The Cat That Had a Clue

by Fiona Snyckers

  “None whatsoever.”

  Chapter 21

  Lunch at Penrose House was spaghetti bolognaise, a childhood favorite of Fay’s. It restored her good mood and made her feel able to tackle the rest of the afternoon.

  While Morwen set the table, Fay fed the kittens. She was interested to see that Smudge and Olive now trusted each other enough to leave the one in charge while the other went out for a short break. As Fay started feeding the kittens, Smudge jumped out of the box and ate a few mouthfuls of kibble and had a drink of water. Then she went out through the cat flap and into the backyard.

  Fay watched her lying in ambush for Ivan who was walking unsuspectingly up the path. She chased him all the way to the rose garden, her little orange form bounding joyously in the mild spring air.

  Olive had a quick snack and a drink before pacing up and down in front of Fay, uttering plaintive mews to urge her to hurry up and give the babies back.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” asked Morwen after lunch. Fay had barely finished eating when she grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

  “Things to do. People to see.”

  “But Dr. Trenowyth is coming to see the kittens in a few minutes. Don’t you want to hear whether they are girls or boys? Don’t you want to know whether you’re right about the little one being a girl?”

  Fay walked up to the nesting box, bent down, and extended her forefinger. “Girl. Boy. Girl. Boy. I googled it, so I know I’m right. And the tiny one that I performed CPR on is definitely a girl.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “For the rest, you can report back to me. I just want to know that they are healthy and parasite-free. I want him to tell us if their weight is right for their age and if we’re feeding them the correct food in the correct quantities at the correct time. There’s no need for me to be here. In fact, I would much prefer not to be.”

  “He’ll be disappointed.”

  “Not my problem. My mission in life is not to ensure that I don’t disappoint men.” Fay glanced at her watch. “He’ll be here any minute. I’ve probably left it too late already. Call me if you need me for anything.”

  She scooted out the kitchen and up the stairs. Then she speed-walked down the driveway. She didn’t even stop to pet Sprite who was perched on a low pillar catching the early afternoon sunshine.

  Fay had got almost half a mile down the road when she saw Dr. Trenowyth’s Hyundai sweeping towards her. She increased her walking pace and stared hard at the road.

  His car pulled up next to her and he rolled down the window.

  “Afternoon, Fay. I’m on my way up to Penrose House to see your kittens.”

  “Afternoon, Dr. Trenowyth. I hope you give them all a clean bill of health.”

  “Now, Fay. How many times have I asked you to call me Martin? I was hoping you’d be at the house. I wanted us to talk about that date you promised me.”

  “I never promised you a date.”

  “Didn’t you? I think it was implied. You said, ‘we’ll see’ and that’s practically the same as saying yes.”

  “First of all, it’s not. And second of all, I didn’t say anything of the sort. I said, ‘no, thanks’ quite clearly.”

  “The amateur dramatic society is putting on a production of A Winter’s Tale at the Bluebell Playhouse in a few weeks. Why don’t we go and see it together? You once told me you loved Shakespeare.”

  “No, thanks.” Fay walked on at a brisk pace.

  He put his car into reverse and kept pace with her.

  “Why don’t you want to go out with me?”

  “I just don’t. I don’t want to start something that’s not going to go anywhere.”

  “But I’m a nice guy.”

  “It’s not nice to keep asking me after I’ve said no.”

  “Girls like to be worn down.”

  “They really don’t.” Fay stopped walking and turned to face him. “Look, Dr. Trenowyth. This is a small island. I have five cats and four kittens and you’re the local vet. We can’t get away from each other. I will need to consult you professionally on a regular basis. I would much prefer it if nothing happened to make our relationship awkward. Please can we leave it at that?”

  He leaned out the window and grinned at her, but his eyes hard and watchful. “It’s your own fault for being so pretty.”

  Fay shook her head and kept walking. She thought he would keep following her, but instead he flung the car into gear and drove on toward Penrose House.

  As she entered the village, Fay kept an eye open for Pol Peters. He ran errands for several shopkeepers and private individuals in the village and could usually be seen popping in and out of stores along the high street. He had been born with severe learning difficulties but managed to live a fairly independent life with the money he got from running errands. He was friendly and social and enjoyed being out in the fresh air, so the job suited him perfectly.

  Strangely, he was nowhere to be seen today. After walking up and down the high street a couple of times, Fay decided to ask his mother if she knew where he was. Pol and his mother lived in a cottage on one of the side streets that branched off from the high street.

  She found Mrs. Peters in her front yard doing some weeding. She greeted Fay cheerfully. “Afternoon, Fay love. The garden is always such a mess when the snow melts. I thought I’d try to tidy it up a bit today.”

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Peters. Pen is doing the same thing at my place. He says spring is on its way and he wants to be ready for it. Is Pol around?”

  “Not at the moment, love. Do you want him to run an errand for you? I can send him up to Penrose House the moment he gets back.”

  “No, Morwen usually texts him when she needs him to do something for her. I just want to ask him something. Do you know what time he’ll be back?”

  “Probably quite soon. He took his scooter out to Brown’s Farm just after lunch. He should be back at any moment. What do you want to talk to him about?”

  The question might have sounded intrusive considering that Pol was twenty-two years old. But he was a vulnerable person, and his mother was his guardian. Fay knew she had a right to ask.

  “I want to ask what he remembers about Tuesday night when he had dinner at Pappa’s.”

  “Oh, Pol just loves Pappa’s. He goes at least once a week.”

  “How well do you think he will remember Tuesday night?”

  “That’s hard to say, love. Pol’s memory is neither reliable nor predictable. All I can say is, give it a shot. And remember that the first thing he tells you is most likely to be closest to the truth. As soon as you start pressing him for details or asking him to repeat things, he will start to embroider. Not on purpose, but because he’s trying to please you by adding more details.”

  It seemed to Fay that Mrs. Peters’ face settled into sorrowful lines.

  “Are you worried about him?” she asked.

  Mrs. Peters blinked and shook her head. “Not at the moment, love. We’re both happy with the way things are now. But I do worry about what will happen to him after I’m gone.”

  “I suppose he will go into sheltered accommodation? The one on Cloud Street, perhaps?”

  “I suppose so. He wouldn’t manage if he were to stay here on his own.”

  “I believe the caregivers who work there are excellent.”

  Mrs. Peters smiled. “Of course they are. I’m worrying for nothing. And look!” she pointed down towards the high street where a figure in a bright red helmet could be seen zipping along on a scooter. “There’s Pol. I said he wouldn’t be long, didn’t I?”

  Fay thanked her and hurried down the road to try to catch him.

  By the time she got there, the scooter was parked on the side of the road with the red helmet hanging from one of the handlebars. Pol was nowhere to be seen. Fay walked up and down, peering into shop windows. She finally spotted him in a store called Island Gifts. She hovered in the doorway while the proprietor asked him to take a s
tock of pendants and dangly earrings to the Royal Hotel for them to sell in their gift shop. Pol put the pouch of jewelry in his backpack and headed out the door. He stopped and smiled when he saw Fay.

  “Hi, Fay. Are you coming to buy a gift? They are really pretty.”

  “Not today, Pol. Are you going to the Royal? Can I walk with you? I want to ask you something.”

  “Yes, please ask me things. What I’ll do is I’ll leave my scooter here and walk to the Royal. If I took my scooter, you’d have to run to catch up with me and that would make it difficult to talk.” He laughed at his mild joke.

  “That’s perfect.” She fell into step beside him. “Can you remember going to Pappa’s on Tuesday night, Pol?”

  “Wait a minute.” He took out his phone and scrolled through the calendar. “Yes, I went to Pappa’s. It gives Mum a night off from cooking when I go there. I have a pizza and I bring her back a spaghetti bolognaise. She likes that.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Can you remember who else was at Pappa’s with you?”

  “I said hello to Lady Chadwick.”

  “Can you remember anyone else who was …?” Fay stopped herself. She mustn’t encourage him to expand on an answer. Lady Chadwick had been there. That was something she could rely on.

  “Can you remember if there was a pizza lying on the counter waiting to be picked up by Joe?”

  “I like Joe,” said Pol. “He brings pizza for me and Mum on days when I can’t get to Pappa’s. He is a kind man.”

  Again, Fay resisted the temptation to press him about the pizza.

  “Can you remember anyone going up to the counter while you were there? Maybe to speak to Luigi or Vito, or for any other reason?”

  “Luigi and Vito are married. Mum was very happy when they got married. She said it was special. I don’t understand why.”

  “You’re right, Pol. Marriages are special when the people love each other, and Luigi and Vito do.”

  They were almost at the hotel now. Fay was starting to think that this whole interview had been a waste of time.

  “I don’t remember anyone going up to the counter. I was thinking about something else.”

  “What were you thinking about, Pol?”

  “I was wondering why the man put something into Lady Chadwick’s bag when we walked into the restaurant.”

  Fay’s mind raced. “Did you know the man, Pol?”

  “No. I couldn’t know him because I had never seen him before.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He was doing a bad thing. Doing bad things makes you ugly. Mum says that. This man was ugly.”

  Fay managed not to press him for more details on what the ugly man looked like.

  They were at the entrance to the hotel now. Fay racked her brains to think of a last question to ask him.

  “Did Lady Chadwick see the man putting the thing into her purse?”

  “I don’t think so. She was talking to me. I was going to tell her about it but then I forgot.”

  “That’s fine, Pol. You’re telling me now. You’ve been a big help.”

  Pol looked up at the hotel as though he didn’t quite remember what he was doing there.

  “You have jewelry from Island Gifts to deliver,” Fay reminded him. “And the next thing you have to do is probably stored on your phone.”

  Pol tapped the outline of the phone in his pocket. It seemed to reassure him.

  “While you deliver the jewelry to the gift shop, I’m going to speak to Mr. Olesk. Do you know who that is?”

  “I don’t know who that is. I’ve never heard of him before.”

  “That’s okay, Pol. Thank you for your help. It has made a big difference.”

  Chapter 22

  The reception desk at the hotel was busy.

  Tourists flooded into Bluebell Village on Fridays and many wanted to stay at the island’s oldest hotel.

  Fay stood behind a crowd of people at the reception desk and resigned herself to a long wait. Then the receptionist caught her eye.

  “Is there something I can help with, Fay?” she asked over the heads of the waiting guests.

  “Do you have a Mr. Olesk staying here?”

  “Of course. He’s a lovely man. You’ll find him out on the deck.”

  With a wave of thanks, Fay walked through the lobby and onto the balcony that ran almost the length of the hotel on the seaward side. It was a popular place for hotel residents to admire the view. In good weather, the hotel even served meals out there.

  Fay stepped through the French doors and saw an elderly man in a navy-blue jacket leaning against the balcony and looking out to sea. He seemed to be enjoying the drama of the Atlantic Ocean hurling itself against the rocks below and sending up clouds of spray. Fay could relate. It was a sight she never got tired of.

  “Mr. Olesk?”

  The man turned. He was about the same age as Lady Chadwick. His hair was almost white and cut close to his head. He surveyed the world through mild grey eyes. He had a mug of coffee in his hand.

  “Yes, that is me. Can I be helping you?”

  His English was fluent but with a strong East European accent. Fay had not forgotten that the person who placed the pizza order for Martin Caldwell had spoken with an East European accent. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Judging people based on what they looked or sounded like did not sit well with her.

  “Mr. Olesk, my name is Fay Penrose. I’m a local business owner. I wanted to ask you about a meal you had at Pappa’s Pizzeria on Tuesday night. Do you remember that?”

  “Of course I do. Excellent food and authentic Siciliani owners. Is there a problem?”

  “Not at all. I just wondered if you could remember who else was in the restaurant with you?”

  He sipped his coffee as he thought. “I remember it was very quiet. The whole island is much busier today than it has been all week. Tonight, I am sure the pizzeria will be full of peoples, but on Tuesday it was quiet. I recall that there was a lady of my own age. In my country, I would greet such a person, but in England I never know what is the correct thing to do, so I didn’t.”

  Fay laughed. “Yes. I also used to greet people all the time until I realized it wasn’t the done thing around here.”

  “You are American, yes?”

  “That’s right. But I live here now.”

  “There was a young lady in the pizzeria that night. Not quite so young as you, but just a few years older. Very beautiful, very elegant. But she was a difficult customer.”

  “In what way?”

  “She kept changing her mind about what she wanted to order. The proprietor would bring her one thing and she would change her mind and order something different. It happened several times. It was not pleasant for the rest of us.”

  “Was there anyone else there?”

  “I think there was someone else, but I do not remember. My attention was caught by the difficult lady.”

  “Can you remember a pizza standing open in its box on the counter?”

  “Why, yes. I remember thinking that the box should be closed to keep the pizza warm and safe from flies.”

  “Can you remember anyone walking up to the counter and doing anything to the pizza?”

  He thought for a while. Then he shook his head. “I remember a young man coming in from the outside. He flipped the box shut and slipped it into a padded bag. He left with it. I assumed he was the … what is the word? … the deliverer of the pizza.”

  “Yes, I think he was.”

  Mr. Olesk subsided into thought again. “Now that I think about it, I did notice the lady of my own age going up to the counter. I thought she wanted to ask the proprietor something. I didn’t stare because that also is not acceptable in this country.”

  “Are you here on holiday, Mr. Olesk?”

  “A few of us from my town in Estonia were invited here by your board of tourism on a cultural exchange. I am a curator of a museum in my own country and I come here to speak with the cur
ators of your museums to discuss joint ventures. It has been very fruitful.”

  “Who else from your town came to Bluebell Island?”

  “There were three of us. I did not know the other two gentlemen. They also were staying at the hotel but checked out after one night saying they would instead reside at a private home. I haven’t seen them since they left. I presume they will appear at the ferry on Saturday morning because we are due to fly home on Saturday night.”

  “What line of work are these men in?”

  “They are financial advisors. They connect clients with investment opportunities.”

  “Do you have any idea where they might be staying?”

  “I’m not sure. It wasn’t clear whether they would be staying with someone they had met on the island or renting a property together for the rest of their stay. I know they complained about how impossible it was to get any privacy in this hotel. I was a little annoyed to be honest because they went away in the car we had rented together.”

  “What kind of car was that, Mr. Olesk?”

  “It was a dark red Ford Cortina. Not a new vehicle, you understand. Quite the opposite in fact. We rented it on the mainland and brought it over on the ferry.”

  “I don’t suppose you happen to have a photograph of either of your countrymen?”

  Mr. Olesk patted his jacket pockets. He pulled out his phone.

  “Before we left Tallinn we took a … how do you say it? … a selfie. I put it on Facebook.”

  He dabbed at his screen until he had found the photograph he was looking for. Then he held it up for Fay.

  The photograph had clearly been taken at an airport. It showed Mr. Olesk standing next to two men who appeared to be in their fifties. They had their arms around each other while Mr. Olesk stood slightly apart from them. The two men were tagged in the photograph.

  Fay took out her own phone and snapped a quick photo of his screen. Then she checked that it was in focus.

  Yes, both men’s faces were clearly visible and so were their names. Fay was sure she was looking at the people who had killed Martin Caldwell. The only problem was that neither one of them had been in Pappa’s Pizzeria when the pizza had been spiked with cyanide. There were only five people who could possibly have done that – Vito, Pol Peters, Lady Chadwick, Mr. Olesk, or Laetitia Poynter. Fay thought she knew what had happened but needed to be sure before she made any accusations. More than one of her witnesses had lied to her. It was time for them to start telling the truth.