The Cat's Paw Cozy Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  Letters from the Bluebell Village public library spoke of the ship having been picked clean by locals as it lay teetering on the sand bar. Villagers risked their lives by rowing out to the unstable ship in search of treasure. Many found trinkets and porcelain and food supplies and hardware, but the fabled treasure was never found. After just a few weeks of balancing on the sand bar, the two halves of the ship toppled over and were swept out to sea. At least three villagers who were clambering over the ship at that moment lost their lives as it was carried out to sea.

  The Royal Navy launched an expedition in the early eighteen-hundreds to look for the wreck of the Coronation. It was a frustrating endeavor. The ship had gone down within sight of the shore. How could it have disappeared completely in the intervening century? In the early nineteen-hundreds, naval divers scoured the area looking for traces of the wreck.

  Modern treasure hunters considered this to be highly significant. His Majesty’s navy would not have bothered with an expedition of that nature just to ascertain the exact location of a wreck. Britain’s coast was littered with wrecks. None of them had attracted the attention of the navy. It seemed to suggest that His Majesty’s officials knew about the possibility of treasure on board and were trying to recover it in the name of the king. This encouraged them to hope that the rumors of treasure might have some basis in fact.

  The years passed, and little occurred to confirm this hope.

  Every time shipwreck fever died down and seemed to be on the verge of disappearing, another gold coin would be found. This would whip the locals into a frenzy again. In the nineteen-thirties, a band of dedicated treasure hunters dug up half the beach on the west side of the island. Eventually, the authorities were called to put a stop to this act of vandalism. The diggers reportedly found nothing.

  In the nineteen-sixties, an eccentric millionaire from Cyprus anchored his sailing yacht off the coast of Bluebell Island and sat on board sipping retsina all day while scuba divers in his employ searched the surrounding waters. Unlike the Royal Navy’s divers of the early nineteen-hundreds, these men were equipped with modern scuba diving equipment. After three weeks of monotonous nothingness, there was great excitement as one of the divers brought up a centuries-old bottle of rum of the sort that visitors to the Caribbean might have brought back. Since it was believed that the Spanish galleon had recently passed through the Caribbean on its way to the West Indies, this find was considered significant.

  There was great jubilation on board the Cypriot millionaire’s yacht that evening as the discovery of the bottle of rum was celebrated. Everyone believed they were days if not hours away from finding the remains of the Coronation.

  That night, the revelers noticed a pitching and tossing of the ship as the swell of the waves grew bigger. The wind began to howl, and the captain ordered all sails lowered. Soon the wind was screaming across the decks and the party moved below. As the ship heaved and rolled, the revelers became increasingly subdued. The captain and his crew fought valiantly to hold her steady but towards morning the anchor ripped out of the seabed and the yacht began to drift.

  Before the Cypriot and his well-heeled guests could get into real trouble, the storm subsided, and the crew guided the yacht back to its original position.

  Taking his courage in both hands, the captain went to warn the irascible owner what his divers were likely to find that morning. The owner chose not to believe him and sent divers down as soon as the waves had calmed enough. Visibility was terrible, but all the divers reported the same thing. The storm had churned up the seabed to such an extent that anything that had been there was now covered in drifts of sand. The chances of finding that original site where the bottle of rum had been unearthed were zero. The millionaire raged and fumed for a day and a night before ordering the captain to sail back to Cyprus.

  Fay put down her iPad and closed her eyes. She could almost imagine that she felt the heaving of the waves and the screaming of the wind.

  Lifting Whisky off her lap, she went down to the kitchen to make herself a cup of chamomile tea. Stories of treasure hunting were far too exciting for bedtime reading. She needed to relax if she was to have any hope of falling asleep after the kittens’ ten o’clock feed.

  She climbed back into bed and sipped her pale gold beverage, as she read about the most recent serious attempt that had been made to find the mythical treasure.

  In nineteen-ninety-five, the BBC – the British Broadcasting Corporation – funded a documentary about the wreck of the HMS Coronation. It was broadcast in three parts and followed the film crew as they interviewed historians and other experts about the history of the shipwreck. The battle between the pirates and the Spanish galleon, and between the galleon and the Coronation was reproduced by actors in historical dress.

  Then the search for the wreck began in earnest. Another boat, funded this time by a combination of public and private money, dropped anchor just off the coast of Bluebell Island. Expert scuba divers scoured the area for months, looking for any trace of the shipwreck.

  The BBC team was more successful than the divers hired by the Cypriot millionaire only in that they had found more artefacts – none of which was particularly noteworthy. There was the usual collection of china and porcelain, along with some glassware and a hunk of twisted metal. The experts couldn’t seem to agree on what this signified, but many thought it was part of an old bulkhead.

  By the end of the documentary, the BBC crew had to admit that the secret of the HMS Coronation remained unsolved to that day.

  Chapter 18

  The next morning after breakfast, Fay walked up the steps of the Cozy Nook Inn and gave the knocker a polite tap.

  The name was a little cutesy for her taste, but the Cozy Nook was a charming house made of the same local grey stone as Penrose House. The rooms were small, so it catered mainly to single travelers and the occasional couple. Fay thought she had met the owner once or twice at meetings hosted by the local tourist board.

  When there was no answer, she knocked again.

  Footsteps clattered over stone and a shadow appeared in the fanlight at the top of the door. Fay waited hopefully. She had a feeling she was being inspected through the spy hole.

  The door was flung open by a frazzled looking woman.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” She looked at her watch and gave a squeak of surprise. “I’m supposed to open the door much earlier, but I always seem to forget. People think we’re closed half the time when it’s just a case of me having forgotten to open the door. What can I do for you, dear?”

  “It’s me, Mrs. Flynn. Fay Penrose.”

  The woman squinted nearsightedly at her. “Fay, love! Of course it’s you. I don’t have my glasses on. Come on in and I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Fay trailed behind Mrs. Flynn, marveling at her mass of frizzy hair and patchwork jacket. She looked as though she had escaped from the cast of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. She led Fay to a kitchen that looked like a miniature version of the one at Penrose House. As the kettle boiled, Mrs. Flynn sat down with a sigh.

  “How do you manage to look so calm, Fay love? Running this place is wearing me to a thread.”

  “I have a lot of help, Mrs. Flynn. Morwen Hammett is the innkeeper, not me. And she has Maggie Binnie from the village doing all the cleaning for her. And then of course we have Pen looking after the grounds full-time. I hired Morwen myself, but the other two were already in place. I inherited them from my grandmother along with the house.”

  Mrs. Flynn sighed. “I wish I had help, but I just can’t afford it.”

  Fay nodded. “I won’t deny that it’s a worry, having to pay three fulltime salaries each month, as well as all the supplies and running costs, but I couldn’t have done it without them. I wouldn’t be able to run a business the size of the Cat’s Paw on my own. You must have your hands full with this place.”

  “It’s cleaning the bathrooms that really gets to me. If I had someone to take care of that for
me, I feel as though I could cope with the rest.”

  “Running a B&B is hard, physical work.”

  “It certainly is.” Mrs. Flynn looked down at her tea, as though the answer to her dilemma were contained within the mug. “Oh, well. Never mind that. What can I do for you this morning?”

  “Do you have a guest staying here by the name of Laetitia Poynter?”

  Mrs. Flynn pulled a face. “That one? We certainly do. She’s been here five days already and won’t tell me when she’s leaving. It can’t be soon enough for my liking.”

  “Why? Is she difficult?”

  “Nothing is ever good enough for her. We provide a full English breakfast every morning, as I’m sure you do at the Cat’s Paw too. Well, madam wanted to know why we didn’t offer sushi as well. She told me she has been working in Japan for the past six months and got used to having sushi for breakfast.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her to take her sushi and…” Mrs. Flynn laughed at the sight of Fay’s face. “I’m kidding. I did what I always do. I reminded myself that the customer is always right. I went out that afternoon and got takeaway sushi from the high street. I put it out on the breakfast buffet the next morning. Then of course she said she wasn’t in the mood for sushi and why did I only have chocolate muffins and lemon poppy seed muffins when she wanted bran muffins?”

  Fay could only shake her head. “I’m glad she’s not staying at the Cat’s Paw. Is she still in? I want to ask her about something that happened a couple of nights ago.”

  “She’s just finishing her breakfast. She likes to take her coffee into my little sitting room in the mornings – the one that overlooks the sea. You should be able to catch her there in a few minutes.” Mrs. Flynn leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You know who she’s here to visit, don’t you?”

  “Dr. Dyer, isn’t it? I hear they met at Harvard.”

  “Just imagine if she marries him. She’ll be the queen bee of the village. The doctor’s wife is always a prominent figure. I honestly don’t know if I could stand it.”

  “Maybe they’ll leave the village to go and settle somewhere glamorous and international.”

  “Ooh, I wouldn’t want young Dr. Dyer to leave. He’s terribly good-looking, isn’t he? He looks just like a young…”

  “George Clooney,” Fay finished for her. She was getting tired of hearing how gorgeous he was. “His eyes are more serial-killerish, though.”

  Mrs. Flynn gave a delighted shiver. “They are rather intense, aren’t they?” She cocked her head and listened.

  “That’s Dr. Poynter going through to the sitting room now. You should go and speak to her.” She heaved herself to her feet. “I’d better make a start on the bathrooms.”

  Fay thanked her and followed her directions to the pretty sitting room. There she found a tall and terrifyingly glamorous woman scrolling through an iPad as she sipped her coffee. The woman’s tinted and micro-bladed eyebrows rose as Fay entered.

  “I’ll ring if I need anything.” She indicated the silver bell she had brought in with her. “I’d like to be left alone now.”

  “I don’t work here. Are you Laetitia Poynter?”

  “Yes, I am. Who are you? You have an American accent.”

  “My name is Fay Penrose. I was born in Connecticut but lived my adult life in New York City. You were at Pappa’s Pizzeria on Tuesday night, weren’t you?”

  “And what if I was?”

  “Did you enjoy your meal?”

  “Are you from TripAdvisor? Your questions are very strange. It was fine. About as good as you’d expect from a rural backwater like this.”

  “Vito and Luigi are both from Sicily, which is where they learned to cook. Their food is as authentic as it comes.”

  “Yes, yes. I suppose the meal was… adequate.”

  “What made you choose that restaurant on Tuesday night?”

  “My boyfriend recommended it. He thought I would enjoy it.”

  “Did your boyfriend accompany you to dinner?” Fay already knew the answer to that question but couldn’t resist asking.

  “No.” A shadow of annoyance crossed her elegant face. “He was otherwise engaged. I dined alone.”

  “What did you have to eat?”

  “A starter salad with a bottle of sparkling water.”

  “And?” That didn’t sound like a full meal to Fay. “Did you have a main course? A dessert?”

  Laetitia pulled away as though the word had contaminated her. “A dessert? Certainly not. I always eat lightly at night. All the health experts recommend it.”

  “Did you happen to notice a takeaway pizza in a box sitting on the counter of the food-preparation area? This would have been at about eight-forty that night.”

  Dr. Poynter thought about this. “As a matter of fact, I did. I noticed that the pizza box was open, which I happen to consider unsanitary.”

  “Did you notice anyone approach the pizza?”

  “No, I most certainly did not…” She trailed off.

  “Yes?” said Fay.

  “Now that I think of it, I did notice someone going up to the counter where the pizza was standing. I thought they wanted to have a word with the chef.”

  “Can you remember who it was?”

  Laetitia shook her head. She looked frustrated. “No… I… I can’t. It was out of the corner of my eye. I was reading something on my phone, so I didn’t bother to look up. I don’t know who it was. They didn’t stay at the counter long. Shortly afterwards, a young man walked into the restaurant, closed the pizza box, and put it into a zipped delivery bag. Then he left the restaurant. I presume he was taking it to its intended recipient.”

  “Do you remember who else was in the restaurant with you?”

  “You ask very strange questions for a TripAdvisor reviewer.” Laetitia gave Fay a suspicious glance.

  Fay waited for her to continue.

  “No, of course I don’t remember who else was there. Why would I remember a bunch of unlettered hicks in an obscure country restaurant? There was one rather well-dressed lady, but that was all. Not a young lady. She must have been over seventy at least. But she was elegantly dressed in a houndstooth suit.” She thought for a moment. “I also happened to notice a very strange young man sitting all alone at an enormous table. It must have been intended to seat eight people at least. The proprietor tried to talk him into taking a smaller table, but he insisted on the big one. He seemed to me to be mentally subnormal. I must admit his presence made me uneasy. You never know with those people, do you?”

  Fay couldn’t bring herself to agree this, even for the sake of the interview. Laetitia Poynter had just described Pol Peters in extremely unfair terms.

  “I don’t see people with learning difficulties as a threat.”

  “Don’t you? Then you are unique.”

  “I don’t think I am. Can you remember anyone else?”

  “There were other people there, but I don’t recall anything about them. Are you trying to establish whether the restaurant is popular or not? Based on Tuesday night’s performance, I would say not. There were only a handful of people present.”

  “Tuesday night is always quiet on Bluebell Island. But thank you for your input, Dr. Poynter.”

  “Is that all?” Laetitia couldn’t hide her relief. “Then perhaps I can finish my coffee in peace.”

  Fay’s eyes rested on her face for a moment. Her breathing was rapid, and a tiny pulse beat a fierce tattoo in the side of her neck. Her cheeks were flushed, and her pupils dilated. Her eyes darted from side to side.

  She showed all the hallmarks of someone who was lying.

  Fay stood up.

  “Thanks again for your help. This has been most enlightening.”

  “It’s a pleasure. I suppose your review will appear online? Everything seems to be online these days. Be sure to mention the unhygienic practice of leaving the pizza lying open. That is unacceptable, even in a backwater village like this one.” />
  “How much longer will you be in town, Dr. Poynter?”

  “That all depends on my boyfriend. He’s being somewhat uncooperative at the moment. Fortunately, I know just how to bring him to heel.”

  Chapter 19

  Fay went home to give the kittens their mid-morning feed.

  Morwen was engaged in the never-ending task of loading the dishwasher. “I thought we wouldn’t see you until lunchtime.”

  “I thought so too, but I decided to come home and give the kittens their ten-thirty feed. I know this is a busy time for you.”

  “Thanks. That’ll be a big help. Maggie has made a start on the bedrooms, so I’ll finish up in the kitchen and then go and work at reception. There are a lot of guests checking out this morning.”

  Fay peeked into the box and saw that the kittens were still asleep. She started loading the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher while Morwen sealed up the glass tubs of muesli and cereal, and put lids on the jars of jelly and preserves.

  When the breakfast chaos was cleared away and the dishwasher hummed with its first load of the day, the kittens started to wriggle. Tiny squeaking noises could be heard from the box.

  “Have you noticed how anxious Smudge and Olive become when the babies are hungry?” said Morwen. “It’s like they know that it’s the one thing they can’t do for them.”

  “And they’re always so relieved when we put them back in the box happy and well fed, because then they can take over again.”

  Fay took the first bottle out of her grandmother’s bottle warmer and bent to scoop up a kitten.

  “Come, rat. You first.”

  “I hear Dr. Trenowyth is coming here at two o’clock,” said Morwen. “He told me you wanted him to sex the kittens and check them for parasites and so forth. Will you be here?”