“Was there a particular deal he was working on?”
“I think so,” said Maria. “I know it had something to do with a sale of land. I saw a deed of sale for immovable property among his papers once. I assumed the land was here on the island.”
“Did you never ask him what it was about?”
“I tried to, but he hated it when I asked questions about his work. He’d happily talk about fencing all day but clammed up when I asked about anything business related. I suppose he thought I wouldn’t understand because I’m just a housewife. He was certainly happy to talk business to Danny. The two of them would hole up in Danny’s study for hours on end talking business, with a brandy bottle to keep them company.”
“At least they got on well. Not all brothers-in-law do.”
Maria pulled a face. “I suppose so, although …” she caught herself. “Never mind that now. What Edward didn’t realize is that I’m not the same flighty girl I was when he left home. I’ve had to develop a head for business, especially recently. If he had only told me about his precious deal, I would have understood it just as well as Danny.”
As Fay crawled down Mountain View Road – engaging low gear and pumping the alarmingly soft brakes – she passed Elf Farm.
The contrast between the two farms could not have been more pronounced. Where Baines Farm had a push-button system and automatic wrought-iron gates, Elf Farm had a little wooden gate with a wire loop that attached it to the gatepost.
It was on Fay’s to-do list to stop at the farm and have a word with Lolly Granger about her magical cream, but now was not the time. It was already getting dark and Fay knew that farming folk ate their evening meal early.
She didn’t just want to ask her about the cream, but about what she might have seen on the morning that Edward Mayweather’s body was dumped in the village. It was almost certain that she passed the dumper’s car as she was on her way back home.
Fay continued down into the village and up along Cliff Road where Penrose House beckoned, its stone exterior warmed by the last rays of the sunset. Fay remembered her three cat traps set out in and around Sunset Acres Retirement Estate. She hoped that her intended target was brave enough to venture into the trap in search of food and water. He would spend a reasonably comfortable night in the trap, even though overnight temperatures threatened to drop close to zero. She could collect him in the morning.
In the meanwhile, Fay looked forward to her dinner. Morwen had been making all the fixings for a taco feast when Fay left that morning. She had got the recipe from a cooking channel on YouTube. Even Pen, that life-long traditional Cornishman, had approved of this American addition to Morwen’s repertoire.
Fay entered the kitchen to find Morwen mashing up avocados to make guacamole.
“Fay, love! What else do you put in guacamole besides salt and pepper?”
“A squirt of lemon juice and just a drop of Tabasco or a dusting of chili powder. I’ll take over the mashing if you like. Evening, Pen.”
The groundsman and gardener of Penrose House gave her a stately nod. He was grating cheese for Morwen.
“Brilliant, thanks.” Morwen handed the guacamole to Fay and started laying out the rest of the ingredients. “Tacos are delicious, but they are rather fiddly to prepare.”
They worked together until all the components were laid out side by side – taco shells, spicy chicken, beef mince, salad, grated cheese, sour cream, and guacamole. Pen grabbed a dinner plate and set to filling his taco shells with relish. Morwen and Fay helped themselves more modestly.
“Do either of you know much about the Baines family?” Fay asked.
“Only what everyone knows,” said Morwen. “The farm has been in the family for four hundred years. The nearest it ever came to being sold was in the late nineteen-eighties when the whole farming industry in this country was in trouble. A lot of family farms were bought up by huge agri-businesses, while even more of them just closed down. I was a child at the time, but I remember all the talk about Baines Farm closing down.”
“That was when Danny Baines took over the farm,” Pen said, continuing the story. “He married Maria and the two of them turned that place around. They jumped on the organic bandwagon before anyone else on the island had. They used the profits from that little sideline to buy new pest-resistant seeds that were being imported from America. Instead of growing a little of this and a little of that, they concentrated on wheat and barley as their main cash crops. And instead of the scraggly sheep and goats you usually see around these parts, they invested in ancient breeds that gave a much higher yield of wool.”
Morwen nodded. “That’s true. It turned out that Danny had an incredible head for business, not to mention four hundred years of farming in his blood. Then the nineties rolled around, and the government started giving generous subsidies to farmers to try to encourage the recovery of the agricultural sector. Danny used the cash injection to invest in mechanization. Now that farm has everything that opens and shuts, which has made them less dependent on labor costs.”
“They’re still one of the biggest employers on the island, though,” said Pen. “Danny is known to pay a fair day’s wage.”
Morwen and Pen were clearly enjoying telling Fay all about the history of Baines Farm – one of the great success stories of the island. She hesitated to burst their bubble with her next question.
“I haven’t seen Danny Baines around the village lately, have you?”
“Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him in ages,” said Morwen.
“You haven’t heard that there’s anything wrong with him, have you?”
Morwen frowned. “There have been one or two rumors, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe them.”
Pen said nothing but raised an imaginary glass to his lips and rocked it back and forth a couple of times.
“Exactly,” said Fay. “I suspect he drinks. I thought I was imagining it at first, but he was clearly impaired. It wasn’t quite five o’clock in the afternoon when I arrived. I went to speak to Maria about her brother, the late Edward Mayweather.”
“Ah,” said Pen. “Talked about him often, she did. I got the impression she hadn’t seen him in years. What a shame that he should be killed just when they were finally reunited. Very sad.”
“Then the rumors are true,” said Morwen. “I’ve heard that it’s Maria who runs the farm these days. No one can agree on what’s gone wrong with Danny, but she is definitely in charge. I heard that he’d had a nervous breakdown, or that he was ill or something. But drinking makes sense too. It can be incredibly debilitating.”
Fay drizzled sour cream over her taco. “That’s interesting, but it doesn’t get me any closer to finding out who killed Edward. He seems to have been here for two reasons – business and pleasure. The business part was some land purchase agreement that he was putting together as a solicitor. The pleasure part was pursuing his hobby at Galliano’s school of fencing.”
“The good-looking Italian,” said Morwen.
Pen snorted. “Him? He’s about as Italian as I am.”
Chapter 10
Morwen looked thoughtful. “I did wonder about that. His accent seems a little wobbly at times. Do you know that for a fact, Pen?”
“Not for a fact, no. But I have my suspicions – my very strong suspicions. Even if his family are Italian – and I’m not saying they’re not – he grew up in Wales. You mark my words. I can hear it in his vowels.”
“Well, the Italian thing seems to be working out for him. The fencing studio is always busy, and Mr. Galliano seems to have a different lady on his arm every night – mostly tourists.”
Fay held her peace. She wasn’t in the business of exposing people. Maxie Galway’s Italian charade was harmless enough. She wondered if he knew to what an extent the villagers were aware of his secret.
“Is it true that the murder weapon turned up in the middle of the High Street this afternoon?” asked Morwen.
“Well, something did
,” said Fay. “I was driving through the village on my way up Tintagel Mountain and I stopped to see what was going on. A fencing foil was lying on the sidewalk outside Sweet’s candy store. It had the initials MG engraved on the handle. Apparently, Massimo Galliano reported it stolen just a couple of days ago. It was all covered in blood.”
“That’s not what I hear,” said Pen. “I heard it was fake blood.”
Fay had wondered about this. “Are you sure, Pen?”
“Sure as I can be. I messaged Jones this afternoon to set up a time for our poker evening. He told me he took that there sword straight around to young Dr. Dyer to see if he could get a blood type off it before sending it to Truro for a DNA test. The young doc has a lab all set up at his practice, you know.” Pen glanced at Fay. “What am I saying? Of course, you know.”
Morwen laughed. “Good one, Pen.”
Fay rolled her eyes. “Did David say it was fake blood?”
“Even he was fooled at first. It looks very authentic, especially the way it dries and smears. But then he took a closer look and told Jones and Chegwin that it was prop blood. The kind you find on a movie set.”
“They should call the Playhouse Theatre and ask if they’re missing any fake blood from their prop room.”
“That’s exactly what they did,” said Pen. “It was the young doctor’s idea. The theatre said that all their blood is present and accounted for. But apparently you can order that stuff off the internet, easy as can be.”
Fay fell silent as her brain worked overtime. Why would someone play a trick like that in the middle of the afternoon? Was it a hoax – an item of fake news to entertain the hoaxer? Or was it something more?
“It’s as though someone was trying to get Mr. Galliano into trouble,” said Morwen.
Fay looked up. “The whole village must be buzzing with the news that Galliano’s engraved sword was the murder weapon. It will take longer for the news to filter through that the blood was fake.”
“Maybe someone has a grudge against Galliano.”
“Either that or they were trying to distract the police from looking in the right direction.” Fay finished her taco and put her plate in the dishwasher. “I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me. I have a date with Netflix tonight. New episodes of my show have just been released.”
“Take that lot with you.” Morwen indicated the three cats who were sitting up on the kitchen floor and watching every morsel the humans put into their mouths.
“You’ve been feeding them again,” Fay accused.
“Just a tiny bit of the spicy chicken,” said Morwen. “They all arrived in the kitchen while I was cooking it and stood around looking hopeful. You didn’t see them, Fay. You would have cracked too.”
“Hmm. You know human food is not good for them.”
“It’s just chicken.”
“It’s more their manners than their health I’m thinking of.” Fay clicked her fingers at the three cats – Smudge and Olive whose tummies were both quite round enough, and Whisky who was looking distinctly chunky these days. “Come. Let’s go upstairs and leave these nice people to finish their dinner in peace.”
They trailed behind her as she went up to her bedroom. There was already a cat on her bed – Sprite, the Balinese female that she had brought from America with her, along with Whisky.
Fay had been watching her TV show for about an hour when a thump on the floorboards told her that they had been joined by Ivan, the fifth and final cat. He jumped on the bed and licked her hand as she stroked him.
“Your fur is all wet and cold,” she complained. “You’re going to make the duvet damp again.”
Like many Siberians, Ivan seemed impervious to cold, often choosing to take naps outside in the rain and snow.
By nine o’clock, Fay’s eyelids were starting to droop. Too many early mornings of lying in wait outside the Cracked Spine were taking their toll. It was time to catch up on her sleep.
She woke up the next morning to a text from David.
David: My father got a message from one of his patients last night. Apparently, the stray cat was spotted on Cliff Road at about ten pm. The patient was in a froth because she’s a keen animal lover and is worried about it, especially since it was so cold last night.
Fay wondered what the animal-loving patient expected Doc Dyer to do about it. He was the kind of man that everyone saw as a ‘fixer’. He was involved in so many aspects of island life that people turned to him naturally for every problem.
Fay: Thanks for the tip. I set out three cat traps in the area yesterday. Going to check them when we’re finished with breakfast here. Fingers crossed that he’ll be inside one of them.
David: Can I come with you to check the traps? I’ll get Isobel to keep a gap in my schedule between ten and eleven if that suits you.
Fay stared at her phone. This was, to say the least, an unusual request.
David had accompanied her on her investigations before, but that was because mysteries interested him, and he enjoyed the process of unravelling them. This had nothing to do with any mystery. It was a routine matter of checking her traps, which would probably turn out to be empty. It usually took a few days for a feral cat to feel confident enough to step all the way into a trap, even with food as the lure.
Setting and checking traps was the kind of thing Fay’s grandmother had done many times before and that Fay would do many times in the future now that she had taken over the job of cat-rescuer-in-chief for the island. She couldn’t imagine why David wanted to go along, especially since things had been a little strained between them lately.
Still, she could hardly say no.
Fay: Of course, you can. I’ll pick you up just after ten.
David: Great! See you then.
That was even stranger.
It wasn’t like David to agree to being picked up by Fay. Normally he would insist that they drove in his car, with him at the wheel. He had a severe aversion to the Volvo and had never hesitated to express the opinion that Fay was not a particularly good driver.
She decided to put it out of her mind for now and get on with her day.
She went for her usual morning run, before getting her baking done for the day and serving breakfast to her guests. Her last-minute Halloween special had been snapped up, so they had a full house. There were so many children taking part in the daily pumpkin-carving competition that Fay could hardly keep up with turning all the pumpkin flesh into pies.
Shortly after ten, the last of the cleaning up was done and Fay headed for the door. She was slightly delayed by the laundry service arriving to collect the towels and bed linen. Fay handed them the bags of laundry and they went on their way, promising to deliver them the next morning. She backed the Volvo out of its garage, hoping that it wouldn’t choose today of all days to misbehave.
When she lurched to a halt at the bottom of the pedestrianized road that led up to the doctors’ surgery, David was already waiting for her. He waved a hand to disperse the cloud of blue smoke that seemed to be emanating from the tail pipe.
“That’s new,” he said as he got in on the passenger side.
“The cloud of carbon monoxide? It’s brand new. She must have been saving it up especially for you.”
“Time to take this heap back to Mike and Andy.”
Fay sighed. “They didn’t do much good the last time. The thing I don’t understand is how this car ever managed to pass any kind of roadworthy test.”
“The MOT,” said David. “Ministry of Transport,” he added when Fay looked mystified. “It’s an annual test that all cars in Britain have to undergo in order to stay on the road. Your grandmother used to say it was an annual miracle that this car ever passed. She would swear that it seemed to know when it was going for its MOT and always picked that moment to behave itself. It’s probably due for one soon. They’ll send you a reminder in the post.”
“Something to look forward to.” Fay would worry about that when she had to.
Stalling only twice, she set off up Cliff Road.
“The first trap was here,” she said. “Opposite this telephone pole and about thirty feet into the bushes. There have been several sightings of the cat along here. I’ll pop out and check.”
She disappeared into the undergrowth, reappearing a minute later, shaking her head.
“No sign of the cat. I think some mice might have got at the cat food though. I filled up the food and water and left the trap set.”
“Where’s the next one?”
“It’s down a service lane and around the back of the retirement estate.”
They sat in silence as Fay steered the car down the narrow lane.
“I was surprised that you wanted to come along with me this morning,” she said. “It seems like a rather boring errand.”
“I wanted to speak to you actually.”
“Oh?” Fay’s heart beat a little faster.
“Yes. Things have been awkward between us since … well, since I broke up with Laetitia. I’d like us to move past that. I’d like us to get back to the friendship we had before. It meant a lot to me.”
There was a ringing silence as Fay processed this.
“It meant a lot to me too,” she said.
“Then we’re in agreement? Friends again?” He held out his hand.
“Friends again,” agreed Fay. She reached across the steering wheel and grasped his hand, trying to ignore the buzz of attraction that surged up her arm.
He dropped her hand as though it was hot. “That’s settled then.”
Chapter 11
The cat trap at the back of the back of the retirement estate was also empty.
The Cat That Got the Cream Page 6
