The Cat's Paw Cozy Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  As Fay listened, her book suspended in the air, the thumping noises stopped. Two of her adult cats, Smudge and Olive, were acting as surrogate moms to the four rescue kittens. They seemed to be settling them in for the night.

  She picked up her book and went back to the murder of the Earl of Chudleigh. She had a feeling that it was the butler who had done it, but perhaps that was too obvious. Oh, well. The Dowager Lady Harple would solve the mystery soon enough. Fay was happy to go along for the ride.

  As her eyelids began to get heavy, she thought about the real mystery unfolding under her nose. Who had murdered Mrs. Saville and why? No, she was too tired to think about it now. Perhaps the morning would bring enlightenment.

  After her customary three-mile run along the boardwalk next to the sea, Fay returned home to shower and dress for the day. Then she went downstairs to the kitchen to help Morwen prepare breakfast for the B&B guests. She popped a tray of muffins into the oven before getting started on a batch of chocolate éclairs. Fay was an excellent baker, with light, cool hands that were perfect for making pastry. She took care of the baking side of things while Morwen did the cooking.

  “Guess what?” said Morwen as she sliced tomatoes.

  “What?”

  “It turns out Mrs. Saville had money that none of us knew about. She died a wealthy woman. Whoever she left her money to is about to get filthy rich.”

  “How on earth do you know that?” Fay glanced at the kitchen clock. “It is literally six-thirty in the morning. How could you have had news already?”

  “What can I say? This is Bluebell Island. I’ve had two texts and one phone call this morning already to tell me all about it. Island folk are early risers, remember? This particular snippet seems to have originated from Mrs. Saville’s housekeeper, Bertha. You know Bertha, don’t you?”

  Fay shook her head as she removed the batter mixture for the choux pastry from the stove to allow it to cool before beating eggs into it. “I don’t think I do.”

  “She’s a tall woman with short, grey hair. Always bargaining for lower prices at the farmer’s market?”

  “Wait, I think I know who you mean. She’s a fierce negotiator, that one.”

  “She always told people that her poor mistress was a widow who couldn’t afford to pay full price for anything. That fooled us all into thinking that Mrs. Saville didn’t have much money. Now that she’s dead, Bertha is telling the truth. And apparently, Mrs. Saville was loaded.”

  Fay’s spoon paused in the act of stirring the batter. “Interesting. Do you happen to know who her heirs are?”

  “She used to talk about a daughter who lived on the mainland, but I never got to see her. Others might have, though.”

  “Hmm.”

  They worked in silence. Fay beat eggs into the pastry mixture one at a time until they were well combined and smooth. As she prepared the éclair shells for baking, Morwen got started on frying the bacon.

  Fay took the muffins out to cool and put the éclairs into the oven in their place. Then she beat the cream that she would pipe into the éclairs as a filling.

  It was over the roar of the electric beater that she heard a noise. Morwen lifted her head. Apparently, she had heard it too. Fay switched the beater off.

  “Was that…?”

  “The doorbell?” said Morwen. “I think so. It’s early for a guest to be arriving.”

  Fay pulled off her apron. “I’ll get it.”

  She went upstairs wondering who could be ringing the doorbell at seven o’clock in the morning.

  The newcomer was a woman of about her own age. She radiated self-confidence. Fay was sure she had never seen her before, but something about her was vaguely familiar.

  “Good morning,” said the woman. My name is Candice Saville-Wareham. I believe this is where my mother died last night.”

  Chapter 3

  Fay recovered from her surprise.

  “Please come in. My name is Fay Penrose. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Mrs. Saville-Wareham waved this away. She stepped into the entrance hall and looked around expectantly.

  “Well?”

  “Uh…” Fay’s brain scrambled to catch up. “Would you like me to… explain what happened? Or would you like to see where it took place?”

  The woman hooted with laughter. “What a morbid idea. No, no. Nothing like that. I came here because my mother told me that you serve the best breakfast on the island. I want a room, not a tour of my mother’s last minutes on this earth. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying. As long as it takes to sort out her affairs and pack up her stuff, I suppose. My mother’s banking arrangements and legal representation were based here on the island.”

  “I see.” Fay touched the mouse to wake up the computer behind the reception desk. She scrolled through the rooms to check availability.

  “You’re probably wondering why I don’t just stay at my mother’s house,” said Candice. “The truth is, I can’t stand the woman who works for her – Bertha Maidstone. The name says it all, doesn’t it? She’ll be given her notice, of course, but there’s no way I’m staying under the same roof as her in the meanwhile.”

  “I understand. Well, we can offer you…”

  “I shall require a spacious room with a bathroom that includes a shower and a bath. I expect a sea view and central heating. There shall be Earl Grey tea in my room as well as a superior coffee machine. Is that clear?”

  “Your éclair pastries are out of the oven.” Morwen’s cheerful voice was music to Fay’s ears. “I can book this lady in if you want to finish making them.”

  Fay gave her a grateful smile. “This is Mrs. Saville-Wareham, Morwen. Her mother was Mrs. Saville. I was just telling her how sorry we are for her loss. I was going to put her in the N.G. room, but I think the Boscastle suite would be better.”

  “That’s right. The N.G. room is rather in demand at the moment.”

  Fay left their latest guest to her innkeeper. Morwen had a way of charming even the most difficult customers. N.G. stood for Nightmare Guest. It was the code that Fay and Morwen used to tip each other off about difficult guests who needed extra charm and attention.

  Once she had finished her éclairs and laid them out on the breakfast buffet, she went upstairs to feed the kittens.

  It was not a job for the faint of heart.

  First you had to get through the door without losing any of them. That meant a nimble use of your hands and feet to prevent the attempted jailbreak.

  “Tigger!” Fay danced sideways and grabbed an escaping ginger body. “Why do you always do this…?” She stuck out a foot to block a little grey nose. “Zorro! When did you turn into such a terror?”

  She squeezed her way into her office and closed the door behind her. She deposited Tigger and Zorro on the floor and turned to say hello to the two adult cats, Smudge and Olive.

  “Are you two tired of mommy duty yet?” She stroked their backs and scratched their heads and chins. “You can afford to be less diligent now. The babies are very independent.”

  But it seemed that Smudge and Olive were super-moms, spending most of their time with the kittens even now that they were eating well, grooming themselves, and managing their litter trays. They remained in the office, despite the fact that there was a high window they could leave from.

  This last month of keeping the kittens at home was mainly to build up their immune systems, to ensure that they got a full course of vaccinations, and to get them well socialized before they went to their forever homes.

  “Yes, hello Freddy and Cinnamon,” said Fay as the other two kittens stopped chasing each other long enough to come and say hello to her. “Who’s hungry?”

  The moment she reached for the food pouches, a chorus of squeals started up. You would swear they hadn’t been fed in days. Fay decanted the food into bowls as quickly as possible and soon the squealing noises were replaced by the sounds of gobbling. Why did baby animals always eat as if someone were about to snatch t
heir food away from them? Perhaps because in the wild they would compete for food with their litter mates and only the fastest eaters would get as much as they wanted.

  As Fay cleaned and refreshed the litter boxes, she thought about the Cat’s Paw’s newest guest.

  Mrs. Saville-Wareham didn’t seem devastated by her mother’s death. Of course, grief affected people in different ways, and perhaps she was using denial as a coping mechanism. It was also possible that she and her mother hadn’t been close.

  Morwen said that she was aware of the existence of a daughter but had never met her. That suggested that she wasn’t a frequent visitor to the Island. Morwen knew everyone and everything that happened here.

  Fay decided not to judge the bereaved daughter until she had got to know her better. She might be a lovely person under that nightmare-guest exterior.

  She played with the kittens for a while until she estimated that Mrs. Saville-Wareham would have finished breakfast and be ready for coffee. Then she went downstairs to help Morwen with the breakfast service.

  “Has our newest guest ordered coffee?” Fay asked as she walked into the kitchen.

  “Earl Grey tea, actually. Do you feel like making it? I’m in the middle of an order for eggs benedict.”

  “You carry on cooking. I’ve got this. I want to have a word with her anyway.”

  Fay got out a teapot and began to warm it. She knew she took more trouble over tea-making than most British people did. They had grown up with tea, were all too liable to throw a teabag into a mug, douse it in boiling water, and add a splash of milk.

  Fay took the time to do it properly. She always made tea in a pot, never a mug. She took the time to warm the pot properly so that the tea would draw better. She always used loose tea when making for the guests, never teabags. She had researched the perfect drawing times for each type of tea and used a timer to make sure that she stuck to this. She got compliments from actual British people on her tea-making skills, so she figured she must be doing something right.

  As soon as the pot of Earl Grey was ready, Fay put it on a silver tray with a sugar pot and milk jug and one of her grandmother’s own China teacups. She took it through to the breakfast room with a smile pasted onto her face. No matter how critical a guest might be, Fay would not drop her cheerful manner.

  Mrs. Saville-Wareham had obviously had a good breakfast. She looked much more relaxed.

  “My mother was right,” she said with a smile as Fay put down the tray. “The breakfast here is excellent. I like the way your innkeeper prepares scrambled eggs.”

  “Thank you. We enjoy it too. I’m a newcomer to the island myself, so I never knew your mother, although we met a couple of times. I’m glad she recommended our breakfasts. How long had she lived on Bluebell Island?”

  “It was ten years last Christmas.”

  “You’re not from the west country, are you? I’m getting better at recognizing British accents.”

  “We’re from Reigate in Surrey. That’s a suburban area quite close to London. My husband and I have settled there. We don’t have children yet, but it seems like a nice place to raise them when we do get started.”

  “Did your mother miss being close to the city when she moved here?”

  Mrs. Saville-Wareham smiled again. “You really didn’t know my mother, did you? The whole point of coming to Bluebell Island was to be a big fish in a small pond. Mother liked to rule the roost. There aren’t many opportunities for that in Surrey. Most of the villages have become so big that they’re like suburbs that run into each other. And as for London – well that’s just impossible. Mother liked to be the queen bee. She thought if she came to a sleepy little island like this, she could boss everyone around. Unfortunately, she hadn’t reckoned with people like Lady Chadwick, that woman who runs the bookstore, and your own grandmother.”

  “I’m afraid my grandmother passed away a few months ago, Mrs. Saville-Wareham.”

  “Oh, do call me Candice. We’re about the same age after all. You probably don’t know this, but my mother had her eye on this place when your grandmother died.”

  “On the Cat’s Paw B&B?”

  “It wasn’t a B&B back then. It was just Penrose House. My mother never approved of your grandmother’s plans to turn it into a B&B. She thought that if she lived here full-time as the lady of Penrose House it would increase her standing in the village. She could finally become the leader she was always meant to be.”

  “A house like this costs a fortune to maintain,” Fay pointed out. “That’s why my grandmother decided to make it start paying for itself. She didn’t want it to become shabby or run down.”

  “Like Chadwick Manor?” Candice laughed at the expression on Fay’s face. “You’re surprised at how much I know about the island, especially since I hardly ever came here. My mother kept me up to date. She used to send me weekly emails that were as comprehensive as the local newspaper. She missed her calling as a journalist.”

  “She was retired then?”

  “I don’t think you can call it ‘retired’ when you’ve never worked a day in your life.”

  “I see…” Fay tried to think of a polite way of asking her next question.

  Candice laughed again. She was in a much better mood. “You’re wondering how a woman who never worked could have the money to buy Penrose House. It was my late father who left it to her. He bought up properties in the east end of London and flipped them for a fortune back when there was still money to be made doing that. Dad passed away ten years ago now. He left his whole private fortune to my mother. Can you believe that? She was forty-seven and getting ready to go and live on some island. I was twenty-two and just starting out in life. Who would you say needed the money more?”

  Fay opened her mouth to attempt an answer, but Candice steamed ahead.

  “Not one penny of that money did I see. Instead, he gave me a job in the company. So, if you want to know why mother and I weren’t close – there’s your answer right there. She could have made things easy for me by parting with some of the cash that my father had left her. But no, she kept it all for herself. Said it was important for me to learn to make my own way in the world. As if she had ever done such a thing. She sponged off my father her whole life. But it’s all coming to me now. Finally.”

  She stared into the distance, sipping her tea. Then she turned and faced Fay with a smile. “Unless the old bat went and left the whole lot to the local cats’ home or something ridiculous like that.” She laughed at the idea.

  “Technically, this is the local cats’ home,” said Fay. “It was my great-great-grandmother who started Penrose House as a cat sanctuary, and I’ve carried on the tradition. I doubt that your mother left us anything.”

  “Maybe not, but I’ll feel a lot better when that will has been read.”

  “You were told how your mother died?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why do you think someone would do such a thing? And, more importantly, who?”

  Candice’s eyes met Fay’s for an indifferent moment. “Who knows? It was probably someone that she annoyed. Mother could be very abrasive.”

  Chapter 4

  After breakfast, Candice went to consult with her mother’s lawyers while Fay walked down to the village to visit the doctors’ surgery.

  On her way down the driveway, she met Maggie Binnie coming in to clean the guest rooms and bathrooms.

  “Hey, Mags. All good?”

  “Hiya, Fay. All good, thanks. I’m still reeling from last night, though. Can you believe that such a thing could happen, and at the spring fair too? My mum is gobsmacked. Mrs. Saville was always around at our place telling Mum how to run her organic produce business. It’s impossible to believe that she’s not going to pop up at any moment.”

  “Mrs. Saville’s daughter is staying here. She has come to sort out her mother’s affairs. I put her in the Boscastle suite. She’s quite particular, so please give her room an extra polish.”

  “I�
��ll do that.” Maggie continued up the driveway but then stopped. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Mum’s interested in those kittens of yours. It’s been three months since our old Tiddles died. Mum loved that cat. She’s starting to feel as though she might be ready for another one. Maybe even two.”

  “You know I’ll have to do a home inspection first.”

  Maggie laughed. “You’re welcome any time. We live on a big plot at the end of a quiet country lane. It was your grandmother that sold us Tiddles eighteen years ago. I don’t even remember it because I was a baby. Your grandmother came and did a home visit just like you’re going to do and said there couldn’t be a better place for a cat. Our Tiddles died of old age.”

  “Sounds perfect. Tell your mom if she’s still interested in a month, I’ll come and see her.”

  Fay wondered if her grandmother had also gone through heartache every time she homed a cat. On one hand, you were happy that the kitten was going to a good home, but on the other you wished that you could keep them all forever.

  The sea breeze lifted her ponytail and tickled the nape of her neck. The sun shone mildly in a blue sky that was liberally dotted with clouds. Those clouds would almost certainly draw together in the afternoon, bringing rain after four o’clock. But for now, it was a lovely spring day and Fay was determined to enjoy it.

  A curve in the road took her past a popular lookout spot. She took a moment to stop and enjoy the view, which wasn’t misted over for once. Bluebell Village was almost heartbreakingly picturesque with its grey stone houses tumbling down towards the sea. There was a tiny harbor, a small strip of sandy beach, and a longer strip of pebble beach. Fishing boats and pleasure boats went in and out of the harbor all day long, adding to the beauty of the scene.

  Fay felt like pinching herself. She could hardly believe that this was now her home. She had swapped the mean streets of Manhattan and the Bronx for this seaside village, and sometimes she couldn’t believe it.