.

  “Look, I just don't want you getting caught up in what's going on at Deacon House, Melody. If you're here to find Sanders...”

  Melody feigns a laugh. “No, I'm just curious because Rebecca has spoken about him a few times.”

  “And you know what curiosity did to the cat?” Rob looks down at Melody with a stark, emotionless expression.

  “Rob, what happened to my predecessor? If you know something, out with it!”

  Rob sits down on the edge of the bed next to Melody.

  “Look, all I know is that Deacon House is bad. Things happen there, and this Mr Sanders might be the latest to have found that out, to his own expense.”

  Melody feels her heart racing. Does he mean my father's dead?

  “What sort of bad things?” she asks, fighting with her emotions.

  Rob stands up and begins pacing again. It's as though his erratic thoughts are controlling his limbs, his movements a potent result of worry and paranoia. The floorboards creak with each step as he moves, the muffled sound of the music downstairs beco
ming an ominous drone and backdrop to the conversation, rather than the hopeful, life-affirming sound it was before.

  “People stay away from Deacon House for good reason, Melody... That family has loss after loss, enough to make most of us certain they're cursed. People on the island are forced to deal with them because they own so much of the land, but if we had our way, we'd ship them off to the mainland and let the cities deal with them and their ways.”

  “Rob, listen to me,” Melody says somberly. “What has happened to Mr Sanders?”

  “I... I don't know for certain. But look... There are only two ways off this island, by sky and by boat. And the only boat that regularly visits the mainland is The Blue Elm. McCorrie runs that one, an old sea dog if ever there was one, but an honest type. He says he hasn't taken Sanders off the island. And I know he's not been on my plane. So, you tell me, where is he? Up at Deacon House? One of the maids told me she hasn't seen him there for some time. One day he was there, the next he vanished.”