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“THANKS SO MUCH, LYDIA. The dresses are fabulous,” said Megan, giving her a hug.
“Beautiful, even,” added Lizzie.
“Really gorgeous,” said Petal. “Much nicer than the dresses the first time you got married.”
“I’m so relieved,” said Evie. “I went to a wedding last month and the bridesmaids looked like Little Bo-Peep.”
Petal snorted and almost spat out the water she’d just swigged from her bottle. “What a nightmare. Thank goodness we’re adults.”
“They were adults,” said Evie.
“Well, I’m glad I could help you out,” said Lydia, with a grin, as she bade them goodbye to attend to another customer.
“This has been so much fun!” said Lizzie. “I can’t wait until the wedding. Every time I think of it, I get goosebumps.”
“Same.” Evie linked arms with her aunt and her mum and set off in the direction of Kismet Cottage. “I don’t know anyone else who’s been a bridesmaid at their mum’s wedding. It’s going to be brilliant.”
“How are arrangements for the hen-weekend going?” asked Megan.
“Fabulous,” said Lizzie, “but don’t ask us anything because it’s all going to be a surprise until the day.”
“Surprises are good, but please, please promise me they don’t involve half-naked men dressed as emergency service workers. I think I’d die of embarrassment.”
Petal and Lizzie exchanged a glance. “I think we learned our lesson after your last wedding when you ran off and locked yourself in the bathroom when the police officer stripogram arrived,” said Lizzie. “He waited for half an hour in his posing pouch, with only his truncheon to protect his modesty, until we told him he might as well go home.”
Evie threw back her head and roared with laughter. “That’s hilarious. Poor Mum.”
“I felt awful about ruining the surprise,” said Megan, “but stripograms and me and not a good mix. I was in the bathroom hyperventilating.”
As they walked to the cottage, all chattering non-stop, Evie spotted Petal’s grandad, Wilf, with Ethel, Gladys, and Eddie, from the residential home, having lunch in the awning outside The Duck Inn. “Look, Petal, there’s your grandad. Let’s go and say hello. He’s such a sweetie, and the others, too, and I haven’t seen them for ages.”
As soon as Gladys saw them approach, she jumped up, waving her arms above her head. “Oh, it’s lovely to see you, girls! Come on in, you’re just in time for a good old gossip.”
“Evie and Lizzie, you come and sit between me and Gladys,” said Ethel, organising the seating arrangements as she moved along the bench. “And you and Petal can sit next to Wilf and Eddie, Megan.”
“And you can help us finish this wine,” said Eddie. “We got a bottle included with lunch, but none of us are big wine drinkers, so it’s going to waste unless you all want a glass?”
“Are you feeling okay now, Eddie?” asked Megan. “That was quite a turn you had last Sunday.”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” said Eddie, the colour in his cheeks rising as he sipped from his small glass of stout. “Couldn’t be better now, thanks. I think it was a combination of the excitement and forgetting to take my blood pressure tablet. We were standing around for ages while the valuers were looking at Des’s dish, and by the time they’d finished and Davina broke the news about its value, my knees just gave way. I was as right as rain later on. In fact—”
“Oh, not that again!” said Gladys. “No offence, Eddie, but your funny turn is all we’ve talked about since it happened, and after a while, it’s about as interesting as watching a foreign film without the subtitles. Can’t we talk about something more else?” She turned to Ethel and gave her an encouraging nod. “Why don’t you tell the girls about the nightingale? And your premonition.”
“Lord, help us,” Wilf muttered under his breath and raised his eyes to the heavens. “It’d be a more riveting conversation if we talked about the day I put my underpants on back to front.”
“Grandad,” said Petal, shooting Wilf a warning look and a wink.
“I thought the nightingale sounded lovely,” said Lizzie, taking the glass of wine Eddie offered. “Isn’t it only the males that sing to attract a mate? Either way, it was lovely to hear.”
“You wouldn’t say that if it had woken you up every night and every morning for days,” said Megan. “Anyway, what about it, Ethel?”
Ethel—Bliss Bay’s self-professed psychic—dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a serviette, and took a furtive look around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “The singing is an omen, you know.”
Wilf nudged Eddie and rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Ethel! What a ridiculous notion.”
“It is not a ridiculous notion,” said Ethel, ignoring the schoolboy nudges and smirks coming from across the table. “It’s a sign.”
Megan squirmed in her seat. She loved Ethel to bits but sometimes, the old woman gave her the shivers. “A sign of what, exactly?”
Ethel cast a mysterious glance at everyone around the table. “A sign that a decades-old village mystery must be solved. The nightingale will sing every morning and every evening until it is.”
“What mystery?” asked Evie, leaning forward, goggle-eyed and thoroughly enjoying the entertainment.
“The mystery of what happened to Martha Connery’s husband, Bruce. You probably don’t even know that he disappeared without a trace,” said Ethel. “If you haven’t already seen today’s local paper, take a look at this. Half of it’s taken up with Davina Davidson’s revelations from yesterday, but this is the real story.” She took a copy of it from her bag and put it on the table.
Village Mystery Remains Unsolved
The recent and shocking death of Gordon Campbell in Bliss Bay village shook the community to its core.
While the identity of his killer remains a mystery, perhaps we should take this opportunity to remember Bliss Bay’s other unsolved mystery, that being the disappearance of Bruce Connery, exactly forty-seven years to the day before Mr Campbell’s death earlier this week.
On that day, Bruce Connery waved his wife, Martha, goodbye as she set off on holiday with friends, William and Irene Donahue. That was the last time she ever saw him. The plan was for Mr Connery to meet up with them later, but he never arrived.
Since then, not a single sighting has been reported to police investigating his disappearance. It’s as though he simply ceased to exist.
After weeks without contact, his family and friends feared the worst, but his wife didn’t give up hope. She believed that—for reasons she couldn’t explain—her husband planned his disappearance and that, somewhere, he was alive and well and living the life she thought they were planning for both of them.
Refusing to remarry, in the event that her husband should return, Mrs Connery told our reporter shortly after the disappearance: ‘Bruce is a free spirit. He tires quickly of the mundane and is always ready for the next big adventure. He spends a lot of time searching for it, but he always comes home to Bliss Bay eventually. He says it’s dull, but I know it’s the only place he can truly relax and be himself.’
Out reporter asked Mrs Connery where she thought her husband was. Her reply was chilling.
‘Who knows? Maybe he’s not too far away? I’ll tell you one thing for sure—he doesn’t forgive people easily. He can hold a grudge for years and if he feels there are people who have wronged him throughout his life, he’ll get his revenge. I think he’s waiting until the time’s right to come back and settle old scores. You mark my words, one day, when we’re least expecting it, Bruce will turn up again. We haven’t seen the last of him in Bliss Bay, that’s for sure.’
This week, forty-seven years later, will the killing of Gordon Campbell help to shed some light on Bruce Connery’s whereabouts? We can only hope that we don’t have to wait too long before both these mysteries are solved.
Editor’s note: This article includes reprints of excerpts from our original interview with Martha Connery following her husband’s disappearance.
“Oh my,” muttered Megan, with a sigh. “Wait until Uncle Des sees this. He’ll be rushing out to buy another notebook.”
Evie looked up from the newspaper to meet Ethel’s bright-eyed gaze. “But what does any of this have to do with the nightingale?”
“Many people believe the nightingale to be a symbol of loss and mourning,” said Ethel, pointing a bony finger at no one in particular.
“And you think that’s why it started singing on the anniversary of Bruce’s disappearance?” asked Megan. “Because it was the same day Gordon Campbell died?”
Ethel nodded. “That’s right, dear. Bruce’s disappearance represents the loss, and Gordon’s death, the mourning. And I believe the two tragedies are linked—I feel it in my bones. The similarities between the two cannot be ignored.”
The little group fell silent until Wilf swallowed the salad vegetables churning around in his mouth. “Codswallop,” he said, amiably, setting his knife and fork down on his plate. “As far as Bruce’s disappearance is concerned, there’s no mystery and no tragedy. He just decided one day that the grass was greener somewhere else, and he left. That’s all there is to it.
“And while Gordon’s death is tragic, there’s no mystery there, either. Someone saw that dish and wanted it for themselves. There’s your motive, clear as day. Whoever it was went to Des’s place to steal it, but Gordon saved them the trouble. They used force to take it from him, and sadly he paid with his life. And that was the end of that.”
Eddie nodded. “I have to agree. I think you’re over-reacting a little, if you don’t mind me saying, Ethel. I don’t think there’s anything suspect about Bruce’s disappearance, and I certainly wouldn’t call it a tragedy, either. As it says in the paper, Martha thought he’d been planning it for ages, and she knew him better than anyone, so she should know. I don’t suppose she’ll be very happy it’s been brought up again, though, and William definitely won’t be. He hates any talk of Bruce, especially in front of Martha. She says she’s over him, but I don’t think she is.”
Wilf nodded. “You’re not wrong there. William took on a lot of baggage when he took up with Martha. There’s a lot of suppressed emotions as far as she’s concerned, you mark my words.”
“Oh, Grandad, what are you talking about?” said Petal, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze.
“Yes, what are you talking about?” asked Evie, eyes still agog at the chance of learning some proper village gossip so soon after her arrival.
“I just mean that Martha was still in love with Bruce when he left her,” said Wilf. “You don’t stop loving someone just because they disappear, do you? And if I know that, then William must know it, too, and I don’t expect he’s too pleased about playing second fiddle for Martha’s affections.”
Megan sighed. “All I know is that nothing good ever comes from digging around in the past. And I can vouch for that because Uncle Des is an expert on the subject and it always leads to trouble.”
“Well, I think it’s exciting to be here in the middle of a police investigation,” said Evie. “I mean, it’s terrible about that poor man, obviously, but it livens the place up a bit.”
“I’d rather take peace and quiet any day,” said Megan, with a frown. “I prefer the old Bliss Bay, when the most serious crime you heard about was kids ringing on someone’s doorbell and running away. Whatever the nightingale’s reason for waking us all up at the crack of dawn, I hope it doesn’t carry on for much longer.”
“Like I said, dear,” said Ethel, rubbing her hands together and eyeing the desserts that had arrived at the table. “It will sing until the mystery of what happened to Bruce Connery is solved, so if you’re hoping for it to stop before then, you’ll be sorely disappointed. And you may think there’s no mystery, Wilf, but I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”
As Megan watched Ethel dig her spoon into a tall glass of Knickerbocker Glory, she had the strangest feeling she was being watched. She turned, but saw no one behind her. “Come on, let’s go,” she whispered to Lizzie, with a shiver. “All this talk about omens and death has given me the creeps.”
They all said their goodbyes and left the table before continuing across the village green to Kismet Cottage. As chatter resumed among the small group, and Megan relaxed, putting all spooky thoughts from her mind, she didn’t notice the figure that had been watching her from behind the oak tree, turn and slip away.
ººººººº
That evening, at Bliss Bay police station, Sam and the rest of the team discussed the new information that had come to light.
“I mean, we don’t know for sure that the dish Des Harper took to the antiques show is the same one that Davina Davidson talked about in her interview yesterday,” said Harvey, folding his newspaper.
“Or that this mysterious Condor thief is the person who killed Gordon Campbell when he found out the dish was here, and came to take it back.”
“I thought the similarities between Davina and Martha’s statements were interesting, did you notice?” said Trudy. “Yesterday, this is what Davina said about the Condor, ‘Some people will wait a lifetime to take back what’s theirs if they think they’ve been wronged.’
“And forty-seven years ago, this is what Martha said about Bruce, ‘...if he feels there are people who have wronged him throughout his life, he’ll get his revenge. I think he’s waiting until the time’s right to come back and settle old scores.’”
“That is interesting,” said Harvey. “And while we’re on the subject of coincidences, the theft of the dish and Bruce’s disappearance took place in the same year, just a few months apart.”
“Well, I think the strangest similarity, coincidence, call it what you like, is that the date Bruce disappeared is the same as the date Gordon was killed. I mean, what a twist of fate,” said Paul.
“It’s all very well talking about coincidences and similarities,” said Trudy, “but what I’d like to know is if there’s something tangible that connects the two. If we knew that, we’d really be onto something.”
“We would, Trudy,” said Sam. “We really would...”
