The Cat That Had A Clue
The Cat’s Paw Cozy Mysteries - Book 1
Fiona Snyckers
Fiona Snyckers
Copyright © 2018 Fiona Snyckers
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Produced in South Africa
Contents
Untitled
A note on the text
Untitled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
The Cat’s Paw Cozy Mysteries Will Return
About the Author
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A note on the text
This novel uses American spelling and idiom, conforming to Standard American English.
By Tre, Pol, and Pen
You shall know the Cornishmen
Chapter 1
Slap, slap, slap.
The only sound in Fay’s ears was the smack of her own feet on the boardwalk as she ran, and the restless heaving of the ocean to her right. The Atlantic was a roiling mass of grey today, with clouds tumbling down to meet the horizon. Fay’s weather app had promised blue skies and sunshine later in the morning, but for now the air was leaden.
The boardwalk ahead of her glittered with frost. It was pretty, but treacherous. She jumped off the path onto the beach below and continued her run along the firmly packed pebbles. When the boardwalk iced over, it turned into a skating rink. She had no desire to amuse the seagulls by taking a tumble on the slippery planks. As the boardwalk gave way to gravel, she rejoined the path and kept going until she ran out of beach. Then she turned around and ran back. It was a three-mile route – one and a half miles to the end of the beach, and one and a half miles back to her starting point at the foot of a flight of stairs built into the cliff. It was how Fay Penrose liked to start her mornings.
It was hard to believe that just a few months ago she would have been taking her run on a treadmill in an air-conditioned gym overlooking midtown Manhattan. Her life had changed beyond recognition.
The pathway curved, and Fay looked up as the old house came into view at the top of the cliff, its lights still twinkling in the glimmering dawn. Its official name was Penrose House, but it had a new designation now. A smart black-and-white sign above the stone archway of the entrance declared it to be ‘The Cat’s Paw B&B’. That was the name on the website and on the brochures that Fay had left at the tourist office.
As she walked up the stone stairs towards the rambling old house with its clash of architectural styles stretching over four-hundred years, she couldn’t quite believe it was hers. A house like this never really belonged to one person. You just looked after it for the span of your lifetime. Now it was Fay’s turn to be the curator.
“This house has been in Penrose hands for the last four centuries, my girl,” her grandmother had said. “One of these days, you will be the one to look after it.” That day had come sooner than Fay expected.
Blinking back the tears that always threatened to fall when she thought of her grandmother, Fay performed a few light stretches at the top of the stairs. Then she skirted around the side of the house and went in by the kitchen door. It was just shy of six o’clock.
Half an hour later, Fay was showered and dressed for the day in a pair of skinny jeans and a soft, comfortable sweater. She trotted downstairs to the kitchen to help her innkeeper get breakfast ready for their guests.
“Morning, Morwen.”
“Morning, Fay love. It’s supposed to clear up later, I hear.”
“Yes, my app said the same.”
“It would be nice to see the sun. It doesn’t feel like spring with snow on the ground. Mind you, it will soon melt if we have a sunny morning.”
Fay nodded as she took packs of free-range bacon out of the refrigerator and started heating a skillet on the gas stove. It had taken her a while to get used to the English habit of starting every conversation with an analysis of the weather, but now she had come to expect it. Bluebell Island was just off the coast of Cornwall to the west of England. It enjoyed some of the mildest weather in the whole United Kingdom, but that didn’t stop the locals from talking about it all the time.
Fay wondered if she was turning into a local herself because she was genuinely excited at the prospect of some sunny weather later that day. It had been a long, bleak winter.
“How many for breakfast this morning?”
Morwen consulted a spreadsheet on her iPad. “Six adults and two children. The family in the Boscastle suite asked for breakfast at eight o’clock. Their four-year-old is gluten intolerant, and the six-year-old is allergic to sugar.”
There was a time when Fay would have rolled her eyes at this, but a few months of running a B&B had taught her that the customer was always right. If you couldn’t accommodate your guests’ special requests with a smile on your face you shouldn’t be in the hospitality industry.
“I have a batch of gluten-free muffins in the freezer,” she said. “I’ll pop those in the oven in a minute. I can make up a dozen of my fruit squares too. They contain no added sugar. I guess the parents won’t object to their child having some fruit.”
She started peeling apples for the fruit squares. Morwen patted her arm as she reached past her for a box of granola.
“You’re a good girl, Fay. Your gran would be proud of the way you are managing your inheritance.”
“Thanks, Mor.”
Fay was touched. The islanders weren’t known for their sentimentality and Morwen Hammett was tougher than most. She had married young and produced two children by the time she was twenty-one. Her younger son was six months old when her husband had walked out, never to pay a single penny towards their maintenance. She had raised her boys as a single mother, which must have been hard.
Now that her sons were both at college on the mainland, Morwen had been looking for a fulltime job, and the opportunity to focus on herself for a change. When Fay had advertised the position of housekeeper and innkeeper at Bluebell Island’s newest B&B, Morwen had been one of the first applicants. Fay recognized her energy, intelligence, and drive, and snapped her up before anyone else could. There hadn’t been a single day since that she had regretted that decision.
“Who else do we have for breakfast?”
“There’s the couple in the Devon Room with their eighteen-year-old daughter. No dietary restrictions. And then there’s Mr. Caldwell, the single man in Penzance who asked to have breakfast at seven because he wants to catch the early ferry back to Torquay.”
“Any halaal or kosher meals?”
&n
bsp; “Not today, no. I let the suppliers know that we won’t need special meals until next week.”
“Thanks, Mor. We’d better shake a leg if we’re going to be ready by seven.” She leaned over to check the details on the iPad. “Mr. Caldwell will make that early ferry. I see you ordered him a shuttle for seven-forty-five.”
“Yes, I suggested it to him and he graciously accepted.”
Something in Morwen’s tone made Fay look up.
“You don’t sound very fond of Mr. Caldwell?”
“You could say that. He’s downright rude. But don’t worry – I was the perfect hostess as always.”
Fay laughed. “Well done. If he’s as difficult as you say, we’d better not keep him waiting one second for his breakfast.”
The two women worked side by side in the kitchen. It was chilly outside, but the large kitchen was always cozy – even a little too cozy at times. The wood-burning oven range pumped out heat continually, as cooking and baking continued non-stop throughout the day.
Fay had to scoop her hair into a bun to keep it off her neck as she worked.
The time disappeared in a haze of muffin-baking, fruit-square-making, egg-scrambling, bacon-frying, coffee-percolating, and mushroom sautéing.
Fay had almost lost track of time when Bert Nance stuck his head into the kitchen.
“Shuttle for Mr. Caldwell?”
Fay and Morwen looked at each other.
“Mr. Caldwell did come down to breakfast, didn’t he?” asked Fay.
“I don’t know,” said Morwen. “I didn’t serve him. Did you?”
“No, I didn’t. I got caught up making pancakes for the family in the Boscastle suite. I didn’t even notice that Mr. Caldwell hadn’t been down.”
“He’ll have to get moving if he wants to catch the early ferry to Torquay,” said Bert. “They won’t hold it for him – not just for one person.”
Fay untied the apron around her waist. “I’ll run upstairs and see if he’s ready. Are you in a hurry, Bert?”
“Not me, Fay love. Still quiet, isn’t it? The Bluebell Shuttle waits for no man during the summer, but this morning I can give you twenty minutes.”
“Thanks, Bert.”
Adjusting her sweater, Fay trotted up the stairs towards the room they called Penzance. She was brought up short when she saw that the door was firmly closed with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging from the knob. At the Cat’s Paw, Do Not Disturb signs were sacrosanct. Guests were guaranteed their privacy. The only time you knocked on the door when that sign was up was if the house was on fire.
Fay stood for a moment listening for any sounds of movement. There were none. She turned and went back down the stairs to the kitchen.
“It looks like Mr. Caldwell decided to sleep in this morning. He didn’t request a wake-up call, did he?”
“Definitely not,” said Morwen.
“Then we’d better leave him. His Do Not Disturb sign is up. Sorry you had a wasted trip, Bert.”
“No bother, Fay love. You give me a couple of pieces of bacon and a slice of that fried bread and we’ll call it quits. If he wants a lift down to the ferry later, just give me a call.”
Fay went back to serving breakfast and didn’t give the erratic Mr. Caldwell another thought.
After breakfast, she prepared the bill for the family of three in the Devon room and processed their payment. They had enjoyed their stay on Bluebell Island and were heading back to the mainland to spend a few days poking around the little fishing villages that dotted the Cornish coast.
“I’ll get started on cleaning the rooms now,” said Morwen. “If Maggie from the village ever gets here, tell her to start cleaning the bathroom in the Devon room.”
Fay looked at her watch. “She’s not even late yet. Give the poor girl a break, Morwen. She still has five minutes to get here on time.”
Morwen snorted. She had known Maggie since she was born and was not yet convinced that she was a good worker.
“We’re low on lemon furniture polish. I’ll put it on the shopping list.”
“Don’t bother,” said Fay. “There’s plenty in the storeroom. I’ll get it for you.”
Slinging a jacket over her shoulders, she pushed open the kitchen door and braced herself for the onslaught of cold air. There was no sign of the promised sunshine yet, and there were still deep drifts of snow lying on the ground.
As Fay waded through the white powder, her foot caught against something large and solid, and she tripped heavily.
“Ouch!”
Rubbing her knee where it had bumped against a bird bath, she looked around to see what she had tripped over. A shaggy head popped out of the snow.
“For goodness sake, Ivan.” She couldn’t help sounding cross. “Do you have to sleep out here in the snow?”
Chapter 2
A pair of green eyes stared up at Fay. They closed once in a reproachful blink. Then the shaggy grey body gave itself a shake, sending flecks of snow flying in every direction.
Fay bent down and brushed more snow off his back.
“Honestly, Ivan. Look at the state of you. You look like a snowman. A snow cat. You were completely invisible out here. No wonder I tripped over you.”
The first time Fay had found the huge grey cat sleeping outside in the snow, she had thought he was dead. With her heart in her mouth, she had extended a trembling hand to touch the bushy body, expecting to find it frozen and lifeless. Instead, she had nearly collapsed with relief when he lifted his head, opened his eyes, and uttered an enquiring meow.
What’s the problem? he seemed to say. Why shouldn’t I sleep out here in this comfy spot?
“He’s a Siberian,” Morwen explained. “It’s a breed of cat that comes from the north of Russia. We had a Russian family living here on the island a few years ago. They brought him over as a kitten. When their six-month contract was over, they left him behind and went back to Russia. Your grandmother rescued him. Don’t worry about his habit of sleeping in the snow. It’s just something he likes to do. But watch your step when you go out into the courtyard or you’re liable to trip over him.”
Ivan stood up and stretched. He rubbed himself against Fay’s legs as she opened the storeroom to get out the furniture polish. She nudged him back with her boot.
“Why don’t you go into the kitchen and see if Morwen will give you a mid-morning snack?”
At the sound of the magic word ‘snack,’ Ivan turned and trotted towards the kitchen door with his tail up, his fur still glistening with frost. The other cats would be slipping back into the kitchen now too, hoping to score a second breakfast from the soft-hearted Morwen. They were banished from the kitchen during food preparation times, but the rest of the day they could often be found in front of the oven range, which was a constant source of heat.
Fay went into the house to find that Maggie from the village had arrived – on time - and that she and Morwen were getting started on cleaning the rooms and bathrooms. Fay counted five tails of different colors lined up in a row against the far wall of the kitchen as their owners enjoyed the snack of leftover bacon Morwen had put out for them.
She went upstairs to her office. It was time to update her blog. She tried to post a new entry a couple of times a week. It was her main point of contact with the public. She liked to keep the content fresh and up to date.
Sometimes it felt as though she were throwing words into a void. Then about a month ago, a couple had booked to spend a weekend at the Cat’s Paw. They had told her that it was her blog about the prehistoric settlements on the island that made them decide to spend their mini-break there. Their words were music to Fay’s ears and encouraged her to keep her blog regularly updated.
Today she wanted to write an entry about the shipwreck hike that took visitors on a tour of the three major shipwrecks that were visible from the island.
During the summer, it was the beaches that drew holidaymakers to Bluebell Island, but during the winter the islanders were forced to get
creative. And since Fay was determined to keep her business going all year round, it was in her interest to advertise some of the off-season attractions.
She added photographs to her blog and linked it to the Cat’s Paw’s Facebook page and Twitter account. She was just uploading the shipwreck photos to Instagram when a knock at the door made her look up. It was Maggie.
“Sorry to interrupt, Fay. Morwen asked me to tell you that the man in the Penzance suite hasn’t come out yet. It’s after eleven already.”
“Right.” Fay stood up. “The power of the Do Not Disturb sign ends at eleven o’clock on check-out mornings. There are signs everywhere telling the guests that they must check out no later than eleven. I don’t see how we could make it any clearer.”
She stepped out of her office and found Morwen waiting in the passage. She was carrying an iron ring that held all the master keys.
“Oh, good. We can get in. We’d better knock first, though.”
Morwen pulled a face. “I hate disturbing guests. Even the grumpy ones like Mr. Caldwell.”
“It can’t be helped.” Fay took the keys from her and knocked firmly on the door to the Penzance suite.
“No answer,” said Morwen. “He must have been hitting the minibar hard last night,”
Fay knocked again, harder this time.
“Maybe he already left.” Maggie hovered in the passage. “Maybe he slipped past the two of you in the breakfast rush and skipped out on his bill.”
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