“Hungry this evening?” Morwen walked into the kitchen to make coffee.
“There’s a tickle in my throat. I think I might have caught something when I got so wet today.”
“Told you so.” Morwen nodded. Her motherly warnings had proved correct. “I’ll bring a hot toddy to your room later.”
Fay pulled a face. “That’s whisky, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll like it.”
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to drink it.” Morwen was still in mom mode. “See that you have a hot bath as well and get an early night. I thought you were looking a bit miserable earlier.”
“That was probably after my pleasant chat with Mrs. Saville’s daughter and the lawyers.”
“Oh, dear. Was it as nasty as it sounded?”
“It was nastier. What is it about inheritances that brings out the worst in people?”
“Depressing, isn’t it? You didn’t even hear the yelling that happened before you arrived. It had something to do with the money that Mrs. Saville left to the Playhouse Theater. I didn’t get all the details, but Candice has a very carrying voice and I gathered that was what it was about.”
Fay pricked up her ears.
“Did Mrs. Saville really leave money to the theater?”
“That’s what they were saying. Or yelling, rather.”
“Interesting. So, the list of people who benefited financially from her death now includes Bertha, the amateur dramatic society, her daughter Candice, Martin Trenowyth, and Candice’s two children.”
“No wonder she sounded peeved.”
“Peeved doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m also wondering why she was apparently telling her creditors weeks ago that there would be money coming in. How could she have known that she was about to inherit money from her mother?”
“Could she have been talking about money coming in from another source?”
“It didn’t sound like it. It sounded as though she was talking about the inheritance.”
Morwen’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t think she shot her own mother?”
“I don’t know. The timing would have been very tight. She would have had to pull the trigger and then leave the island immediately by ferry because it was hours later that the police phoned her at her home in Surrey to tell her what had happened to her mother.”
“It’s a four-hour drive from Cornwall to Surrey.”
“Plus, more than half an hour on the ferry, with the risk of being spotted. It doesn’t seem likely, does it?”
“Unless she was wearing a disguise!”
Fay laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said when Morwen glared at her. “I just can’t see Candice putting on a false nose and a moustache to catch the ferry back to the mainland. It’s interesting, though. I wonder how much Mrs. Saville left to the theater.”
“I can tell you that. Candice was trumpeting it loudly enough for the whole house to hear. It was five hundred thousand pounds.”
Fay whistled. “Half a million pounds? That would put on a lot of pantomimes and Macbeths. As the theatrical director and assistant director, Raymond Garver and Pippa Brand will get full control of that money. I wonder if they knew what Mrs. Saville had left them.”
“It’s not unheard of. When a member of one of the wealthy families of the island dies, it’s quite common for them to leave money to local causes like the theater. The late Lord Chadwick did it, and so did your grandmother.”
“I hear you, but still … half a million pounds. That’s a sizeable chunk of money. Not as sizeable as what she left to Martin, but still potentially life changing for the recipient.”
Fay picked up her tray.
“The chicken pie calls. And so do the kittens. I used to watch TV shows in the evening, but now I watch the kitten show. They are endlessly entertaining.”
“Remember that hot bath, and I’ll be up later to bring you a toddy. My grandmother’s secret recipe. It never fails.”
Fay went upstairs to her room in a thoughtful mood.
Despite Morwen’s hot toddy, which was apparently made of rocket fuel and dried chilli, Fay woke up the next morning knowing for sure that she had caught a head cold.
Instead of her usual three-mile run along the boardwalk, she managed a much shorter walk. It blew away the cobwebs and got some sea air into her lungs, but her head still felt thick and her throat sore. If she had been coughing and sneezing, she might have stayed in bed to avoid infecting Morwen, Maggie, and Pen, not to mention the Cat’s Paw guests, but she wasn’t. Instead, she washed her hands thoroughly with medicated soap and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Then she put on a face mask, pulling the elastics to fit over her ears.
“You look like you’re about to perform surgery, not cook breakfast,” said Morwen.
“Better safe than sorry. Hygiene comes first at the Cat’s Paw, always.”
Fay put her usual batches of muffins on to bake. This morning she made two options - blueberry and salted caramel. Then she beat the eggs for Morwen and set the tables in the breakfast room according to the seating plan she had drawn up based on the guests who were currently in residence. She laid out the buffet with all the cereals, mueslis, fresh fruit, yoghurts, cold cuts and cheeses, and pastries that were offered every day.
Just before seven, she went back into the kitchen for her own breakfast. She and Morwen took turns to eat in the morning. Today, all she could face was some fruit and granola with yoghurt.
Morwen had just put a cup of coffee in front of her when there was a knock at the kitchen door.
Fay glanced at the clock. “Bit early for a delivery, isn’t it?”
Morwen looked out the kitchen window. “If all delivery staff were this good-looking, I wouldn’t mind some early morning interruptions.”
She opened the door to let David Dyer in.
“Morning, all. Sorry to come by at this hour of the morning, but I thought you’d want to hear the results of the tests I did on those homeopathic remedies.”
“Yes, definitely,” said Fay. “I’m all ears.”
His eyes landed on Fay’s face and rested there. His gaze was so intense that she felt her cheeks starting to pinken. Then he shook his head.
“What you are is very heavy-eyed. You don’t look well at all.”
Typical. He wasn’t gazing adoringly at her. He was noticing how ill she looked.
“I’m fine.”
“You are clearly not fine.” He came closer and ran his fingers along her jawline, behind her ears, and up and down her neck. His fingers were warm and dry, but she shivered anyway.
“Open your mouth.” He shone the flashlight from his phone into her throat. Then he picked up her wrist between thumb and forefingers and looked at his watch, counting her pulse.
“It’s just a viral cold, luckily. You should keep warm, try to rest, and drink plenty of fluids. You can take over-the-counter pain medication and decongestants to feel better.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Fay. “The part about resting. I have too much on today.”
“People always think they’re too busy to rest when they get sick. The truth is that it would save this country thousands of lost man-hours and millions of pounds in medication if people would only stay home and get better instead of infecting each other.”
Fay pointed to the gloves and face mask she had discarded in order to eat her breakfast.
“That’s exactly why I was wearing those.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a good start, but you would still recover more quickly if you stayed in bed today.”
“I can’t dump everything on Morwen while I tuck myself into bed. And besides, I want to go and see Lady Chadwick this morning.”
It looked as though David would continue to argue the point, so Morwen intervened.
“Have you had breakfast, David? You’re very welcome to a plate of the eggs and bacon I’m making.”
“I’ve already eaten, thank you, Morwen.�
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“What about a cup of coffee then? Everyone has room for a cup of coffee.”
He smiled, unable to resist her charm. “A cup of coffee would be great, thanks.”
Fay finished her last mouthful of granola and reached for her own coffee. “You were about to tell me about the results of your tests before you launched into an impromptu consultation.”
“That’s right. The liquids turned out to be distilled water with a harmless food coloring added, and the tablets turned out to be inert sugar pills.”
Fay frowned. “So, he’s selling his remedies under false pretenses?”
“Not at all. Most homeopathy consists of water and sugar pills. According to homeopaths, the water contains a ‘memory’ of the substance that it once contained before it was diluted out of existence. That memory is supposedly powerful enough to provoke an immune response in the human body. There is nothing unusual about what Gary Malkin is selling. It’s exactly what I would expect a man like him to have in his store.”
“So, there was no raised level of arsenic or anything else that could have been the source of the poisoning?”
“Nothing that I could find.”
“I wonder if she was taking any other medication.”
“I phoned Sergeant Jones last night to ask him that exact question. Apparently, she wasn’t taking anything. She had no proper medication around the house at all. Not so much as a headache pill. The housekeeper Bertha has a small supply, but nothing more than what you would expect an ordinary person to have in their bathroom cabinet.”
“Then if the medication wasn’t the source of the poisoning, what was?”
Chapter 17
Chadwick Manor was one of the most beautiful buildings on Bluebell Island.
As the old green Volvo huffed and puffed its way up Chadwick Lane, Fay slowed down to admire the view. A sea breeze had washed away the bad weather of the previous day, leaving the island mild and pretty. The sky was the color of old denim, and rays of pale sunshine turned everything they touched to gold.
Chadwick Manor was a fine example of Georgian architecture and deserved to be one of the showpieces of the island. Instead, it was crumbling.
It made Fay sad to see the deterioration. She wished she could think of some brilliant money-making scheme that would save the historic building. Being turned into a B&B had saved Penrose House, but that wouldn’t work here. Lady Chadwick was too elderly and eccentric to manage a B&B. They would have to think of something else.
Fay had admired the view long enough. She touched the accelerator, intending to pull into the driveway of Chadwick Manor. It was at that point that she realized the Volvo had died again. At least she had pulled off the road.
Sighing deeply, Fay got out the car and gave the tires a kick. She knew it was herself she should be kicking because she still hadn’t taken it in for a service. At least David was nowhere around to witness her humiliation.
She trudged the rest of the way up to the house. The solid oak door was firmly shut as usual, so she pounded on it with her fist. The iron bell-pull and electric doorbell had long since stopped working.
She had to pound four more times before she heard the sound of distant footsteps. The door opened a crack and Lady Chadwick’s bony face peered out.
“Miss Penrose.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Lady Chadwick. I wanted to ask about the revolver you lent to the Playhouse.”
Lady Chadwick opened the door wide enough for Fay to fit in sideways. As Fay crab-walked in, Lady Chadwick batted at the air with her hands. Fay knew she was swatting away the electromagnetic waves that she imagined were coming from a substation five miles away.
Fay’s ankle caught on something warm and solid and she nearly tripped.
“Whoops. Is that Pebbles?”
She looked down and saw that it was indeed Lady Chadwick’s elderly pug. He seemed to spend most of his time sleeping. Whenever she could get him to show a burst of energy, Lady Chadwick took him shopping with her in the village.
Fay bent to rub his head and sides. “Sorry, Pebbles. I didn’t see you there.”
“You know I don’t have the revolver at the moment?” said Lady Chadwick.
“Yes. I imagine it’s still with the police?”
“That’s right. They can’t say at this stage when they will let me have it back. I keep phoning Ethel Jones to remind her that if anything happens to my revolver while it is in her son’s possession there will be hell to pay.”
“I’m sure he’s taking good care of it.” Fay hoped she didn’t sound as doubtful as she felt.
“If you are interested in anything to do with the revolver, you should really ask Sergeant Jones.”
“I was more interested in the bullets, actually. You mentioned that you keep all your guns in good working order. Does that include the bullets? Do you keep any ammunition in the house?”
Lady Chadwick laughed. “Well, of course, dear. What good is a gun without bullets? All my weapons are kept unloaded, naturally. But I do keep the ammunition for each one locked up safely.”
“I suppose Sergeant Jones has already asked you this?”
“Not at all, dear. Why would he?”
“Because someone was shot by …” Fay broke off. Lady Chadwick was too wrapped up in her own world to understand why it might be important to know where the bullet that had killed Mrs. Saville was normally kept.
“I meant to ask you, Lady Chadwick. Do you still carry your anti-fluoride and anti-gluten liquids around with you?”
Lady Chadwick believed that fluoride and gluten were poisoning the island’s water and food supply. She carried a concoction around with her that she sprinkled randomly into people’s drinks and on their food to ‘save’ them from the toxins. There had been a poisoning incident on the island just recently as a result of this habit of hers.
Lady Chadwick frowned as though Fay had started speaking in a foreign language. “What’s that, dear?” She gave a trill of laughter. “Goodness me, no. I gave that up ages ago. Young Dr. Dyer – the handsome one, you know – explained to me that it was all nonsense.”
“That’s good to hear. Would you mind showing me where you keep your ammunition?”
“With pleasure. I must just find the key. It’s months since I last entered that room.”
She went to look for the key, leaving Pebbles lying heavily asleep on Fay’s left foot. Ages seemed to pass as Fay stood in the drafty hallway, listening to the sound of Pebbles’ snores. Eventually Lady Chadwick returned, carrying a large iron keyring.
“I’m almost sure it is one of these.”
Fay slipped her foot out from under Pebbles and followed Lady Chadwick up the imposing staircase. Up and up they went, climbing flight after flight of stairs. Fay realized they must be going up Chadwick Manor’s front tower. It was the one odd architectural feature of the old house, having been added on by a Victorian ancestor who had loved fanciful, gothic touches like turrets.
You had to give Lady Chadwick credit. She was hardly puffing at all as she climbed the stairs.
“You can see why I don’t come up here often. It is quite a climb. And of course, I can never persuade Pebbles to come up the stairs these days. I even have to carry him to bed with me.”
They had reached the top. Lady Chadwick shook out the keys and started trying them one by one.
“The more modern ammunition is kept locked up in various safes. The antique bullets are kept behind glass in display cabinets. You’ll see in a moment, if I can only get this door open.”
Fay looked at the gap between the edge of the door and its wooden frame. There was no sign of a bolt connecting them.
“I think this door might already be unlocked, Lady Chadwick.”
“Unlocked? Ridiculous. Why, I locked it my…” She broke off as Fay reached past her and turned the handle. The door swung open.
Just as she had described, there were several wall-mounted safes that were still securely locked. Then there was a g
lass display cabinet with every kind of ammunition from ancient cannon balls to shot for hunting game, to rounds that would fit in the very first pistols. But that wasn’t what drew the eye. It wasn’t what made Lady Chadwick gasp in horror.
There was glass all over the floor. A hole had been knocked into the lower middle part of the cabinet, and whatever had been on display there was missing.
“Oh, dear …” Lady Chadwick touched a hand to her head and swayed. “I don’t feel at all well.”
Fay guided her to a leather ottoman in front of the cabinet and encouraged her to sit down. Then she took out her phone and began photographing the room, paying particular attention to the vandalism.
“Can you tell what’s missing, Lady Chadwick? Is it by any chance the bullets for the revolver?”
Lady Chadwick drew a shaky breath. “I’m afraid … I’m very much afraid that it is.”
“You say you last came up here a few months ago?”
“That’s right. A young nephew of mine was doing some clay pigeon shooting on the mainland. He came to borrow his grandfather’s gun and we walked up here to collect some boxes of ammunition for him. Everything looked just fine then.
“You say you regularly have someone in to clean your guns?”
“That’s right. The man from Truro. He was here just a few weeks ago. He certainly didn’t come up to the ammunition room. He had no occasion to do so. Besides, I was with him the whole time. I like to watch him breaking the guns apart and cleaning them. I find it fascinating. Afterwards, I escorted him to the door myself.”
Fay looked around the room, reluctant to touch anything or even to walk around. This was a crime scene now and should be treated as such. She only wished that Sergeant Jones and Constable Chegwin would be half as careful.
“I’m going to name some people, Lady Chadwick. I’d like you to tell me if any of them has been in the house recently.”
She nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Mrs. Candice Saville-Wareham. She is Mrs. Saville’s married daughter.”
“Certainly not. I met her for the first time yesterday down in the village. I didn’t know her before.”
The Cat That Played The Tombola Page 10