The Cat That Wasn't There

by Fiona Snyckers

  David sat down next to the tiller and steered the boat out to sea. “Unlikely. Salvage operations are expensive. The ship would have to be in excellent shape, or the cargo would have to be worth a king’s ransom before a salvage operation could be justified. I don’t think either of those applies here. The Sinead is in pieces. She will never sail again. And nobody wants a few crates of linen back that badly.”

  “That makes sense.”

  David gave her a sideways look. “I’m still not sure why you want to go out there.”

  “To be honest, it might be a wild goose-chase. But something about this case doesn’t add up. I’m hoping the Sinead will have some answers. I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, but maybe I’ll know it when I see it.”

  The boat picked up speed as they got into deeper waters and began travelling north along the eastern shore of the island.

  “I usually keep the Barty moored at the docks,” said David. “But that seemed like too public a place to set off from at this time of night, especially since I haven’t logged this trip with the coast guard. So, I moved her at lunchtime to King Arthur’s jetty. It’s quieter and further north. It’s a good place to access the wreck from.”

  Fay squeaked when he cut the lights. The sea, which had seemed like a golden froth in front of them, was suddenly pitch-black. They were much further from shore than Fay had realized. The lights of the village twinkled in the distance, getting further away with every second.

  “Why did you do that?” Her voice sank to a whisper.

  “Two reasons. My eyes need to get used to the darkness, and I want us to be invisible. Anyone watching us from the harbormaster’s office would soon realize that we’re heading to the wreck. They can’t see us with the lights off.”

  “How long until we reach the wreck?”

  “Less than ten minutes.”

  Fay swallowed down her nerves. She had never felt so out of her element in her life. She had faced many frightening situations in her life, but always with a gun in her hand, a partner by her side, and an intimate knowledge of the terrain.

  A gun was of no use to her now and her knowledge of this environment was non-existent. But it felt good to have David by her side. There was something solid and dependable about him. As long as he was there, she could face this.

  Fay’s eyes grew accustomed to the dark. The rain had finally stopped, and a sliver of moonlight peeked through the clouds.

  She noticed dark shadows in the water as the boat skimmed along the surface. In her imagination, they were sea creatures gliding beneath. Then she realized that she was looking at rocks. If the Barty had sat just a little lower in the water, they would already have been snagged on them.

  Fay looked up and saw areas where the rocks protruded above the surface of the water. The sea shone white in the moonlight as it sent up spray against them. The boat began to rock from side to side as the water became increasingly choppy.

  Fay swallowed and hoped she wouldn’t start feeling sick.

  A thought occurred to her. “What does the Lorelei refer to?”

  David looked surprised. “That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. Why are you asking?”

  “You know Pen – the gardener who works at Penrose House?”

  “John Penhale. Of course, I know him.”

  “When he heard what we were planning for tonight, he said I should tell you to watch out for the Lorelei. He said you’d know what it meant.”

  “He’s right. The Lorelei is a name that the local sailors give to a riptide that runs across this part of the coast. It’s a sideways current caused by warmer waters flowing back from the shore. It has been known to pull fishing boats many miles off course. That’s why this side of the island doesn’t see much fishing activity. There are safer places to fish.”

  “What do we do if the Lorelei gets hold of us?”

  “The Barty has a powerful engine. We should be able to fight it.” David pointed to the north-east. “Look.”

  Fay turned to follow the direction of his finger. Up ahead was an area of dense shadow. The closer they got, the more Fay could make out the outline of the object.

  It was the wreck of the Sinead.

  Chapter 24

  “What’s that sound?” Fay stared at the black silhouette of the wreck. Over the roar of the sea and the Barty’s engine she could hear a creaking noise.

  “That’s the tide moving the wreck against the rocks. We’re hearing metal grinding against rock. It’s very unstable.”

  For a small freighter, the Sinead appeared large up close. The rocks had lifted the hull out of the water, making it seem taller than it was.

  The Sinead was badly damaged. It had split almost in half. The wind carried the smell of burnt wood and charred metal to Fay’s nostrils, reminding her that the freighter had burned for many hours before the rain put it out. She could see the top of the wreck shifting slightly as the tide ground it against the rocks.

  David cut the engine and allowed momentum to carry them closer.

  “We’re here now. What is it that you wanted to see?”

  “This is good for now.” Fay turned to look at the island. The white light of Bluff Lighthouse swept the darkness. Any sailor would be able to tell that they were too close to shore and needed to keep away. To the south, she could just make out the yellow beam of Penhale Lighthouse warning ships to keep away from the south end of the island.

  “The Barty is a sturdy craft, but I wouldn’t want to see her battered against these rocks,” David warned. “We mustn’t stay too long.”

  “Understood. What I’d really like is to get a look at the cargo that the Sinead was carrying.”

  “We know what it was carrying. Bed sheets, wasn’t it? Made of expensive linen.”

  “That’s what it said on the manifest. I want to see what it was actually carrying.”

  “I’m not sure there’s much left after the fire. All that linen would have been pure fuel for it. It’s no wonder it burned for so long.”

  “You’re probably right, but I want to see for myself. There may still be some crates that we can take a look at. Where would the hold be on a boat like this?”

  David stared at the wreck, trying to work out what the shape of the hull would have been before it was crushed beyond recognition.

  “I think the hold would have been aft.” When Fay frowned, he shook his head. “The back of the boat, you landlubber.”

  “Right. Yes. Of course. And the back of the boat would be …?”

  “Over there.” He gestured to the left. “The front of the boat being the part that plowed onto the rocks first, naturally.”

  “Okay. How do I get into the hold?”

  “You don’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  “When the lifeboats were here to rescue the crew how did they get on and off?”

  “That was days ago when the boat was almost intact. It had only just run aground. This wreck is an eggshell. One big wave is all it will take to tumble it over. Look how it’s rocking. I know you want to solve this mystery, but it’s not worth sacrificing your life for.”

  Fay stared at the wreck in frustration. She had come all this way and what she needed was just yards away from where she was sitting. It didn’t seem possible that she couldn’t reach out and take it.

  She clutched the side of the boat as a wave tossed them sideways. The wreck creaked alarmingly, and a large piece fell off into the water near them.

  She stood up. “I have to try. Someone killed Tabitha Trott in cold blood. I can’t let them get away with it.”

  “Wait!” David’s shout made her freeze in the act of lifting the gangplank to climb onto the wreck. “Look over there. Don’t those look like boxes caught on the rocks?”

  What Fay saw made her feel weak with relief. They were boxes. Some of the Sinead’s cargo had spilled out of a great tear in the hull and was resting precariously on the rocks.

  “That looks easier to get to.”

 
David started up the engine and began the delicate process of maneuvering the boat around the wreck to where the boxes lay.

  “Can’t you get closer?”

  “I’m afraid not. Something is scraping against the bottom of the Barty. It must be rocks. We’re in danger of running aground ourselves.”

  Fay leaned against the side of the boat and stretched out an arm. “I can’t quite reach that crate.”

  “Let me try to swing her closer.” He swung the boat to starboard and Fay’s fingers almost grazed one of the wooden boxes. Bracing her thighs against the side of the boat, she leaned the full length of her body out over the rocks until her fingers grasped a handle of one of them.

  “Be careful. You’ll lose your balance.” David abandoned the tiller to grab hold of Fay’s feet.

  “I can’t … move it. It’s stuck.”

  “Let go of it. Let go. It’s too dangerous.”

  “But I’m so close.” Fay gave a little wriggle and felt her feet slip out of her boots. Then a wave jerked the boat sideways and she was falling. David made a desperate grab for her legs, but she slipped out of his grasp.

  She barely had time to suck in a breath when she slid into the icy clutch of the water. Fay clamped her mouth shut as she scrabbled to right herself and lift her head above the surface. The jagged edges of the rocks tore at her limbs. The heavy rubber of the slickers threatened to pull her under, but the life jacket kept her afloat.

  “Keep still!” David shouted the words at her over and over again. “Stop thrashing around. You’re cutting yourself.”

  Fighting back the panic that threatened to burst out of her chest, Fay forced herself to relax and stop moving. The buoyancy of the lifejacket pushed her upright so that her face broke the surface of the water and her legs dangled down.

  “Reach for me,” said David. He was half out of the boat, straining forward to grab her.

  “Get back or you’ll fall in too,” she screamed over the rushing of the sea.

  The tide tugged and pulled at Fay, tossing her around like a cork. Then she felt herself seized by a powerful force that picked her up and pulled her sideways with terrible strength. It hurled her into the prow of the Barty, stunning her as the side of her head hit fiberglass. Then it carried her around the prow, gathering force and speed as it swept her out to sea.

  Fay knew she was in the grip of the Lorelei.

  She watched in horror as David flung himself out of the boat and into the powerful clutch of the riptide. Using its momentum, he swam strongly towards her until he could grab her around her waist.

  “No, no!” she sobbed. “It’s too strong. It will take you too.”

  “It’s okay.” His voice spoke in her ear as he pulled her against his chest. “I’ve tied a rope around my waist.”

  Fay felt the drag as the rope reached the end of its length and held them in place. The power of the Lorelei was frightening. It didn’t seem possible that the rope could hold. She opened her mouth to speak, but a wave slammed into her face making her cough and choke.

  “Listen,” he said. “Listen to me. I need you to hold onto me. Wrap your arms around my chest and hold on tight. I need both hands to pull us back to the boat.”

  Coughing violently, Fay nodded to show that she understood. She turned in his grasp and wrapped her arms around him, gripping her hands together with all her strength.

  Proving that his impressive physique wasn’t just for show, David gripped the rope and pulled them both hand over hand closer to the boat.

  The riptide was like a live thing – a malevolent force that wanted to sweep them to their deaths. But David held onto the rope, and Fay held onto David, and soon they were back at the Barty. It tossed and bucked in the turbulent water. David heaved himself upwards and grabbed the side of the boat. His strength was failing, and he realized he would only be able to pull himself on board. Fay’s added weight would be too much for him.

  “Climb onto my shoulders and pull yourself aboard,” he said urgently. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  With her last vestiges of strength, Fay clambered onto his shoulders and pulled herself up the side of the boat. She fell heavily onto the deck. Immediately, she scrambled onto all fours and crawled to the side to help David up.

  But it seemed as though the last of his strength was gone.

  “Come on,” she urged. “Come on. You’re so close.”

  With arms that felt like rubber he heaved and tugged until he too fell onto the deck next to Fay.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw her face, pale in the moonlight, watching him anxiously. And so, he did what seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He put his arms around her and kissed her.

  For a moment, Fay let herself fall into the embrace. He tasted of sea-spray and longing.

  Then they pulled apart and started apologizing to each other.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was unforgiveable.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  They sat up and Fay coughed some more. It felt as though she had inhaled half of the Atlantic Ocean.

  David took control of the tiller and opened the throttle on the motor. “We need to get back.”

  Fay looked longingly at the wreck. “If only I could have got one of those crates.”

  “Wait a minute …” He swung the boat to port and reached into the water. When he straightened up, he was pulling a crate on board. “It was floating past.”

  Fay’s eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant! That’s amazing.”

  She felt like kissing him again but decided that once was more than enough for one evening.

  Chapter 25

  “Are you feeling warmer, Fay love?”

  Fay accepted a mug of tea from Doc Dyer and nodded. A hot shower and some dry clothes had done much to make her feel human again.

  “Thanks for the loan of the tracksuit.”

  “You can thank David. It belongs to him.”

  “Miss Penrose is entirely welcome.” David was also warm and dry and sipping on hot tea.

  Doc’s bushy eyebrows rose. David and Fay had been awkward with each other ever since they had walked into the surgery, dripping wet and half frozen from their midnight dip in the ocean.

  He looked from one to the other and back again, seeing more than either of them guessed.

  He cleared his throat. “Time to crack open this crate and see what the Sinead was really carrying.”

  Fay and David forgot about their issues and drew closer together. The crate was made of wood and was currently lying on a sheet of plastic on the parlor floor. The contents were clearly waterlogged because a pool of seawater had formed on the plastic.

  “We need a crowbar,” said David. “I’ll fetch one from the shed.”

  While he was gone, Doc Dyer turned to Fay. “Why are you two being weird with each other?”

  “Urgh.” She pulled a face. “Don’t ask.”

  “Okay, but I can probably guess. And now he’s going to be riddled with guilt over something that was probably quite harmless.”

  “I admire his integrity.”

  “So do I, Fay love. So do I.”

  David came back in with the bar and used it to break open the lid of the crate. Inside, quite clearly, was a pile of linen. It was discolored by scorch marks from the fire and severely waterlogged.

  “Bed sheets.” David sounded disappointed.

  “After all that effort.” Fay couldn’t believe she had risked her life for this.

  “Wait a minute,” said Doc. “Didn’t you tell me this was supposed to be a shipment of fine Irish linen?”

  Fay nodded. “That’s right. I thought it might be something else, but it’s clearly linen. Or at least this crate is.”

  Doc Dyer lifted out a wet sheet and held it up to the light. He slipped a pair of reading glasses onto his nose and inspected it closely.

  “Just as I thought. This is the cheapest, thinnest polyester I have ever seen. I was expecti
ng four-hundred-thread-count quality linen. This is so cheap I wouldn’t line a dog basket with it.”

  “My father the linen snob,” said David.

  Fay felt the bedsheet between her thumb and forefinger, noting the slippery texture and the thinness of the weave.

  “What would be the price difference between these sheets and the high-quality ones you were expecting?”

  “Oh, there would be no comparison. In a discount shop, you could pay ten pounds for a sheet like this. In an exclusive interior-design boutique, you could pay four hundred pounds easily for white flax Irish linen.”

  “So, literally forty times the price. That’s a very healthy profit margin.”

  Doc Dyer looked confused. “I don’t get it. So, you send a shipment of cheap linen to the bottom of the sea instead of a shipment of expensive linen. What’s in it for you?”

  “The insurance, Dad.”

  “That’s right,” said Fay. “You pay, let’s say, ten thousand pounds for all those crates of cheap sheets, and insure them for four hundred thousand pounds. That’s a very nice pay-out at the end of the day. We’re talking more than five hundred and thirty thousand dollars.” As always, Fay couldn’t help converting the amount into ‘real’ money.

  “And the people who packed the crates and stored them in the hold of the Sinead would confirm that it was carrying bed linen,” said David. “And so would the customs officials who checked the cargo against the ship’s manifest. They certainly wouldn’t bother doing a quality check to determine whether those were ten-pound sheets or four-hundred-pound sheets in the hold.”

  “A very clever scheme,” said Doc. “That amount of money would be a powerful incentive for all kinds of nefarious deeds, including murder. But I don’t see why Tabitha Trott had to die.”

  “It’s all in her diary,” said Fay. “She writes about how she came across a set of schematics that looked to her like plans for sabotaging the lighthouse. She went up to the top of Bluff Lighthouse to see if it could be done, and when she came back down those schematics had vanished. From that moment onwards, the gaslighting campaign against her was ramped up, with a view to eventually blaming her death on her own addled state of mind.”