Chapter 15
“It’s ten o’clock at night,” Fay hissed. “Who are they and what are they doing?”
“And what happened to the cat?”
Fay blinked. One moment the cat was there in front of them and the next it was gone.
“It must have run off into the bushes.”
They watched in silence as the figures opened the door to the lighthouse and went inside.
David started forward. “Now’s our chance. We can confront them. I don’t care who they are. They have no business being here at this time of night.”
Fay touched his arm and shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. At least one of them is carrying a gun.”
“How do you know that?”
“I can tell from the way he’s walking. It’s on his right hip. It’s either in a holster or in his pocket. He is walking with a wide-based gait and swinging his right arm away from his hip. He is the worst kind of person to be carrying a gun – the kind who is nervous and not used to carrying it. I vote we stay right here and watch.”
David radiated frustration, but he couldn’t argue with her logic.
“What if they are sabotaging the light?”
“No, look. They’re coming out again. They were in there for less than a minute. They couldn’t possibly have gone all the way up to the top in that time.” Fay watched with narrowed eyes, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
“And now they’re locking up. That isn’t the Museums committee.”
“Agreed. They look too young. And they’re all men.”
The three figures walked quickly away from the lighthouse. The slope of the land carried them out of sight. A moment later, a car’s engine could be heard starting up. As it faded into the distance, Fay and David stood up and relaxed.
“What was that all about?” David dusted off the knees of his jeans where he had been crouching on the ground.
“Proof that Tabitha didn’t fall by accident.”
“You think she jumped?”
“No. I think she was pushed.”
David took a last look at the lighthouse. There was no sign of the cat or the people. “There’s something fishy going on, that’s for sure. But I have no idea what it is.”
“In her diary, Tabitha writes about strange things happening. She would wake up in the morning and find that she had apparently made a sandwich in the middle of the night or done some online shopping. Only she didn’t remember any of it. Her doors were locked, and her credit card was back in her purse. She thought she was going crazy. She thought she was sleep-walking and not remembering it.”
“That can happen to people who take very strong sleeping pills, but as far as I know Tabitha didn’t.”
“This evening when I was in her house looking for the fish-tank, I noticed that one of the kitchen windows had a broken latch. There were fingerprints and drag marks all over the ledge and the window pane. So, either Tabitha was in the habit of locking herself out and climbing in through her own window to get into her house …”
“Or someone had been slipping into her house at night. That sounds suspicious, but I don’t see how it ties in with the lighthouse. Not to mention with those three lads we just saw.”
“Neither do I,” Fay admitted. “The only young man I know connected to the lighthouse is Betsy McCloud’s nephew. Apparently, he sometimes helps out the Museums committee. I can’t remember his name.”
“It’s Duncan. Duncan McCloud. He has a reputation as a bit of a bad boy. They say he’s a constant disappointment to his aunt.”
“Really? That’s a shame.”
“He’s her late brother’s child. She does everything she can to help him get his life together, but he keeps going off the rails.”
“I think I need to have a chat with young Duncan,” said Fay.
“You’ll find him at the docks most mornings. He works there loading and unloading crates.
“That’s a good tip, thanks.”
They checked that the door to the lighthouse had been locked again. It seemed to be secure.
“What do you think happened to Tabitha?” asked David. “Was someone gaslighting her into thinking she was losing her mind? Sneaking into her house at night and rearranging things to frighten her?”
Fay shrugged. “If that’s all it was, I could believe it. But there was more to it. Everyone who worked on the Museums committee said that she had become forgetful. She put thick white bleach in their tea instead of milk. She messed up the filing system at Bluff Lighthouse. It was more than just a few incidents in her own home.”
“Poor lady. Have you finished reading her diary yet?”
“Not quite. It is very densely written, and about ninety percent of it is irrelevant. I’m looking for the ten percent that is interesting. But that’s easy to miss among all the daily details.”
“Someone who feared she was losing her mind might have fallen into depression. We’ve had cases where people who know their minds are deteriorating decide to take their own lives rather than suffer through it.”
“I’ve heard of that,” said Fay. “And that might be what happened. But there is something suspicious going on at this lighthouse. I want to get to the bottom of it.”
“I’m going to tell the harbormaster’s office what we saw tonight. They must keep an eye on the lighthouse. We can’t afford any more accidents at sea. It’s a miracle no one was badly hurt when the Sinead ran aground.”
It was a relief to wake up the next morning and realize that no sirens had disturbed her sleep.
Fay had collapsed into bed at ten-thirty the night before and slept like a log. It was an effort to drag herself out of bed for her morning run, but she knew she would feel better afterwards. On her return trip, the boardwalk curved out to sea, giving her a view of the north of the island. The fire on the Sinead was out. The freighter had broken almost in two and was sitting much lower in the water than it had been. It was clear that it wasn’t going to sink just yet because the rocks were holding it in place.
It was a desolate sight to see the ship so broken up. Like David, Fay could only be grateful that no one had been badly hurt.
“Urrgh.” Morwen turned a grumpy face to Fay as she entered the kitchen after showering and getting dressed for the day. “Must you look so chipper this morning?”
“I felt anything but chipper when I woke up.”
“Why is the morning after the morning after a sleepless night always the worst? Yesterday I felt quite okay on virtually no sleep. This morning I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus. I remember that from when my boys were babies. I always felt the broken night’s sleep twenty-four hours later.”
“Oh well, time to put our game faces on. Our guests are on their summer vacations. They’re not interested in whether the staff had a late night.”
Morwen touched her fingertips to the sides of her mouth and pulled upwards. “I’m smiling, see?”
Fay laughed and put her first batch of muffins into the oven.
“I’m heading to the docks this morning to talk to Duncan McCloud,” she said later. “Do you know him at all?”
“Just that he’s supposed to be the black sheep of the family. This is Betsy McCloud’s nephew, right?”
“That’s it. Apparently, he works at the docks loading freight.”
“He does. Plus, whatever odd jobs his long-suffering aunt can get him. She’s a smart lady, but completely blind where her beloved Duncan is concerned. He has her wrapped around his little finger.”
After breakfast service and the kittens’ daily outside time, Fay took a stroll down to the docks.
All she had to go on was a name. She had no idea what Duncan McCloud looked like.
The docks at Bluebell Island were small. Mostly devoted to the fishing industry, the harbor played host to a number of small freighters like the Sinead that were light enough to be accommodated. The island was unable to host larger craft because the harbor was neither wide nor deep enough.
/> Fay had always enjoyed spending time on the docks.
It was a busy and bustling place with ferries leaving every hour, fishing boats coming and going, and cargo being loaded and offloaded. Fay walked towards a loading deck where several small cranes stood ready to lift heavy crates. The cargo handlers were having a smoke break. There was no boat currently in the harbor, although one could be seen chugging towards them in the distance.
Most of the men were strangers to her, but there was one she vaguely recognized. She trusted that his name would come to her in time.
Now he was walking towards her.
“It’s Miss Penrose, isn’t it?”
“Fay, yes. I hope your mother enjoyed her stay with us in the spring, Mr. … er … Piper?”
“She loved it, thanks. She’s already planning a return trip in December. She wants to see the high street with all its Christmas lights on.”
“We’ll be happy to welcome her back.”
“Were you looking for something, Fay?”
“Is Duncan McCloud here by any chance?”
“Duncan?” Mr. Piper looked around. “He was a moment ago. I’m sure he’ll be happy to speak to you. He’s a nice lad, he is.”
“Good worker, is he?”
“He really is. Reliable. Hard-working. I know he’s had some trouble in the past, but he has worked really hard to put all that behind him. We like him, don’t we boys?”
There were nods and assenting noises from the men standing in front of the warehouse.
“Pleasant lad too. Always has an agreeable word for everyone.”
“There he comes now, Bill,” said one of the men, pointing with his chin.
“Yes, there he is. Oy, Duncan!” called Bill Piper. “This lady is here to see you.”
A muscular young man walked towards them. A stub of a cigarette dangled from his lips. He wore torn jeans and a muscle vest. His chest and arms suggested that he spent a lot of time lifting weights. His hair was shaved down to black stubble.
And what was that on his face?
As he got closer, Fay saw that he had a tattoo of a dragon on his cheek.
Chapter 16
Years of working out of a precinct in the south Bronx had made Fay difficult to shock.
To her, tattoos were a personal choice. The only problem with facial tattoos was that they affected one’s employability. But she would never make assumptions about anyone based on their tattoos or piercings.
The same could not be said for the rest of the island. This was an old-fashioned community. Fay could only imagine the negative reactions Duncan McCloud would have got when people saw the dragon on his cheek.
“This lady is here to talk to you, Duncan.” Said Bill.
“Morning, Miss. Is there a job you need doing?”
As Fay shook the hand he offered, she decided to change her approach. A brief conversation now wouldn’t give her much idea of what Duncan was really like. If he did a job for her, she could make a better assessment of his character. There were always jobs that needed to be done at Penrose House. Pen took care of most of them, but he had the garden to worry about and couldn’t handle everything.
“It’s good to meet you, Duncan,” she said. “I’m Fay Penrose. I have a room that needs to be emptied. We are thinking of converting it into another guest suite, but everything in it needs to be moved to the basement first.”
“I can do that with pleasure. I’m working now but I have a break at twelve. I can come up to Penrose House then if that suits you?”
“That would be great, thanks. I’ll see you then.”
A ship was coming into harbor, so Duncan and the other men went back to work. Instead of going straight back home, Fay wandered around the docks a little more.
She watched the dock-hands swing into action as the ship pulled into its berth. They moved fast, using forklifts and cranes to get the crates off the boat and into the warehouse. Another crew moved into position to refuel the ship.
If the Sinead had made it into port two nights ago, this was the process it would have undergone. The crates of linen would have been offloaded and stored in the warehouse on waterproof sheets. Instead, they had ended up burnt or waterlogged to the north of the island.
“I was just wondering, Mr. Piper,” she said as he rolled past her on a forklift. “Do you work around the clock or does the loading and offloading only get done during the day?”
“We have a skeleton crew that works nights. If this were a big, commercial harbor, work would carry on twenty-four/seven. But we’re a small operation, so we only work at night if a ship needs to offload and refuel quickly before going on its way.”
“What about the Sinead that was coming into port the other night? Would that have waited until morning?”
“No, I believe the Sinead was in a hurry. I drew up the night-shift schedule for this week. I seem to remember that the crew requested immediate offloading. They planned to be in and out in an hour.”
“And do you happen to know if Duncan was working that night?”
“Hey, Dunc!” called Bill. “Were you working the night that the Sinead was due to come in?”
The younger man looked up. “Uh … yes, sir. I was working that night. But of course, the Sinead never did come in.”
“How many boats come into port between midnight and six on average?” asked Fay.
“Sometimes none. You must remember that we are primarily a fishing port, and fishing only happens during the day. Sometimes we get one or two freighters a night. On a really busy night, there might be three that come in. But we space them so that the skeleton crew can handle them. They would come in a couple of hours apart.”
“So, on that night the only ship that would have been rounding the island that close to shore would have been the Sinead? It was the only ship that was expected?”
“Definitely. Any other ships passing by would have been in one of the deep-water shipping lanes far out to sea. Again, if this were a busy port, it would be a different story. I’ve worked at harbors like that. It’s like Paddington Station all hours of the day – with a new ship arriving every few minutes. But this is Bluebell Island. We’re just a speck in the Atlantic. It’s much quieter around here.”
Fay nodded. “Thanks, Mr. Piper. I’ll see you later, Duncan.”
As she walked back to her car, she slid her phone out of her pocket to send a text to Doc Dyer.
Fay: Can you organize an hour or two of volunteer work for me with the Museums committee? Anything connected to Bluff Lighthouse would be good. They are probably short-staffed after what happened to Tabitha and could use the help.
By the time the aged Volvo had coughed and spluttered its way up the hill to Penrose House, he had already replied, promising to see what he could do.
Fay was surer than ever that someone Tabitha had worked with knew why she died. Now she had to trick them into letting it slip.
She had some time before Duncan was due. She would use it to see what else Tabitha’s diary had to offer.
June 03
The Museums committee has asked me if I don’t feel ready to retire from volunteer work. Let me explain why.
There was another incident yesterday. It was my turn to make tea for the committee meeting. We take it in turns, diary. All except Colonel Trengove, who is apparently exempt, due to the handicap of being male.
I made the tea just as I always do. I rinsed the teapot out with freshly boiled water in order to warm it. I allocated one teabag per person, plus one for the pot. I filled two glass milk jugs with milk. I remember taking care to use the whole milk rather than the half and half because the bottles have recently been repackaged. They are both blue now, which makes it confusing. I read the labels carefully and made sure I was choosing the correct bottle.
I put everything on the tray with a sugar bowl and some sweeteners and took it through to the conference room.
Imagine my mortification when it turned out that the milk wasn’t milk at all but thick
white bleach!
Of course, I protested my innocence immediately. We went to the kitchen to confirm that the mistake was not mine. And there were two bottles of milk in the fridge, both containing actual milk. In the broom cupboard was an almost empty bottle of white cleaning detergent.
Oh diary, it looked as though I had done it deliberately. I could see them all thinking that I had tried to poison them or cause them harm. I protested that I’d had no such intention.
Then it got worse, diary. It emerged that no one really thought I had done it deliberately. They thought I’d made a mistake. They thought I had taken a bottle of white bleach out of the cupboard and used it to fill the milk jugs. I could see from their faces that none of them was even surprised. It was as though they had been expecting something like this from me for a while now.
It’s not fair. Just because there was that one mix-up with the filing, now they think they can’t trust me. They had all decided I was guilty before we walked into the kitchen.
I wish I knew what to think. How could I possibly have poured bleach into those milk jugs instead of milk? What was I thinking? My mind keeps going back to what that doctor in Truro said – that everything was okay as long as I was merely sleep-walking. When I started doing things I couldn’t remember during the day, it was time to go back to her.
I haven’t been back, diary.
You are the only one I can admit this to. I haven’t been back because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of what she will tell me – that I am losing my mind. That my greatest asset – my reliable memory and sharp intelligence – is deserting me.
I don’t want to face it. I know that makes me cowardly, but I can’t help thinking that if I just give this time it will stop. My thoughts seem so clear to me. When I think about things, when I write like this, when I do the morning crossword, my mind seems as clear and lucid as ever.
But it can’t be.
I am probably experiencing what they call lucid intervals, where your mind works perfectly well for a while before slipping out of gear again. And so, I am forced to consider the committee’s proposal. Am I ready to retire? I don’t feel ready. I feel as though I still have so much to offer. I feel as though I am good at my job and that it would be a waste for me to sit at home all day and do nothing when I have much to contribute.
The Cat That Wasn't There Page 10