As Fay watched her drive away, she realized that she was looking at a dark-colored sedan with a toy skeleton dangling from the rearview mirror.
Fay was in a thoughtful mood when she drove back to Penrose House for lunch.
She was almost sure that the figure she had seen bundled up in an overcoat on the night Edward’s body had been dumped in front of the Cracked Spine had not been a woman. Frances was tall, fit, and strong, but it was hard to imagine her scooping Mayweather out of the trunk and leaving him on the side of the road. He was no lightweight and his body had been rolled up in a rug as well.
Also, it was Halloween. Several cars on the island were sporting spooky hood ornaments and dashboard decorations. There was nothing unique about a dangling skeleton. Dark-colored sedans too, were not a rare sight, although they were more common in the village than up among the farming community.
Even if she had still worked in law enforcement, none of that would be enough to justify asking a judge for a warrant to search the car. Here on the island, Sergeant Jones would have to approach a Justice of the Peace. He would be turned down flat, even if he could be convinced to ask for such a warrant, which Fay highly doubted.
All she could do was file this piece of information away for later reference. It might mean nothing, or it might mean everything. Either way, she would be keeping a close eye on Frances King from now on.
A familiar pick-up truck was parked in the gravel driveway at the entrance to Penrose House. Fay remembered that Maggie’s boyfriend Duncan was coming to lunch. He was probably as tired as she was, having been up most of the night fighting the fire. Duncan was a friendly soul, which meant that he chatted to everyone and tended to have all the local gossip at his fingertips.
Fay walked into the kitchen to find him peering into the box room with his fingers cupped around his eyes, checking out their newest resident.
“Hey, Duncan.” Fay went to wash her hands before lunch. “What do you think of him?”
“Oh, he’s lovely, he is. You can see he’s going to be a real beauty when he fills out a bit.”
Fay joined him at the door to admire Spooky. The cat was sitting up with his paws neatly together and looking out the window. Every now and then, his head turned at the sound of their voices.
“I wish I was at a stage in my life where I could have pets.” Duncan looked longingly at Spooky. “But I’m living in a shared apartment and working long hours. Otherwise, I’d take him like a shot. But we’ll have pets one day, won’t we, Mags? A dog and a cat.”
Maggie smiled as she walked over to snuggle against his chest. “Maybe two cats and two dogs.”
“Yeah.” He gave her a squeeze. “Two cats and two dogs.”
Fay’s eyebrows rose as she glanced across the kitchen at Morwen. Morwen shrugged, but Fay couldn’t help noticing that she looked rather pleased.
Fay knew that things were pretty serious between Duncan and Maggie, but they were talking about their future together as though it were a settled thing. Maggie’s parents had got married when they were young, so maybe it was a family tradition.
Whether their relationship went the distance or not, Fay had to acknowledge that they were good for each other. Maggie was taking online business classes with a view to joining her family’s organic produce business. Duncan was earning good money while getting a qualification that would never go out of demand.
“Can I go in and say hello to him?” Duncan asked.
Fay pulled a doubtful face. “You can, of course. I just don’t want him to spear you with those claws of his. Take these oven mitts.”
Duncan pulled them reluctantly into place. Then he let himself into the box room.
“Stop looking so worried,” said Maggie. “Duncan has a way with animals. You’ll see.”
Fay watched through the glass, trying to tamp down her anxiety. Duncan made low, clucking sounds in his throat as he approached the cat. Spooky gave him a suspicious look, but everything about his body language signified interest.
Duncan made more clucking sounds. This time, Spooky stood up and arched his back, stropping his claws against the top platform of the scratching post.
“See?” said Maggie. “Do you see that? It’s already love at first sight.”
As they watched, Duncan slowly and deliberately removed the oven mitts and dropped them on the floor. Fay wanted to warn him not to touch Spooky unprotected but didn’t want to startle either of them.
“I hope he knows what he’s doing.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Maggie. “Watch.”
The closer Duncan got, the more Spooky arched his back and kneaded his paws. Fay could imagine exactly what his rusty purr sounded like. By the time Duncan stroked him, Spooky did nothing but purr and rub his head against the young man’s hands.
“See!” Maggie sounded delighted. “I told you he has a way with animals.”
When Duncan emerged from the box room and went to wash his hands, Morwen had the chicken curry already on the table.
“Oh, I meant to tell you,” said Duncan, turning towards Fay. “I heard an interesting story about your Edward Mayweather today.”
Chapter 20
This got Fay’s attention.
“Tell me more.” She handed Duncan the jasmine rice.
“Dunc was up at the Baines Farm today, fixing some of the wiring that had melted during the fire last night,” said Maggie. “Weren’t you, love?”
“You bet. You won’t believe the damage that was done to the electrics in that place.” Duncan shook his head. “As you know, we managed to stop the fire from reaching the house last night, but it melted the electricity box that controlled their three-phase system. It took all day to get it back up and running.”
“You said something about Edward Mayweather?” Fay prompted.
“That’s right. I went into the farmhouse to use the bathroom and I heard Farmer Baines talking to someone. At first, I thought it must be his wife, but the voice was too deep.”
“What was he saying?”
“He was ranting about something. I didn’t catch the beginning, but he was very upset. Almost incoherent. If it hadn’t been the middle of the morning, you would have thought he’d been drinking. He said something about how his wife should never have let her brother into the house. He said her brother was a scheming, conniving crook who tried to trick Farmer Baines into parting with what was rightfully his.”
“But he wasn’t speaking to his wife?” asked Fay.
“Definitely not. He was speaking to a man. He was shouting, which is why I could hear him so clearly, but the person who replied spoke quite softly. I could hear that it was a man and I caught the occasional word, but that was all. I remember looking through the window and seeing Mrs. Baines hanging up her washing in the courtyard. So, it definitely wasn’t her.”
“Then what happened?”
“The other man talked for a while. I couldn’t catch what he was saying, but his voice sounded soothing. Like he was trying to calm Mr. Baines down, see? Then I heard a gurgling sound, like someone was pouring something into a glass. Mr. Baines said ‘thanks’ in a much calmer voice. Then everything was quiet for a while.”
Maggie waved a poppadum in the air. “That’s when you went to use the bathroom, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. And when I came out, they were at it again. Farmer Baines’s temper had flared up. He was shouting again about his wife’s brother. At that stage I didn’t even know that Edward Mayweather was her brother. I figured it out later when he said his name. He said – and I remember this exactly – he said that he would never have done it if he had known that the deal wasn’t finalized yet. And then he said … he said he was glad that Edward Mayweather was dead. He said he deserved it for being a sneaky crook.”
Duncan looked down at his plate. He seemed distressed, so Maggie rubbed his arm. “You did the right thing by telling Fay, love.”
“But the thing is, it might not mean anything.” Duncan looked app
ealingly at Fay. “The way I just said it makes it sound as if Farmer Baines knows something about his brother-in-law’s death. And that might not be true. It was just a bit of a conversation that I heard out of context.”
“Don’t worry, Duncan,” said Fay. “If there’s one thing I never do, it’s jump to conclusions. As you say, there could be lots of innocent explanations for what he said. The part that interests me is the gurgling sound you heard. Are you quite sure it was Mr. Baines who said thanks and not the other guy?”
“I’m very sure. Mr. Baines sounds like a local, if you know what I mean. The other guy, not so much. West country, yes – but not from the island. It was in the way he said thanks. We islanders have a way of turning the s at the end of thanks into a soft ‘z’ sound. I’m right, aren’t I, Mags?”
“You are, love.”
Fay knew veteran police officers who were less finely observant of accents than Duncan McCloud.
“It must have been orange juice, mustn’t it, Fay?” he appealed to her. “I mean, no one would be drinking at that hour of the morning. It couldn’t have been more than nine-thirty.”
Morwen pulled a doubtful face. “I don’t know about that, lad. If half the rumors one hears about Farmer Baines are true, he’s been struggling with the drink for a while now.”
“There are those that say he was the one that started the fire,” said Maggie. “They say he passed out with a lit cigarette in his hand.”
“That’s also unproven,” said Fay. “And it doesn’t answer the mystery of how two fires got started at the same time a quarter of a mile apart from each other. I know fires can jump, but not like that. Not right at the beginning of the burn.”
After lunch, Fay put in a couple of hours on admin and paperwork in her office. When she was up to date with her work, she closed her files and launched a Google search on Orla Matthis. The results were fairly standard.
Orla Matthis was local to the village and married to the man who ran the games arcade in the High Street. It was a popular place for teenagers to hang out. She was currently employed at Bluebell Maritime Assurance as a data clerk. Her children, aged nine and eleven, were enrolled at the local school. Her reasons for leaving Galliano’s fencing studio weren’t immediately clear.
Then Fay found a workplace grievance complaint that Orla had filed in the last few weeks. Further investigation revealed this to be a complaint of unfair dismissal in the Employment Tribunal. Galliano’s studio stood to lose a maximum of twenty-five thousand pounds if the tribunal found in her favor. It had clearly not been an amicable parting.
She wondered what time Orla finished work at the BMA that afternoon. She checked Google and saw that the company’s office hours were nine am to five pm, much like the rest of the island. Five o’clock should be a good time to speak to her. In Fay’s experience, disgruntled employees were usually happy to speak to anyone who showed an interest in their grievance.
The other issue that had been gnawing at her was Massimo Galliano’s previous life as Maxie Galway. Why exactly had he changed his identity? Was it simply a matter of creating a more glamorous persona for himself as fencing master? Or was he running away from something?
A simple internet search turned up nothing untoward. At some point about fifteen years earlier Maxie Galway had simply disappeared. Massimo Galliano had turned up a year after that. But Fay didn’t intend to confine herself to a simple internet search. She had kept up her subscriptions to the online data bases she had used as a member of the law enforcement community. It was expensive, but worth it for the access it gave her.
She quickly discovered that Maxie Galway had indeed left something behind when he disappeared – a mountain of debt, and one very annoyed wife. She found a report written by a debt collecting agency that had been put on his tail by his largest creditor – a bank in his native Swansea in Wales. It made for interesting reading.
The subject of this investigation is Maxwell Galway of Swansea. Mr. Galway is a client of Welsh Alliance Bank. He has defaulted on his mortgage, his overdraft, and substantial credit card debt.
Our agency has determined that he also owes some £15 000 in store card debt around town.
The undersigned agent went to Mr. Galway’s residence at 14 Larkspur Lane where his estranged wife is currently residing. Zelda Galway is also a client of Welsh Alliance Bank. She and her husband maintain separate accounts, but she countersigned some of his loans, making her personally liable for a portion of his debt. This agency understands that she has come to an agreement with the bank to pay off this amount in instalments.
Mrs. Galway is in the process of reverting to her maiden name – Zelda Evans. She denied any knowledge of her husband or his whereabouts and expressed a strong desire to find him so that she could “divorce that blighter once and for all”.
Using keystroke logging technology, we have found no evidence to suggest that Mrs. Galway is secretly in contact with her husband. Her emails and phone records show no suspicious activity. On the contrary, she seems as anxious to find him as we are.
A visit to Mr. Galway’s blood family in the Welsh countryside likewise turned up no leads. His elderly father seems to be suffering from dementia and his caregiver assured us that the son has not been to visit.
Mr. Galway’s brother who lives in the village nearby said that his brother owes him money for a personal loan from three years ago. He expressed dismay at hearing that Mr. Galway had disappeared, saying, “Now I’ll never get my money back.”
We got in touch with Mr. Galway’s old fencing coach. He was part of the UK Olympic team. The coach claimed not to have seen Mr. Galway since the Olympics ended two years previously. Mr. Galway was apparently disappointed by his poor performance in the competition. The coach asked whether he had set up a fencing studio of his own and was surprised to hear that Mr. Galway had made a living by selling large appliances before he was fired for absenteeism.
It is worth noting that Mr. Galway’s personal banker at Welsh Alliance recently turned him down for a small business loan that he had requested in order to start up his own fencing studio.
A survey of the fencing studios that opened up throughout England and Wales in the past two years revealed no involvement from Mr. Galway.
The only solid lead we can report at this stage is an airplane ticket purchased in the name of Maxwell Galway from Cardiff to Rome. It dates from twenty-eight days ago. This agency applied to Western Alliance Bank for funding for one investigator to proceed to Rome in order to track down Mr. Galway. The application was refused.
The current investigation has therefore been concluded with the submission of this final report. Trusting you find our services satisfactory, as ever.
Yours,
Regis Philpot, Private Investigator
So, Maxie Galway had gone to Italy after exiting his life as a Welsh large-appliance salesman and husband. A year later, he had popped up as master fencing instructor Massimo Galliano. Presumably, his year in Italy had equipped him with sufficient Italian words and phrases to pass as a native of that country to anyone except an actual Italian.
Fay wondered if poor Zelda Galway had ever paid off her husband’s debt and cleared her name. She had probably been granted a divorce on the grounds of abandonment by now. How would she feel to know that her ex-husband was living on an island off the coast of Cornwall?
“Fay!”
Morwen’s voice calling from downstairs made her jump. There was a note of urgency in her tone.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Come downstairs. You’re going to want to see this.”
Chapter 21
Fay trotted down to reception wondering what could possibly be happening now. There had been more than enough drama for one week.
She found Morwen sitting behind the desk scrutinizing a hand-written letter.
“Where did that come from?”
“It was the weirdest thing. I was sitting here going through the room allocations for tomorrow when
Whisky suddenly appeared out of nowhere. You know what he’s like when he hears the postman.”
“Sure.” Fay’s black and white cat, among his many strange quirks, liked to grab the mail as it was pushed through the slot in the front door. He would lie in wait for the mailman – affectionately known as Postman Pat – and seize the envelopes from his hands as he pushed them through. The sight of the black and white cat standing up on his hind legs with his front paws against the door was a twice-daily feature of life at the Cat’s Paw.
“So, of course I thought that the second delivery of post was due,” Morwen went on. “Then I realized that we’d already had the second delivery, so I wondered what was going on. Then a letter appeared through the flap, Whisky grabbed it, and I went to pick it up off the mat to check what it was. It didn’t even occur to me to open the front door and see who had left it. By the time I did, the person was long gone.”
“Doesn’t it say who it’s from?” asked Fay, trying to get a look at the letter.
“It’s anonymous. There was no envelope and it wasn’t even folded in two. All I can say for sure is that I didn’t hear a car either pull up or drive off. Whoever dropped it off must have walked here. Or perhaps they left their car parked on Cliff Road.”
“But why does it matter?” Fay was curious now. “Who is it for? Can I see it?”
Morwen handed it over. “As a matter of fact, it’s for you.”
Fay held the piece of paper by a corner between her fingernails. Morwen had already touched it, but she wasn’t about to compound the problem. She laid it on the desk and looked at it carefully. It was written in spiky capital letters that appeared to be an attempt to disguise the writer’s handwriting. It wasn’t very long, but definitely worthy of attention.
Fay Penrose.
The Cat That Got the Cream Page 12