“Nor do I,” said Fay.
“Where did you hear the rumor?”
“Baines told me himself. I went to check on the fowls and found him sitting slumped against the barn drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. He was in a bad way. I don’t think he knew who he was talking to.”
“It’s worse than I thought.” Morwen looked worried. “What did you do with him? Was he able to walk?”
“I was about to look for someone to help me when one of the farm hands came up – a guy by the name of Bob. He half-carried his boss home.”
“That must have been Bob Haggit, the foreman. He has been a tremendous support to poor Maria Baines.”
“Has he indeed?” Fay’s eyebrow quirked upwards.
Morwen made tutting noises as she put the bacon on to fry. “Not like that. There’s nothing between them. He has just been someone Maria could turn to while Danny was unravelling. It’s all perfectly innocent. And believe me, I would have heard if it weren’t.”
Fay believed her. No one had their ear to the ground like Morwen did.
“I still don’t understand how that fire got started.”
“What do you mean?” asked Morwen. “Danny told you himself what happened.”
“That might explain how one of the fires got started, but not both. Do you have any idea how far it is from the wooded copse near the farmhouse to the upper field? It took me five minutes to walk there. I know that wildfires can spread like … well, like wildfire, but I don’t believe that a spark could have jumped that distance and caused two fires to blaze at the same time. I suppose it’s theoretically possible, but I find it hard to believe.”
“You think Danny Baines set two fires?” Morwen raised her voice over the hiss of the frying bacon. “That makes no sense. Unless he is after an insurance payout.”
“That’s what Bob Haggit said. He didn’t say it as though he believed it, but more like, ‘now everyone is going to think he’s after the insurance money’.”
“It’s all very strange. And just after Maria lost her brother too. How much misfortune can one family handle?”
Fay decided not to tell Morwen what Danny Baines had said about wanting to sell off part of the farm without his wife’s agreement. She had not forgotten that Edward Mayweather had been an attorney – or rather a solicitor – who specialized in sales of immovable property. The rumor was that he had come to Bluebell Island to broker a sale of land. And now he was dead.
She had no idea how all the pieces of this puzzle fit together, and she wasn’t about to start speculating out loud.
“Excuse me a sec.” Fay stripped off her apron when the breakfast service was finished. “I’m going to visit Spooky and clean out his litter tray. Then I’ll see if he’s in the mood for some back scratches.”
Chapter 18
Fay was more convinced than ever that Spooky had not been leading the life of a feral cat for long. Yes, the remnants of the collar around his neck were tattered and worn, but she guessed that it had been months rather than years since he had last had a home.
There was no doubt that he was accustomed to human contact. Cats that were habituated to the feral life could take months to tame, if they could be tamed at all. Spooky, on the other hand, was getting used to Fay’s presence in leaps and bounds.
When she entered the box room after breakfast that morning, he raised his head to look at her and made a chirruping sound in his throat. Translated into English, it would have said, “Oh, good morning. You again?” Feral cats were silent. They only used their voices when they had a litter of kittens to communicate with. Vocalizing was something that pet cats did. Spooky had clearly been a pet, and quite recently too.
Fay didn’t bother with the broom handle this time. She pulled on her oven mitts and wielded the back scratcher by its short handle. Spooky started purring almost immediately, which emboldened her to put it down and to stroke him with the oven mitt. He detected the difference immediately and rolled onto his back to attack the mitt. But this time his actions seemed more playful and less murderous. Soon, he got bored with fighting and turned around so she could scratch his back again.
When he was relaxed and purring, she slipped her hand out of the mitt and stroked his back – ready to pull away at the first sign of aggression. His purring only increased. She talked to him constantly, getting him used to the sound of a human voice.
After about half an hour, he began to look sleepy, so she withdrew and left him to his morning nap.
“What’s on your agenda for this morning?” asked Morwen from her post at the reception desk.
“I’m going back to the fencing studio,” said Fay. “I’ve let myself get too distracted by Edward Mayweather’s connection to Baines’ Farm. The fact remains that he was killed by a fencing sword and that he was working as a part-time fencing instructor. He came to Bluebell Island to learn a new technique. Everything points to Galliano’s studio being ground zero for what happened to him.”
“Not to mention the fact that someone planted a sword covered in fake blood to try to implicate Massimo Galliano,” said Morwen.
“Exactly. So, if you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”
The fencing studio was dim and quiet when Fay walked in.
For a moment she thought it was closed. But that made no sense – the door was standing wide open.
“Hello?” she called.
There was no answer.
“Hello?” She said it louder this time.
Still nothing.
But Fay could hear something. It was a faint tic tic tic sound, as though someone with long nails were typing fast on a keyboard.
Not wanting to startle anyone, she crossed the studio to the administrator’s office, treading more heavily than usual. The administrator – an entirely new woman this time – was sitting at her desk with large headphones on, typing away furiously. She was clearly listening to audio dictation and hadn’t heard Fay come in. Fay stepped into her line of sight and knocked loudly.
The woman’s eyes went wide when she saw Fay and she pulled her headphones off.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “These noise-cancelling headphones work too well. A bomb could go off and I wouldn’t hear it. Did you want to book a lesson?”
“I wanted to speak to one of the instructors – either Mr. Galliano or Ms. King.”
“I’m afraid they’re both out at the moment. They’ll be back after lunch when classes start. Would you like to come back at two o’clock?”
“I was hoping to get this done now,” said Fay. “Do you have any idea where they might be?”
“I know Frances is up at the retirement center teaching a class to seniors. Massimo took an early ferry to Falmouth. He didn’t say why.”
“I’ll see if I can catch Frances at Sunset Acres then, thanks.” Fay was about to turn away when a thought struck her. “Are you a temp? I haven’t seen the same person in here twice.”
“No, I was hired recently,” said the woman. “I’m on a three-month probation, but we’re all hoping it’ll work out. They need a permanent administrator and I need a full-time job. It’s a match made in heaven – I hope.”
“Do you have any idea who your predecessor was? I don’t mean the temps, but the last person to hold this job full-time?”
The woman, whose desk nameplate declared her to be Sally Robson, shook her head. “All I know about her is that she was very efficient. Her filing systems are excellent – both digital and paper. It was easy to slot into this job because she left such a good infrastructure behind.”
“There might even be a file on her in that cabinet,” Fay suggested.
Sally got up to have a look. “Good point. Now what would she have kept her file under? A for Administrator, maybe?” She rifled through a drawer full of hanging files. “Yes, here it is. Orla Matthis. It says here she went to work for BMA, which stands for …”
“Bluebell Maritime Assurance,” Fay said. “Yes, I know them.”
; Fay used the walk back up Cliff Drive to plan her strategy.
Re-interviewing witnesses was always tricky. Going over old ground was sometimes necessary, but not always appreciated. When you asked the same questions all over again, people took it to mean that you thought they’d been lying the first time around.
Asking new questions could also be taken amiss if they believed they were now in the frame for whatever crime had been committed. But diplomacy had always been one of Fay’s strengths – almost to a fault. Her superiors in the NYPD had sometimes criticized her interrogation techniques as being too soft. But they had to admit that she got results.
She signed in at the gatehouse and entered Sunset Acres on foot. She passed the frail-care unit and walked straight to the recreation center. With a bit of luck, Frances would still be there. She followed the sounds of thumps and squeaks and shouted instructions until she reached a small hall. It was either an unusually bouncy aerobics class or she had found the fencing lesson.
She peeked into the hall to see six or seven seniors in protective gear practicing their thrusts and parries. She had expected a bigger group. From what Laura Schuyler had said, there had been a lot of interest in the classes when they were first mooted. This could not be described as a lot of people.
At the end of the lesson, Frances led the students through some gentle, cool-down stretches. Then they stripped off their protective gear and put their normal shoes back on. Frances spotted Fay as she arrived and frowned slightly.
“I presume you’re not here for fencing lessons?” she asked as Fay approached.
“No, although it looks like fun. How do the over-seventies cope with this sport? Strength and flexibility are important components, aren’t they?”
“Very much so. But the great thing about fencing is that you can develop those attributes through practicing it.”
“I was expecting to see a bigger class. I heard there was a lot of interest after Massimo’s original presentation.”
Frances’s expression was decidedly sour. “That’s what Massimo does. It’s typical of him. He sweeps in, all tanned and Mediterranean and charming, and gets a bunch of ladies to sign up for his class. Once they’ve paid their non-refundable initial payment, he then announces that he won’t be taking the class after all and I’ll be their instructor instead. It’s a classic bait and switch. We talked about this before.”
“Yes, we did. But the class was even smaller than I expected.”
“I’m the one who has to deal with the high dropout rates when the ladies discover that they won’t be spending their lessons gazing adoringly into Massimo’s olive-brown contact lenses after all.”
“But isn’t that good business? He reels them in and gets lots of new sign-ups for the business. Then you teach the ones who remain.”
Frances’s shrug was irritable. “The point is that it’s humiliating for me. How do you think I feel when I arrive to take a class and everyone’s disappointed? And then they all drop out as though I’m a hopeless teacher, which I’m not.”
“How do you think he should handle it?”
“He should let me do the presentations. I would talk about all the health and fitness benefits of fencing and really sell it for what it is. That way, the people who sign up are more likely to stick with us in the long term. That’s how you build a proper, loyal client base.”
“So, you don’t see Massimo as needing to be involved in the client pitches at all?”
“He can stand there and look pretty while I talk, if he likes. And if he must contribute something, he can talk about the real reasons for taking up fencing – the strength, flexibility, and cardio-vascular health that it gives one.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Fay saw one of the seniors hovering, waiting for a chance to speak to Frances. It was Laura Schuyler.
“Yes, ma’am?” Frances’s voice was slightly tetchy.
“I just wanted to say thank you for a lovely class, dear,” said Laura. “I’m really starting to feel the benefits. Mind you, I might be stiff tomorrow, but I’m starting to get used to it.”
“That’s good to hear. If you stick with it, you will see real health benefits over time.”
Laura clutched Frances’s upper arm and leaned forward confidentially. “I don’t care what anyone else says. I think you’re just as good as the handsome Italian gentleman. After all, looks aren’t everything.”
She patted Frances’s arm and stepped back.
“Thank you.” Frances’s face was like a thunder cloud.
Fay managed not to smile as Laura turned to her.
“How is that dear little kitty getting on?”
“Really well. I’ll come and tell you all about him in a minute. I just want to finish talking to Frances here.”
“Perfect. I’ll be at my usual spot by the lake.”
Laura beamed at them and went on her way.
Frances made an explosive noise. “Do you see? Do you see what I have to put up with?”
Chapter 19
She glared at Laura’s retreating back.
Fay’s instinct was to calm her down, but she resisted it. An emotional witness was less guarded and more likely to say something revealing.
“I see what you mean,” said Fay. “That must get irritating after a while.”
“Irritating?” Frances’s chest heaved with indignation. “More like infuriating.”
“How did Edward Mayweather respond to Massimo’s theatricality? Did he find it annoying?”
“He had only been here a few weeks before he was killed. He hadn’t been exposed to two years of Massimo’s nonsense like I have. But it was definitely starting to bug him. We talked about it a couple of times. He also hated having to deal with a whole lot of cancellations when people realized that Massimo wouldn’t be teaching their class.”
“Did he and Massimo ever have a confrontation about it?”
“I don’t know. I heard them shouting at each other once or twice, but I don’t know what it was about.”
Frances looked around the hall and glanced at her watch. These signs of restlessness told Fay that she only had a couple of questions left.
“The last time we spoke, you told me that the épée that killed Edward wouldn’t necessarily have to have been wielded by an expert. Do you still think that?”
“Yes. Except that it takes a lot of wrist strength to control those swords. I heard that the sword that was found in the High Street was covered in fake blood.”
“That’s right,” said Fay.
“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t the murder weapon. The real blood could have been cleaned off it.”
“It was tested in a laboratory using two different forensic-grade methods of blood-detection. That sword was not used to stab Edward Mayweather.”
“If you say so.”
“One last thing,” Fay said as Frances was about to go. “You said something about Massimo’s olive-colored contact lenses. Was that a joke?”
Frances laughed. “No, it was not. I once saw him putting them in his eyes in his office. He must have taken them out because they were irritating him. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw him putting those dark-brown lenses into his eyes. He glanced at me for a second before kicking the door shut. His real eye color is much lighter. A sort of grey, maybe? I didn’t get a good look. I guess our Massimo is not as exotic-looking as he likes to pretend.”
Fay left the recreation center shortly before lunch. She had been unable to detain Frances another moment. The woman was twitching to get going.
She headed towards the ornamental lake in the middle of the retirement village, remembering her promise to update Laura on Spooky’s progress.
“Hello, dear!” Laura popped up behind a hedge as Fay turned onto the paved pathway. “Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just didn’t want to run the risk of missing you. I’m so anxious to hear how the kitty-cat is doing.”
“He’s settling in really well,” said Fay. “We’r
e calling him Spooky.”
“Spooky?” Laura clasped her hands together and clutched them to her chest. “What a perfect name for him. Was it on his collar?”
“No. There’s almost nothing left of the collar. The name seemed appropriate with Halloween just around the corner.”
“It suits him beautifully.”
“I wish you could see how well he has been eating and drinking. He has already put on a little weight and doesn’t look quite as gaunt as before. He was aggressive at first, but now he lets me touch him, as long as I don’t make any sudden moves. He was definitely someone’s pet once. That’s quite clear.”
“How could anyone have abandoned such a darling?”
“I don’t know that they did. If he had been abandoned, I would expect his owners to take his collar off first, so he couldn’t be traced back to them. I’m starting to think he wandered off and got lost.”
“The poor darling.”
Apparently, it’s not uncommon for animals to climb onto a ferry by mistake and end up miles away from their place of origin.”
“Oh, the poor thing. I’m so glad he’s in good hands now. But I do miss seeing him around the place.”
Fay nodded. This was all going exactly as she had hoped. “I’ll be taking him to the vet soon. Once he’s had all his shots and a clean bill of health, I can start looking for a home for him.”
Laura’s smile was wistful. “I hope he’ll be happy.”
Fay decided not to push it further today. When you had a fish on the line, you didn’t reel it in right away. She said goodbye to Laura and walked back to the entrance past the recreation center.
She was surprised to see Frances loading the last of her fencing gear into her car. She had given the impression of someone who was in a big hurry to get somewhere. She climbed into the driver’s seat and backed the car out of its parking bay. Then she drove towards the exit.
The Cat That Got the Cream Page 11