“Why yes. Quite a few of them, including Cecil over there and poor old Desmond.”
“Speaking of Mr. Pinkerton – what do you think happened to him? You must have known him quite well through your professional association.”
“That’s easy enough to answer, my dear. I know exactly what happened to him.”
Chapter 11
Marigold lowered her voice. “It was government agents.”
“Is that so?” said Fay.
“It was indeed. They’ve known for years that we’re on the trail of Eleanor’s dowry. As long as they think we won’t find it, they leave us alone. But whenever we make a significant discovery they start monitoring us again.”
“How do they monitor you?”
“They tap our phones.” Marigold mimed holding a phone to her ear. “You can always hear it when there’s a tap on your line. Your voice has a funny echo and you can hear clicks and whistles. It’s unmistakable.”
“And how do you …”
“Your emails too.” Marigold wasn’t finished. “They intercept your emails and all cellphone communication. Everything is monitored and recorded.”
“And what does this have to do with Desmond’s death?”
“They took him out because he was getting too close to the dowry. He had found something that he wasn’t sharing with the rest of us. Somehow the government got wind of it – thanks to their constant surveillance.”
“Why do you think the government is keeping tabs on the search for Eleanor’s dowry?”
“Because they want it for themselves, of course.” Fay’s ignorance seemed to irritate her. “They will claim that it belongs to the Crown because it was originally the property of an English queen.”
“I suppose that’s fair enough.”
“Fair enough? It’s not fair at all. We’re the ones putting in all the work! Finders keepers – that’s the law.”
Fay was pretty sure that this was not the law – either in England or America. But she said nothing.
“It’s not right for the government to spy on its own people,” said Marigold. “And the moment we manage to find something through our own hard work and cleverness, they swoop in and take it all away. And it’s really not right for them to have assassinated poor Desmond.”
“You think that’s what happened to him? That the government assassinated him?”
“Yes! Maybe it was the CIA.”
Fay could have pointed out that the CIA was an American organization that had nothing to do with England, but again she kept quiet. Something Marigold had said interested her more than her conspiracy theories.
“What makes you think Desmond found something that he wasn’t sharing with the rest of you?”
“You should have seen him over the last few days. He was like a child with a secret. He and Henry had found some old manuscripts and divided them up, so they could work on them separately. Desmond was very excited about the manuscripts until one day he pretended to lose interest. He said there was nothing of significance in any of them but refused to let Henry take a look. From then on, he had an air of suppressed excitement about him that made us all sure he had stumbled onto something. And now he’s dead. He must have made the mistake of telling someone about it. The CIA found out and bam no more Desmond.”
“Wow.”
Marigold caught her husband’s eye. “Excuse me a second – Henry wants to speak to me.”
Fay finished off her tea and nibbled at her cookie. Henry and Marigold embarked on an intense, low-voiced conversation. Cecil was now on his own, so she took the opportunity to speak to him.
“I’ve just heard an amazing story about your late boss,” she said.
Cecil rolled his eyes. “About how he was assassinated by the CIA? I saw you talking to Marigold. She should spend more time living in the present. She has so much knowledge and insight into what was going on in the Middle Ages but absolutely no clue about today. She believes that if she read it on the internet, it must be the truth.”
“Is Henry also like that?”
“Henry is more clued up about the present than Marigold. But when it comes to the Middle Ages, she is a more brilliant scholar than him. Henry tends to believe everything he has ever read about the Middle Ages. If you mention the Illuminati and the Masons, he will believe any story you care to tell him.”
“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 any
one 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 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 an
tiquities. 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.
The Cat That Got Your Tongue Page 7