“So, Henry is sensible about the present and Marigold is sensible about the past. I guess they balance each other out.”
“I guess they do.”
“You must have known Desmond Pinkerton well. Do you believe that he made some kind of discovery towards the end of his life?”
Cecil’s shrugged. “What could he possibly have discovered? Desmond always believed he was on the trail of something hot, and it always turned out to be nothing. That was his pattern - to get terribly excited about something that ended up leading nowhere.”
“I was in the Bluebell Village library when he was killed. That’s why I feel such a personal connection to his death. You were already on the island when it happened?”
“I was,” said Cecil. “As I told you this morning, I came over on the ferry early on Friday with stock from the shop. We were staying at the Cracked Spine, just like most of the other dealers.”
“Do you know why he went to the library that morning?”
“Not exactly. I know he had a habit of visiting the local library of whatever town we were exhibiting in. It was one of the first things he would do on arrival. I remember him mentioning that he had never visited the Bluebell Village library before. He certainly didn’t have a membership there. But he had been into every other small-town library up and down the west country.”
“Were you not tempted to go with him to the library?”
Cecil snorted. “Not at all. I can’t think of anything worse. Desmond might have believed that small-town libraries were full of undiscovered treasures, but I knew they weren’t. They’re all the same. Just the smell is enough to put me off – mildew and dusty paper.” He shuddered, which struck Fay as an odd response from someone who worked in an antique bookshop.
“So, what did you do while your boss visited the library?”
“I stayed at the Cracked Spine. I had coffee in the bookshop. Now that’s a place that has some interesting books. Desmond would have been better off having coffee with me. If you’ll excuse me, I really want the last ginger cookie. I see Mrs. Tribble hovering near the tea table. I’d better swoop in and grab it before she does.”
Fay noticed that Henry was finally on his own, looking over his lecture notes. She made her way to his side.
“Are you staying at the Cracked Spine too?” she asked.
“That’s right. We always stay there when we come to Bluebell Island for the fair. It suits us perfectly.”
“I’m not sure if you know that I run the Cat’s Paw B&B just outside the village. I’m always interested in what the competition are doing. What’s the attraction of the Cracked Spine?”
“It’s very conveniently located, for one thing. We’re one block away from church square, which makes setting up our tables really easy. There’s also the owner, Nella Harcourt. She’s the reason most of us keep going back year after year.”
Fay had met her grandmother’s friend a few times. They were both members of the Guesthouse Owners Association of Bluebell Island. Nella Harcourt was one of the sights of the village. She was at least seventy and about six foot tall. She wore long velvet skirts, colorful shawls, and bright turbans. One of her closest friends was Lady Chadwick of Chadwick Manor – Bluebell Island’s only homegrown aristocrat. Fay’s grandmother, Lady Chadwick and Nella Harcourt had run Bluebell Island as a triumvirate for decades.
Nella was knowledgeable about the history of the island and a wide range of cultural matters.
“I believe Nella is very charming,” said Fay.
“Not only that, but the depth of her knowledge is incredible. She has taught me more about Eleanor’s dowry than almost anyone else. Her private collection of books and manuscripts is incredible. She is very generous about sharing them.”
“Speaking of the dowry, people have told me that Desmond Pinkerton believed he had made a significant discovery just before his death. Had you heard anything about that?”
“I hadn’t, but it wasn’t the first time he made a claim like that and it wouldn’t have been the last. Desmond was… what is it the kids say these days? He was all about the drama. He enjoyed the attention that came from having people clamoring to know what his latest secret was, but his secrets were always worthless.”
“Someone killed him for a reason,” said Fay. “Maybe that person had more faith in his secrets than you do.”
“You’re assuming Desmond’s death had anything to do with his work.”
“What else?”
“A random mugger, perhaps. Someone who hit him over the head believing that he had something worth stealing. Someone who was interrupted before they could help themselves to his wallet.”
Fay managed to keep a straight face. “I suppose that’s possible.”
But it wasn’t likely. As a New York City beat cop for four years, and homicide detective for eight, she had seen more than her share of muggings. She had never seen one that took place in a tiny public library, with an antique candlestick as the murder weapon, where nothing was taken from the victim.
“You and Marigold must have been shocked when you heard what happened to Desmond.”
“We were terribly shocked. We had known him for most of our professional lives, you see. He was such a vital man. It was impossible to believe that he had been snuffed out just like that. We were stunned. Speechless.”
“Were you already on Bluebell Island? Or did you only come across on the ferry later?”
“We were here. We had checked into the Cracked Spine the night before. On the morning he was killed, probably at the exact moment, Marigold and I were chatting to Nella about the surviving Eleanor crosses. When Eleanor died, Edward I ordered twelve stone crosses to be made in her memory and distributed across the length of England. Three of them still exist. Nella has seen all three. We were speaking to her about them.”
And so, Fay thought, three of her five main suspects had provided themselves with alibis for the time of the murder. If they thought those alibis wouldn’t be checked and double-checked, they were wrong.
“I’d better go now,” she said. “I have an early start tomorrow. That’s the life of a guesthouse owner as I’m sure Nella would tell you. Thanks for inviting me to your seminar. It was fascinating.”
“I hope you got everything out of it that you hoped for,” said Henry.
“I learned that this is all more complicated than I suspected.”
And that, thought Fay as she pointed her Volvo back down Mountain View Road, was a useful insight to have come to. The starlight reflected coldly off the hood of her car as she drove down to Bluebell Village.
Chapter 12
Fay got back from her morning run excited to see how the kittens would take to their second dose of solid food. She prepared their plates in the kitchen and carried them up to her office. The kittens squeaked when they smelled the food. That had to be a good sign.
The two males, Tigger and Freddy, flung themselves on their breakfast and started to eat immediately. Cinnamon needed a little encouragement but then she too ate some food. Zorro approached and retreated, and approached and retreated in a kind of dance, as though the food was about to attack her. Fay dipped her finger in the meat juice and held it out for her. She licked it enthusiastically, so Fay repeated the action several times. Then she tried scooping up tiny morsels of meat with the juice and offering them to Zorro on her finger. Those got eaten too. Fay managed to get a reasonable amount of breakfast into her before she turned her head away.
“Have you had enough, little Z? You are one high-maintenance girl, aren’t you? You had better start eating on your own soon because this is super gross.” Fay handed the kittens over to Smudge and Olive. “Here you go, ladies. Clean the little monsters.”
She went to wash her hands very thoroughly. When she came back to the office, play time was in full swing. The kittens were becoming steadier on their feet every day. They enjoyed wrestling with each other and practicing their clumsy pounces.
Fay sat in the play
pen with them, allowing herself to become part of their game. She made an effort to handle all of them every day. Kittens that were relaxed and well socialized with humans were easier to place in good homes. By the time they left her care at three months to go to their forever homes, she would make sure that they were comfortable with both adults and children and able to slot into almost any household.
When they started to get sleepy again, she went downstairs to help Morwen with the breakfast preparation.
“The morning kitten report shows sunny skies ahead,” she said as she walked into the kitchen.
“That’s good to hear. You have a way with them, Fay. Just like your grandmother.”
Fay cracked eggs into a mixing bowl. “I’ve always loved cats. I just never thought I’d have more than two at a time.”
“Would you call nine cats a lot?” said Morwen. “A true Penrose wouldn’t.”
Fay laughed. “Then I guess I’m a true Penrose after all because it seems like the perfect number to me. Unfortunately, domestic cats don’t like living in packs, so we’ll find homes for the kittens in two months’ time and then we’ll be left with our original five. Luckily, Penrose house is really big. They can each have their own space when they feel like being alone.”
They worked side by side, preparing mounds of scrambled eggs, a pile of crispy bacon, fried potatoes, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, and a selection of sausages.
While Fay’s batch of muffins rose in the oven, she went through to the breakfast room to set out the cereals and mueslis, along with the fruit, yoghurt, cheeses, and cold meat for the buffet.
“What do you know about Nella Harcourt?” she asked Morwen as they passed each other in the passage.
“I think she’s lovely, although some people find her a little eccentric. She is one of the great ladies of the island - the other being Lady Chadwick. Your grandmother was the third. Why are you asking about her?”
“I need to speak to her. Three of the people who knew Desmond Pinkerton and were familiar with his work are staying at the Cracked Spine. She is very much part of that antiquarian set.”
“Yes, she is. How was the seminar last night, by the way? Did you go to the right place?”
“I did. We cracked the code correctly! It was interesting, if only because it showed me the lengths to which people will go for the sake of a get-rich-quick scheme. This lot have convinced themselves that Eleanor of Castile, the first wife of Edward I, came to England with a dowry of priceless objects. They believe that she hid them due to the political instability at the time and left clues in various manuscripts so that her children would be able to find them one day.”
Morwen looked up from laying out the serving spoons. “That’s a romantic story.”
“If you like fairytales. It’s possible that Eleanor did hide some possessions during the Second Barons’ War – it wasn’t an uncommon thing to do at the time. But to believe that those things are still hidden somewhere after all these centuries is just crazy. Those objects are probably scattered all over the world by now in museums and stately homes.”
“If you want to talk to someone about it, Nella’s your girl. She knows all about that stuff.”
“I’ll pop round after breakfast,” said Fay. “I just hope she’ll be there.”
“There’s a coffeeshop and bookshop on the ground floor of the Cracked Spine. She usually wanders in and out, especially if someone shows an interest in one of the books.”
“That’s what I’ll do then.”
Fay decided she would be less conspicuous if she turned up at the Cracked Spine with a companion – preferably one with an interest in antiquities. She decided to swing past the surgery on her way into the village to see if Doc Dyer wanted to go with her. He was the perfect companion. She liked him, and he was known to be an expert on antiquarian matters. Because it was Sunday morning, he wasn’t likely to be working. The surgery opened from ten until eleven on Sunday mornings for emergencies, but David usually handled those alone.
It was just before ten when she got to the surgery. A mother and her teenage son were waiting for the doors to open.
“Hi, Kristin,” Fay greeted the pet store owner. “Hi, Liam. What’s up with your ankle?”
“Urgh!” Kristin Howarth threw her eyes heavenwards. “A soccer injury, if you can believe it. Yesterday, he played in a school match at St. Ives and was perfectly fine. This morning he was kicking the ball around with his sister and turned his ankle over. It swelled up like a balloon, so we thought we’d better see the doc. Don’t tell me you’re sick?”
“Not at all. I want to see if Doc Dyer feels like coming out for coffee with me. I want to pick his brains about something.”
“He’s a sweetie, all right. A lovely man. But I thought it was his son that you’ve been keeping company with lately? Didn’t you have dinner with him the other day?”
“How did you…?” Fay broke off and shook her head. “Never mind. The village grapevine, of course. I suppose I’ll get used to it after I’ve lived here for fifty or sixty years.”
“Wasn’t it like that in America?”
“In New York City the mayor could be having an affair for years and his closest friend wouldn’t know a thing about it. But I suppose all small towns are the same, whichever side of the Atlantic they’re on.”
Kristin laughed. “I guess they are. But it’s also because of who you are. There have been Penroses at Penrose House for the last four hundred years. The village will never get out of the habit of keeping an eye on what you’re up to.”
Fay was saved from having to reply when David opened the door with his customary abruptness. He did a slight double take when he saw Fay.
“Er… good morning. Which of you is first?”
“Kristin and Liam,” said Fay. “I’m not here as a patient. I want to invite your father to join me for coffee. I’d like to talk to him about antiquities.”
“Hmm. Nothing to do with a certain unfortunate incident at the public library, I trust?”
Fay’s smile was angelic. “Your trust is entirely misplaced, Doctor. Is your father home?”
“He is, but I’m not sure he’s available.”
Footsteps sounded behind him.
“Nonsense, lad.” Doc Dyer grabbed a jacket from the coat stand and bustled out the door. “I’d be delighted to join Fay for coffee. Where are we going, love?”
“To the Cracked Spine.”
“Perfect. I can see my old friend, Nella. Do you know she used to babysit me? About six months ago, that was.” He laughed uproariously. “Just kidding. It was more than half a century ago. Bye now, David. I’ll see you at lunch.”
David turned back to Kristin and Liam who had been watching this interchange with great interest.
“Please, come this way.”
They disappeared into the surgery.
“He’s a good boy but he worries too much,” said Doc Dyer as he and Fay set off down the hill.
“He doesn’t approve of my meddling in Desmond Pinkerton’s death.”
“It’s over-protectiveness. When he cares about someone, he doesn’t want them anywhere near a dangerous situation.”
“I can see how that would apply to you – you’re his father. But he hardly knows me.”
“He might not have known you long, but he cares about you.” Doc Dyer lengthened his stride as the road levelled out. “Believe me, a father knows these things.”
Fay wanted him to expand on this theme but reminded herself that David had a girlfriend.
“I haven’t been to the Cracked Spine in ages,” she said instead. “It’s an interesting place.”
“Oh, it’s fascinating, and the food is good too. The bookshop is of particular interest to the collector. By the way, I must thank you for sending me that candlestick. A most intriguing object. David handed it over to the police, but I was pleased to have the opportunity to study it.”
“There’s no chance it was hugely valuable, is there?”
“No chance at all. As I said before, it would be worth more with its twin, but even the two of them together would fetch no more than a couple of thousand pounds. I know that sounds like a lot of money, but in the world of international antique trading it’s really not.”
“What do you know about Eleanor of Castile, Doc?”
He turned to look at her. “Is that what this is about? The legend of the dowry?”
“I don’t know. It might be.”
He shook his head. “If that’s true, it’s even sadder than I thought. For a man to die over a historical rumor is a great shame.”
They turned off the high street and walked one block up to join Webber Road. The Cracked Spine was just ahead on their left.
It had always struck Fay as a fanciful place. Built at a time when most of the land here was open farmland belonging to the Barons of Chadwick, it had originally been constructed as a folly by one of the younger Chadwick sons. This was during a time when Gothic revival was all the rage in architecture. The folly bristled with towers and turrets. Every doorway and window had a pointed arch over it and there were two flying buttresses, one on either side of the building.
The owner had played up the eccentricities of the place by painting it in candy stripe colors. It looked like an elaborate gingerbread house.
“Here we are,” said Doc Dyer. “Let’s see what Nella has to say for herself.”
Chapter 13
The interior of the Cracked Spine was charming.
Instead of reproducing the Gothic look, Nella had gone for a cozy English feel. There were gingham drapes at the windows and sprigged muslin cloths on the tables. The smell of hot English scones permeated the coffee shop.
A waitress led them to a table for two near the fire. They didn’t need to ask whether Nella was in today. Her bright blue turban could be seen bobbing about in the bookstore that was adjacent to the coffeeshop.
The Cat's Paw Cozy Mysteries Page 23