It was already six o’clock, so she wasn’t at all sure it would be open. But Sergeant Jones and his family lived in the house attached to the station, which meant there was usually someone there. His mother, who had her own cottage in the garden, acted as the station’s dispatcher and administrator.
There was still a light on in the police station, although the front door was closed.
Fay tapped on the door and pushed it open. Mrs. Jones was in the process of packing up for the day.
“Fay, love!” She seemed delighted to see her. “What can I do for you on this lovely summer evening?”
“I’m looking for Sergeant Jones or Constable Chegwin. Are they in?”
“Oh no, dear. They’ve gone out on their evening patrol. Summer is the busiest time of year. The village is full of tourists. We get traffic violations, parking offences, drunk and disorderlies, even the odd punch-up. The days tend to be quiet, but nighttime in the high street can get quite busy. What is it you wanted to see them about?”
“I’m worried about Tabitha Trott’s goldfish. I hate to think of it starving to death in its bowl. I wanted to make sure it’s being fed, and the water is kept clean. I’m happy to look after it for a few days, even if I don’t end up keeping it.”
“Yes, I’m not sure a goldfish would mix with all those cats of yours. So, you need to get into her house?”
“That’s right. I was going to ask Sergeant Jones if he would take me there.”
Mrs. Jones made a doubtful face. “He’ll be busy until at least eleven o’clock when the pubs close. I’m sure you don’t want to wait that long. I’ll tell you what. I have the key right here. I could take you to the house myself. I’m sure Owen won’t mind.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Jones. Thanks.”
Fay tried to imagine a situation at her old job in the south Bronx where a dispatcher would have let a civilian into the house of a possible murder victim in order to rescue a fish. It just wouldn’t come into focus. But this was what made Bluebell Island special. They played by different rules here.
“This is the address,” said Mrs. Jones as they reached a modest two-story house. “This should be the key to the front door. I feel as though I’m breaking and entering, don’t you?” She laughed.
Fay smiled weakly. That was a far-too-accurate description of how she felt. Then she remembered the fish, and she stiffened her spine. There was a life at stake here.
“Now, where would the fish be?” Mrs. Jones held the front door open so Fay could join her in the cramped and gloomy entrance hall. “Maybe in Tabitha’s bedroom?”
“You check the bedroom. I’ll check the kitchen. You’d normally keep a fish in a room where you spend a lot of time, wouldn’t you? So you could enjoy watching it and also remember to feed it.”
“Right you are, love.” Mrs. Jones tramped up the stairs while Fay explored the kitchen. There was no sign of a fish tank, but it was clear that Tabitha had been a clean and meticulous person. Her kitchen sparkled, with everything in its place. Whatever she’d had for breakfast on her last morning, she had washed up after herself. The garbage had recently been emptied, the floor had been swept, and the counters had been not only wiped down but thoroughly washed and dried.
As someone who ran a B&B, Fay was always aware of hygiene. She knew the areas in kitchens and bathrooms that were commonly neglected, but Tabitha had been a cleaning demon. She could have passed a health inspection any day. Fay was about to move onto the living room when something about one of the windows caught her eye.
There were two windows in the kitchen, one on either side of the door. The door was securely locked and the window on the left was latched from the inside. The window on the right, however had a broken latch. It looked to Fay as though someone had forced it from the outside with a screwdriver or something similar. The difference between the two windows was hardly noticeable. The latch had simply been moved out of position. But it was no longer doing its job. The window could easily be opened from the outside.
To test her theory, Fay opened the window on the right. It was a sash window, so it slid upwards.
“Wide enough for a person to fit through.” Fay looked more closely at the window ledge. Tabitha had kept her inside ledges spotlessly dusted, but not the outside ones. Fay could see finger marks against the glass on the outside and a wide drag-mark where a person had apparently pulled themselves into the kitchen from the outside.
Moving fast, Fay took photos with her phone camera of everything she could see. She would report what she had found to Sergeant Jones, but she wasn’t sure how much follow-up he would do. It was best to have her own record.
“Any sign of the fish tank?” called Mrs. Jones from upstairs.
“It’s not in the kitchen,” said Fay. “I’m going to try the living room now.”
Closing the window carefully, she walked through to the living room with its three-piece lounge suite and old-fashioned television. And there, in pride of place on an oak dresser, stood the fish tank.
It was a relief to see the goldfish swimming rather than floating, but his fins looked dull and he was moving sluggishly. A tub of fish flakes stood next to his tank. Fay gave him a tiny pinch and was pleased to see him swim up eagerly to gobble them.
Resisting the urge to give him any more, Fay called up to Mrs. Jones. “I’ve found him, Mrs. J. He was in the living room and he’s still alive.”
Mrs. Jones clattered down the stairs. “Ah. There he is. That is good news. He doesn’t look too bad at all, does he? Will you take him up to Penrose House now?”
“I guess so.”
Fay eyed the large, heavy-looking tank. She wished she had thought to bring her car, but it was still parked at the police station. She unplugged the tank and picked it up, sliding the fish flakes into her pocket. It was exactly as heavy as it looked.
The walk to the police station had never felt so long.
Not only did the tank weigh a ton, but Fay had to walk slowly to avoid sloshing the water around and upsetting the fish.
She sent Mrs. Jones ahead. Even her walking pace was faster than this. The steepest part was the cobbled walkway that led up past the surgery. Fay’s arms burned as she trudged up the hill. It was starting to drizzle. She glanced down at the tank. The goldfish was swimming around unconcernedly, looking much more vigorous now that it had been fed.
“And I bet you’re not even grateful. You don’t realize that you’ve been saved.”
“Talking to fish now, are we? I knew this island would drive you crazy in the end.”
Fay looked up as David spoke.
“Pay no attention to him, Fay love,” said Doc Dyer. “Talking to a fish is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Doc Dyer was taking the air with his corncob pipe as usual and his son was keeping him company. Fay’s stomach fluttered when she saw that David had changed out of the pinstripe suit he usually wore to consult in, and into a pair of faded jeans topped off by a leather jacket.
Normally, he looked like George Clooney in ER. Today he looked like George Clooney zipping around Lake Como on his motorcycle.
Chapter 14
Fay smiled at them. “It’s only when the fish start to talk back that you have to worry.”
David hopped down from the pillar he was sitting on and took the tank from Fay.
“This thing weighs a ton. Why are you carrying a fish tank up the hill in the rain?”
“It used to belong to Tabitha Trott. I couldn’t bear the thought of it starving to death, so Mrs. Jones let me into the house to rescue it.”
“You can’t carry it all the way up to Penrose House,” said Doc Dyer. “Leave it here and we’ll bring it up in the car later.”
“My car is at the police station, but I’ll take that offer gratefully.”
David carried the tank into the surgery and set it down on the curved reception desk.
“Would you look at that.” Doc Dyer gave the fish an admiring look. “Just like old times. I
t looks really good there too.” He turned to Fay. “When my dear wife was alive, we always had a fish here at reception. Goldfish, guppies, bettas – we had them all at various times. She had a knack for keeping them alive for a couple of years each.”
“That’s an excellent track record for fish-keeping.”
“Just look at that fish,” mused Doc. “He looks really happy there.”
“Dad …”
“Oh hush, David. This place has been like a mausoleum ever since your mother died. A fish-tank is colorful and attractive to look at. We should keep it. Unless you’re desperate to have it at up at Penrose House, Fay love?”
Fay didn’t hesitate. “Not at all. I have enough on my plate. I’d be delighted if you wanted to adopt young Cheeto here.”
David’s mouth twitched. “That’s his name, is it?”
“It came to me as I labored up the hill with him. A Cheeto is a bright orange potato chip, by the way.”
“Yes, we have them here in Britain too.”
“According to Tabitha’s diary, his name used to be either Misty or Momo, but I prefer Cheeto.”
“How did you even get to hear that he was still alive?” asked Doc Dyer.
“Dr. Eliot, the new vet, told me about him. Tabitha consulted her about her fish the day before she died. It turned out that his water was too warm.”
“You were at the vet?” said David. “Nothing wrong with your cats, I hope?”
“They’re all fine, thanks. She gave the kittens their shots. They’re ready to be homed now. Two of them are already spoken for.”
Doc’s eyes lit up. “So, two are still available?”
“Dad!” protested David. “First a goldfish and now kittens?”
“Why not?”
“Because … well, because Laetitia doesn’t like animals.”
Doc Dyer turned and winked at Fay behind his son’s back. “They wouldn’t be Laetitia’s cats, David, they’d be mine. You wouldn’t deny a lonely old man the companionship of two furry friends?”
David snorted. “You’re the fittest sixty-year-old I’ve ever met. You have a full-time job. You sit on every committee in the village, and you have a ton of friends. You don’t really want cats.”
“But I do want cats. And what’s more, this is a very suitable house for them. We have a big backyard and the surgery looks out onto a pedestrianized street. They’d be perfectly safe and happy here.”
“As long as they don’t go into the consulting rooms, the procedure room, or the lab.”
“They won’t. We had pets for years and they never did. I think it was the smell of antiseptic that put them off. So, what do you say, Fay?”
“I say you’ve got yourself two kittens. Tigger and Zorro will be very happy here.”
“Tigger is the big male and Zorro is the little girl that you used to carry around tucked into your neck?” asked David.
“That’s right. Who knew you were paying attention?”
Fay had noticed before that animals seemed to like David, and that he liked them right back. It was a shame that his mother’s death had led him to deny that part of himself.
“Then that’s settled.” Doc Dyer looked pleased with himself. “What are you up to tonight, Fay love? Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“That’s kind, thanks, but there’s dinner waiting for me at home. I’m going out tonight to set up traps for a suspected feral cat near Bluff Lighthouse. I want to get there while there is still some light. It’s important to place them where they can’t be seen from the road so no one moves them or tampers with them.”
“That sounds like a two-person job.” Doc gave his son a meaningful look.
David didn’t miss a beat. “It does indeed. I’d be happy to come along and help you with that.”
This seemed to Fay like another transparent attempt on the part of Doc Dyer to throw her and his son together. He never gave up, and David was too gentlemanly to refuse. But she had to admit it would be nice to have help.
“Sure, thanks. I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty.”
“Not in the Volvo, I trust?”
Fay grinned. “No, not in the Volvo. It wouldn’t make it up to the lighthouse. I’ll be in the Land Rover.”
The white light of Bluff Lighthouse sliced the evening sky as they approached.
“It seems to be working fine now,” said Fay.
“There are those who say that it always was,” said David. “They blame last night’s shipwreck on a navigational error, probably caused by a mistake on the part of the captain or the navigator, or both. There are those who say they were drunk.”
“Was a blood test done?”
“It was. I know the shipping laws around here, so I asked the captain and the navigator if they would consent to having blood drawn last night. They both agreed. They seemed keen to prove their sobriety.”
“And? Have you got the results of the test?”
“I did the test myself. Sober as a judge – both of them.”
“Interesting.”
Fay left the dirt road and drove for a while across country until the terrain became too rough even for the Land Rover. She hopped out and opened the trunk to get the cat traps out.
“What makes you think there are feral cats out here?”
“I saw one on the road the night we found Tabitha’s body.”
“What did it look like?”
“Quite big. It had a yellowish coat and bright eyes that reflected in my headlights.”
“You’re not talking about the ghost of Bluff Lighthouse?”
Fay sighed. “Not you too. Please tell me you don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Of course not. I’m just thinking that if you were already familiar with the legend you might have been mistaken. It might have been a jack rabbit or something.”
“But that’s the thing. I had never heard of the legend. Oh, I knew that the lighthouse was supposed to be haunted, but I assumed it was a human ghost. A murderous lighthouse keeper who drank himself to death, or his heartbroken wife. That kind of thing. I didn’t know it was a cat. And nor did the carload of guests who were sitting with me at the time, because they also saw it. I’m not saying it couldn’t have been some other kind of animal, but it looked like a cat. This isn’t America. You don’t have pumas and cougars wandering around the place. The only things that look like cats around here are actual cats.”
“True.”
“There might be one cat living out here or there might be several. My plan is to trap them and see what we’re dealing with. If it’s a stray pet, then it can probably be rehomed. If it’s a completely wild feral cat I’ll have it neutered and released, and I’ll set up a shelter and a daily food supply for it.”
“Feral cats are a menace to the indigenous wildlife population.”
“Yes, they are.” Fay had done her research on this subject. “But once they are neutered and have a reliable food supply, that problem is greatly reduced.”
David lifted one of the traps out of the car. “Then let’s get started.”
Fay had also been reading up about the wandering and hunting patterns of feral cats and had worked out a good distribution radius for the traps. As the night sky began to darken and the stars popped out, she decided where to place her first trap.
“How do these things work anyway?” asked David. “It can’t be an easy job to trap a cat. They have lightning reflexes.”
“Dr. Eliot showed me how. These traps belonged to my grandmother. I found them in a closet.” Fay put the trap down next to a low-growing bush. “You unhook this latch here and lift up the entrance door, which is spring-loaded. You hook it into place so that the trap is now open at one end.”
She took out a plastic food bowl with three compartments. She filled one with soft food, one with dry food, and one with water from the bottle she had brought.
“Then you slide the food and water all the way to the closed end of the trap, being careful not to touch … Ow!”
&nb
sp; The spring-loaded door snapped down hard on Fay’s arm. She thought she heard David laugh, but he changed it to a cough.
“Being careful not to touch the push-plate at the other end of the cage?” he suggested.
“Exactly. Ouch.”
He lifted the spring-loaded door off her arm and held it up for her. Fay pushed the food and water into place on the far side of the push-plate. The cat couldn’t get close enough to the food to eat it without touching the push-plate, and he couldn’t touch the push-plate without slamming the door shut behind him.
“I presume the shade netting is to protect the cat from the sun until you can come and get him.”
“That’s right. I’ll check the traps every few hours, but the cat will have food, water, and shelter until I arrive.”
Moving fast so as not to lose the light, they set up the other two traps. When the third had been baited and set, they walked back to the car in the growing gloom. They had hardly gone a few steps when David clutched Fay’s arm.
“Look! Do you see it?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
It was a cat. About fifty yards ahead of them, it sat regarding them calmly. Was it Fay’s imagination, or did it seem almost luminous in the gathering dark? Its eyes shone like lamps, too big and bright to be real.
As they approached it, hardly daring to breathe, it turned and walked away. Then it looked back over its shoulder as if to say, come on.
They turned away from the car and began to follow the cat. It was walking in the direction of the lighthouse.
“Where is it going?” breathed Fay.
“I don’t know. It’s a cat.”
David looked down and realized he was still holding Fay’s arm.
“Sorry.” He dropped it immediately.
Fay increased her pace. But however fast they walked, they didn’t seem to get any closer to the cat with the lamp-like eyes.
Now it was Fay’s turn to clutch at David’s arm. “Look. Up ahead. Do you see that?”
Three shadowy figures moved around the base of the lighthouse.
The Cat That Wasn't There Page 9