The Cat's Paw Cozy Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  “Gosh. This is like an episode of CSI. What else do you want to know?”

  “Do you happen to know who served him?”

  “Sure. It was Donny.”

  “Oh, dear. He’s not the chattiest, is he?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  Donny was the classic dour Cornishman. His idea of asking the guests what they would like for dinner was to take out his notepad and pencil and stand next to the table until they started talking. Then he would nod and take the order to the kitchen.

  “Was there no one else who spoke to him while he was here?”

  “I think Mavis might have had a chat with him. When we started hearing rumors that a man from the Cat’s Paw had been found dead in his bed, we immediately thought of him.” Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “Of course, Mavis had to make it all about her. She only went and burst into tears, sobbing about how they’d really connected and how she must have been the last person to see him alive. I mean, have you ever? They had a ten-minute conversation, and she carries on like her favorite uncle has died.”

  Fay tried to look sympathetic, but she was too pleased. Mavis was the biggest gossip on Bluebell Island. She had a way of extracting information from people that was second to none. She always had to be first with the news, so she could broadcast it all over the village. Fay liked to think of herself as a good interrogator, but she wasn’t a patch on Mavis.

  “Do you think I could speak to Mavis for a moment, Bronwyn?”

  “Of course, you can. If you don’t mind having your ear talked off for an hour, that is. And you’ll have to answer all the gory details about what happened to that poor man.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Now would be a good time. We only start the dinner service at six o’clock. You can go and chat to Mavis while she folds napkins into pretty shapes.”

  Still clutching the kitten to her chest, Fay thanked Bronwyn and went through to the dining room.

  Mavis and Donny were getting it ready for dinner. Donny wore lint-free gloves as he polished up the glassware and set it out on each table. Mavis was folding napkins, as predicted. She made swans, chef’s hats, peacocks, and sailboats. Each table got a different theme. Fay wondered if there was a frustrated artist hidden somewhere inside Mavis.

  “Afternoon, Fay love,” said Mavis, always cheerful. “What a day you’ve had, am I right? I was just saying to Donny here that I wouldn’t be you today for all the tea in China. He agreed with me, didn’t you, Donny?”

  Donny set out the glasses in silence. If Mavis chose to interpret it as agreement, she was welcome to do so.

  “Actually Mavis, I think you might know more about my late guest than anyone else,” said Fay. “The police haven’t been in to question you yet, have they?”

  Mavis’s eyes went wide. “The police? I should say not. Why would they?”

  “Because you were one of the last people to speak to him. How well do you remember the conversation you had with him?”

  Mavis looked insulted. “I remember it perfectly, of course. I always remember what people say to me.”

  “What did he talk about?”

  “Well, I asked him how he liked Bluebell Island, and he said he liked it just fine, but that he was going home tomorrow. Or rather today, if you see what I mean.”

  Fay stroked the kitten nuzzling against her neck. “Sure.”

  “I asked him if he was here for business or pleasure, and he said a little bit of both. I asked him where he was from, and he said all over the place.”

  “It sounds as though he was being evasive.”

  “Definitely. A lot of guests aren’t keen to go into details at first, but I always manage to crack them like eggs.”

  Fay had no trouble believing that. “Where was he from, do you think?”

  Mavis didn’t hesitate. “Birmingham. Definitely. I’d know that Brummie accent anywhere.”

  “Interesting.”

  It fascinated Fay that the British could narrow each other’s accents down to a single town. They all sounded the same to her. The only British accent she could identify was the west-country burr of Cornwall and Devon. She heard it every day because Bluebell Island was officially a part of Cornwall.

  “So, then I asked him what he’d been doing all day,” said Mavis. “Like, if he’d been in meetings, or if he’d had a chance to see a bit of the island. And he told me he’d seen quite a lot of the island because he’d done the shipwreck hike. You know the one that Kathleen O’Grady offers?”

  “Of course. I wrote a blog about it just this morning. It has been a big hit with the tourists.”

  “It really has. We noticed it here too. Our guests often ask about that hike. But get this.” Mavis paused for dramatic effect. “I asked him how he enjoyed it, and whether he’d recommend it to others, and he said no, it was rubbish. He didn’t get what he wanted out of it at all.”

  “Really? That’s the opposite of what I’ve heard. Guests at the Cat’s Paw have said it’s brilliant. They say Kathleen really brings history to life.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard too, but Mr. Caldwell was not impressed. He sounded angry about it. Then his mood switched, and he started cackling about something he had found that day. He said it was no thanks to Kathleen O’Grady, but it proved that he had been right all along. It was weird to watch his mood change like that, like he had one of them bipolar disorders. And after that, he just clammed up.”

  “He didn’t tell you anything else?”

  “No, that was it. I could see he wasn’t going to say any more, so I left him to the tender mercies of Donny.”

  “Thanks, Mavis. That was interesting.”

  “Anytime. Can I ask why you have your hand up your sweater?”

  Fay pulled down the neck of her sweater to reveal the kitten. Mavis squealed and insisted on tickling her tiny head. The kitten woke up and started to wriggle, making mewing sounds.

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. She was due to wake up soon anyway. I’d better take her back for a feed now. It’s been more than an hour. She has a lot of catching up to do.”

  Fay speed-walked all the way back to the Cat’s Paw. The kitten became increasingly restless. She wondered how actual mothers coped when their babies demanded milk in the middle of the grocery store. It was all rather stressful.

  She increased her speed and made it home in record time.

  Morwen took the formula from her as she walked into the kitchen. “They’re all making that mewing sound. Smudge and Olive are restless because they know the babies are hungry and there’s nothing they can do about it.”

  “I hope I got the right mixture.”

  “You did. You’ll see the difference when we give them the formula. My homemade mixture will only satisfy them for an hour. The formula will keep them quiet for two hours or more, just like mother’s milk.”

  Morwen mixed up the KMR, and Fay filled the bottles. Then they fed the kittens together.

  “Look at that,” said Morwen. “Your little one is sucking just as strongly as the others.”

  The kittens fed for longer this time, and the level of milk in the bottles fell lower. Smudge and Olive paced up and down, keeping an anxious eye on the kittens.

  “We’ll have to feed the surrogate mums up here in the office,” said Morwen. “They won’t want to leave the kittens yet.”

  “I’ll handle the kittens’ feeds tonight, Mor.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind doing it.”

  “I’m sure. Besides, I’ll be away for most of the morning tomorrow, so I’ll have to dump them on you.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  “I’m doing the shipwreck hike.”

  Chapter 10

  Dinner at the Cat’s Paw was not a communal affair.

  Morwen finished cooking around five and left dinner in a low oven for people to help themselves. Maggie went home at five, so she seldom had dinner at work. Pen stopped working whenever he felt like
it. He had no schedule, except for the one he imposed on himself. His forefathers had been gardeners at Penrose House for generations and he knew better than any Penrose what needed to be done.

  He usually came into the kitchen around six, filled a plate for himself, and took it back to his cottage to eat in peace. Occasionally, he would fill two plates, which led Fay and Morwen to speculate whether he had a lady friend over.

  Sometimes Morwen went out for dinner. She had a lot of friends who invited her to meet up for pizza or sushi in the village, or to take a ferry ride into Falmouth for a night out. Otherwise, she ate dinner around seven, and spent the evening reading her beloved thrillers, watching Netflix, or Skyping her sons at college in Exeter.

  Fay remembered the days when she had been a night owl, staying up until midnight or later. These days, she was asleep by ten. Waking up at five for a morning run took its toll, as did all of her walking, and the physical labor of running a guesthouse.

  Tonight, she would be at the mercy of the kittens’ feeding schedule. She ate early, planning to feed them at nine-thirty. She would then snatch a few hours’ sleep before they woke up around midnight. She moved the nesting box into her room. It was her grandmother’s old bedroom, and one of the largest and most comfortable rooms in the house. She had considered turning it into a suite for guests, and taking one of the smaller rooms for herself, but this had been greeted with horror.

  The Penroses always occupied that room, Morwen told her. It was the master suite, and that was that.

  Smudge and Olive trotted at her heels as she carried the box to her room. The other cats were already there. They barely looked up as she entered, which meant they were getting used to the sound and smell of the kittens.

  She was just settling down with a book when the front doorbell rang.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Now what? This had better not be another litter of kittens.” She hauled herself to her feet and went downstairs.

  “I’m coming!” she snapped, as the person rang again. She undid the latch and swung the door open.

  “Dr. Dyer.” Fay tried to be polite, but the astonishment showed on her face. Then she remembered that he was a surgeon. “Sorry. I should rather say Mr. Dyer, shouldn’t I?”

  “Doctor is fine. I’m doing a lot of general-practice work at the moment.”

  “Can I… help you with something?”

  “I want to talk to you. May I come in?”

  Fay stood aside. “Of course. You’re very welcome.”

  She was glad she hadn’t changed into her pajamas yet.

  He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the coat rack. “Where can we talk?”

  “I’m afraid it will have to be upstairs. I’m looking after a litter of newborn kittens. I can’t leave them for long. They’re due for a feed soon.”

  Fay reviewed the state of her bedroom, hoping she hadn’t left a bra on the floor or anything embarrassing like that. No, it should be fine.

  “So, what’s up?’ she asked when they reached her bedroom.

  He turned to face her. “What did you mean by taking advantage of my father to worm confidential information about a murder case out of him?”

  Fay stared at him. “What are you talking about? Your father called me over for a chat as I was on my way into the village today, as he often does. I didn’t worm anything out of him.”

  “Are you denying that you encouraged him to share confidential information about the autopsy with you?”

  “Yes, I do. Of course, we talked about the murder. The whole village is talking about it. Your father volunteered certain information to me of his own accord. I wasn’t trying to get it out of him.”

  “Do you also deny that you are conducting your own investigation in what should be exclusively a police matter?”

  “Look, I have every right to stay up to date with this case. A man was murdered on my property. I have guests who want to know what’s going on. They are wondering if there’s a murder suspect in the house and whether they should feel safe in their own beds tonight.”

  This wasn’t strictly true. The two families that were still staying at the Cat’s Paw had shown surprisingly little interest in the matter. They took it for granted that Mr. Caldwell had died of natural causes and were happily continuing with their vacation. But Dr. Dyer didn’t need to know that.

  “You’ve been busy, Miss Penrose. Going from person to person all over the village sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. I don’t care who else you might bamboozle with your blue eyes and big smile, but my father is not going to be one of your victims.”

  Fay felt her hold on her temper beginning to fray. “Dr. Dyer, may I remind you that your father is an adult man? He is not silly. He is not naïve. And he is not in his dotage. What does he say about all this? Did he send you here to accuse me of bamboozling him?”

  He looked away. “Not exactly.”

  “I bet he didn’t. I bet he’d be furious with you if he knew what you were doing right now.”

  Dr. Dyer smiled reluctantly. “He probably would. But that’s not the point. The point is…”

  They looked up as tiny squeals began to emerge from the nesting box. Fay jumped to her feet.

  “The kittens are hungry.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “As long as you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful and help me feed them.”

  She grabbed two bottles and pushed them into his unresisting hands.

  “I don’t have time to…”

  “I don’t care. You invaded my privacy at an unsociable hour to scold me when I had done nothing wrong. The least you can do is help me feed these babies.”

  She passed him a kitten, which seemed to decide the matter.

  He cradled the creature in his large hands. It was surprising to see how gentle and competent he was with the tiny animal. Fay supposed that a surgeon would need to have skillful hands.

  He watched her pick up the tiniest girl. “That one you’re holding is the smallest by quite a margin.”

  “She nearly died this morning. Their mother rejected them, so the owner brought them to me to look after. I had to do CPR on her. Then I carried her around with me the whole afternoon to warm her up. But look how well she is sucking now. She’ll soon catch up.”

  They worked side by side feeding the grateful kittens.

  “You must understand,” he said after a while, “that having an amateur sniffing around can only hinder a murder investigation. I have consulted to the police many times before, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that police matters are best left in the hands of the police.”

  “Right. Because our police force is such a model of competence and good sense.”

  There was a slight pause. “They’re not that bad.”

  “Let me tell you what happened this morning. When I went back up to the Penzance room after you left, I found Constable Chegwin about to take a bite out of the cold pizza he had found next to the victim’s bed – the same victim who had dried saliva all over his mouth suggesting that he had been poisoned. It seems Constable Chegwin hadn’t had breakfast that morning and was feeling a little peckish. I had to tackle him like a football player to knock the pizza out of his hand. If I hadn’t, he would currently be sharing a slab with Mr. Caldwell.”

  A muscle twitched in Dr. Dyer’s cheek. Fay couldn’t tell whether it was from annoyance or amusement.

  “A minor slip-up,” he said. “In the normal run of things, Constable Chegwin and Sergeant Jones are perfectly competent. They understand the law. They understand how an investigation works. You’re a civilian. You have no idea how a murder inquiry is conducted. Your interference can only be bad for the investigation.”

  “You obviously haven’t lived on Bluebell Island for a while, Dr. Dyer. If you had, you would know that everybody minds everybody else’s business around here. Everybody talks, and everybody asks questions. Expecting someone to stay out of things is like expecting them to fly to the moon. It’s not goin
g to happen.”

  They finished feeding the kittens and put them back in the box where Olive and Smudge began to lick them vigorously. As Fay showed Dr. Dyer out into the night, he turned to her one last time.

  “You don’t know how much harm you can do by interfering in a police investigation. If Sergeant Jones finds out what you’ve been up to, he is going to be seriously annoyed.”

  Fay smiled at him. “I’m trembling in my boots.”

  Then she closed the door on his annoyed expression.

  Fay woke up the next morning feeling as though she had been hit by a bus.

  The kittens had woken up twice in the night to be fed, and then again at five o’clock when she had been about to go out for her run.

  Now that she was back from running, and had showered, and dressed, she felt as though it would take a vat of coffee to make her feel halfway human. Her only consolation lay in how well the kittens were doing. Each of them had put on between one and two ounces since the day before. Fay was especially pleased with the progress of the little girl she had carried against her chest for all those hours. She was now just as active as her siblings and drinking almost the same quantity of formula.

  Smudge and Olive showed no signs of getting tired of their roles as surrogate mothers. If one of them wanted to go outside for a break, the other would stay in the nesting box until she came back. They seemed to understand that the kittens shouldn’t be left alone for longer than a few minutes and took turns being there.

  They kept the kittens clean, groomed, and stimulated. They provided all the warmth, love, and care that the babies had missed out on during their first day of life. As a result, the kittens were blooming.

  Fay yawned as she carried the nesting box down to the kitchen. She would set it up in front of the oven range where the kittens would be warm, and Morwen could keep an eye on them.

  “Oh, dear,” said Morwen as she walked into the kitchen. “You look like a new mum who was up half the night feeding.”

  “I don’t know how actual mothers do it. I am exhausted.”