The Cat's Paw Cozy Mysteries

by Fiona Snyckers

  “I don’t know about you, but this smell is making me hungry,” said Doc Dyer. “I’m going to order a freshly baked scone with strawberry jam and clotted cream. I know they’re supposed to be for the tourists, but I love them too.”

  “So do I. There’s nothing in the world as delicious as a Cornish cream tea. I don’t know what they feed the cows around here, but the cream is outstanding.”

  Soon Fay was sinking her teeth into a hot scone. The combined flavors of farm butter, homemade strawberry preserves, and clotted cream exploded on her tongue.

  “I’ll tell you something,” she said when she had finished half of her scone. “Ever since I came to the west country, I’ve been rating the cream teas that I’ve eaten. This one is the best.”

  Doc Dyer laughed. “You’d better not let Morwen hear you say that. The Cat’s Paw cream teas are legendary.”

  Fay took another bite, trying to separate the flavors in her mind. “It’s the cream that makes the difference. Our scones are just as fluffy. Our butter and preserves are just as tasty. But this cream is exceptional. I must find out who Nella’s supplier is.”

  “Good luck with that. It’s a closely guarded secret.”

  “I’ll just ask her. I’m sure she’ll tell me.” Fay’s American brain couldn’t imagine someone refusing to answer a simple question like that.

  Doc Dyer shook his head. “Like I say – good luck with that.”

  “If it isn’t my old friend, Bartemius.” Nella appeared behind Fay. “I haven’t laid eyes on you in weeks, Barty. You’ve been working too hard.”

  “Nella! My first and oldest love.” Doc Dyer stood up to kiss her cheek.

  “Less of the oldest, thank you, Barty. You know perfectly well you were devoted to your darling Emma. However, I will acknowledge that I was your first crush when you were six years old and I was sixteen and trying to keep you out of mischief.” She turned to Fay with her hand outstretched. “You’re the Penrose child, aren’t you? We have met once or twice. I miss your grandmother dreadfully.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m glad you are keeping her dream alive of turning Penrose House into a self-supporting concern.”

  “Thanks, Miss Harcourt. It’s going well so far. I believe you and Lady Chadwick and Morwen are hard at work on the spring fair. I keep asking Morwen if she needs me to do anything, but she says it’s all under control.”

  “And so it is. You will run the tombola stand and announce the winners of the raffle just as the Penroses have done for centuries. But leave the organization to us. We know what we are doing. And please call me Nella.”

  “Thanks. While I’ve got your attention, I wanted to ask where you source your clotted cream from. It’s absolutely delicious. I’d be interested in changing suppliers.”

  Nella threw back her head and laughed. She patted Fay’s hand. “Darling child. So sweet, so American.”

  Then she wandered off to help a customer look for a book.

  “I told you so,” said Doc Dyer.

  “Humph. American, am I? Well, Nella Harcourt is about to discover what a little Yankee ingenuity can accomplish. I’ll have that secret out of her by the end of the week.”

  As they poured themselves a second cup of tea, Fay remembered why she had asked Doc Dyer to join her in the first place.

  “I want to ask Nella about the RARE society and their obsession with Eleanor’s dowry. I’m hoping she’ll be more forthcoming about that than about her clotted cream. Can you tell me what questions to ask so that I sound like I know what I’m talking about?”

  “There have been rumors over the last year or so that someone is getting closer to cracking the codes hidden in the manuscripts, and also that they have almost found the complete set of manuscripts. The fear of course is that there aren’t any more manuscripts to be found - that they have been destroyed by time. But the enthusiasts keep on hoping. If anyone would have the latest information on that it would be Nella. Those dowry hunters are obsessed.”

  “Would they kill for their obsession?”

  “If they believed that Desmond Pinkerton had found something and was holding out on them, I can see one of them bashing him over the head with a candlestick. Whether that person intended to kill him or not is another matter.”

  “And the code? Is it a regular substitution of letters and numbers, or is it more complicated than that?”

  “It’s more complicated. The code was written at a time when the mathematical works of the great Greek thinkers were being rediscovered – Pythagoras, Archimedes, Euclid. People were falling in love with math all over again. We think there were elements of geometry and maybe even trigonometry in the code.”

  “I’ll see how much Nella knows. Thanks, Doc.”

  Doc Dyer left the coffee shop to do some shopping in the high street before heading home.

  It might have been a Sunday but almost every shop was open. The only businesses that closed over weekends were banks, building societies, agencies, and other nine to five offices. Every place that offered food or drink or any kind of retail product stayed open as long as their extended-trading licenses allowed. Friday to Sunday was the busiest time on the island. On a day like today when there was a clear hint of spring in the air you would have to be crazy to shut up shop. The tourists milled around outside just looking for somewhere to spend their money.

  Fay finished paying the bill and looked about, hoping to spot Nella.

  She wasn’t in the coffeeshop or the bookshop. On the other side of the bookshop was the reception area for the B&B. It was there that Fay spotted Nella, helping a family settle their bill and check out for the weekend. Fay waited behind the family until they left.

  “Miss Penrose,” said Nella. “What can I do for you?”

  “Do you have a moment to talk? We can make it another time if you’re busy.”

  “No, no. Now is fine. Let’s see if we can grab a couple of armchairs in the bookstore.”

  They found a quiet corner of the shop where Fay was fairly sure that their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

  “That’s better.” Nella sank into a chair and sighed. “These bones aren’t as young as they were. It’s lovely to sit for a while.”

  “You might have heard that I was in the library when Desmond Pinkerton was killed. I was the one to discover his body – apart from Mrs. Tribble’s cat, of course. I’m interested in what happened to him, especially since Sergeant Jones seems to have decided that I’m a suspect.”

  “Oh, don’t pay attention to him. The last time he closed a case was when he caught Farmer Dimmock’s dog pulling Mrs. Dimmock’s laundry off the line. And even then, he nearly lost the evidence on his way to report the matter to Farmer Dimmock. What is it you want to know?”

  “I attended a RARE seminar last night that dealt with Queen Eleanor’s dowry. Someone told me that Desmond Pinkerton might have made a significant discovery shortly before his death. Have you heard anything like that?”

  “Not exactly. I think we all know that the full set of manuscripts is closer to being found now than ever before in history. And once they have been found it should be a simple task for a modern cryptologist to decipher the code. Then they would begin the task of looking in the various hiding places indicated by the queen. That is the part of the process that I don’t hold out much hope for. If you think of where Edward and Eleanor lived when they were in England, you would realize how unlikely it is that anything remains hidden there.”

  “Places like Windsor Castle and the Palace of Westminster?”

  “Exactly. Those ancient buildings have been in continuous use since the twelve-hundreds. They have been extensively renovated over the years. What are the chances that there is some hidey-hole full of precious artefacts that no one has ever discovered? That’s the part I find unlikely.”

  “I agree with you, but it doesn’t matter what we think. What matters is that someone might have believed in the existence of the dowry strongly enough to kill Pin
kerton over it. The only people I know who care that deeply about the dowry are members of RARE. And most of them seem to be staying right here.”

  “I’m afraid that’s true. Do you really think I have a murderer under my roof?”

  “It’s possible. I’d be interested to know where certain people were at ten o’clock in the morning on Friday. They all claim to have been here.”

  Nella looked thoughtful. “Who were you thinking of in particular?”

  “Henry and Marigold Bessinger, and Cecil Travis. I don’t suppose you remember whether you saw them here on Friday morning?”

  “I remember Friday quite clearly. We had closed the bookshop for stocktaking and it was causing some disruption. I remember that Marigold was fussing about getting fresh flowers for the stall on Saturday. I told her she shouldn’t buy them too far in advance or they would wilt, but she was very determined. She said she would go and order the flowers to be ready on Saturday morning. It struck me as not particularly necessary. Laurie always keeps a good supply of flowers in the shop. The only time you need to order in advance is for a big event like a wedding.”

  “Did Henry go with her?”

  “No, he didn’t,” said Nella. “The two of them had been arguing. She was trying to persuade him to do something and he kept refusing. Eventually she said she would do it herself. That’s when she announced that she was going to get the flowers. But somehow I don’t think the flowers were the subject of their argument.”

  “Did he stay here while she was out?”

  “No, he went off somewhere on his own account. Said it had to do with the exhibition on Saturday. He said something about how all his previous visits to Bluebell Island had been a failure, but he was determined that this one wouldn’t be. He had said that to Marigold as well, or shouted it, rather. They were fighting a lot. I assumed he was talking about sales of his wares.”

  “And Cecil Travis?”

  “He wasn’t here either. I seem to remember that he skipped breakfast. He left the Cracked Spine early that morning and only got back around midday. I assumed he had been sightseeing – maybe taking a boat trip around the island, or perhaps one of Kathleen O’Grady’s hikes. When I asked him about it he said it was nothing like that. He was angry with me for asking. All but told me to mind my own business.”

  “Three suspects, three lies,” said Fay.

  “Is that so?”

  “They all told me that they were right here on Friday morning. In fact, they used you as an alibi.”

  “I daresay they had their reasons for lying. They couldn’t all have killed him, after all.”

  Fay pictured the tiny library with its narrow gaps between the stacks. “No, they couldn’t. There wasn’t room. If I can ask you another question – how would you recognize one of the hidden manuscripts if you saw it?”

  “An interesting question, my dear. You would look for the sign of the queen.”

  Chapter 14

  “The sign of the queen?” said Fay. “What does that mean?”

  “Queen Eleanor had several signs,” explained Nella. “She had a fondness for mythical creatures and was well educated in the legends of the day. She had the whimsical idea of using these creatures to signpost the code wherever it was embedded in a manuscript. She instructed her illustrators to draw the creatures in the margins so that her children would recognize them one day. As far as we know, she used unicorns, gryphons, dragons, phoenixes, and rocs.”

  “A roc was a giant bird, as I recall?”

  “That’s right. Sinbad the Sailor had to steal a roc’s egg as one of his tasks. Those are the creatures we know about, but there might have been more.”

  “You’d think that would make it simple to spot,” said Fay. “But from what I’ve heard it was common to draw all kinds of creatures in the margins of manuscripts in those days. It seemed to be how the scribes amused themselves.”

  “Correct, but Eleanor’s favorite scribe and illustrator had a distinctive style. His creatures were quite naively drawn and playful looking. Even I can recognize them at a glance and I am not a serious medievalist.”

  “If some of the manuscripts have already been found, have any of the artefacts been located?”

  “Not as far as I know. There are objects in museums that are believed to have been part of the dowry, but they are out of reach for small-time collectors like the members of RARE.”

  Nella got up and walked towards a bookshelf labelled non-fiction. “I can show you what the illustrations look like. These are obviously copies, not the originals.” She took down a book called Medieval Curiosities. Then she paged through it until she found what she was looking for.

  “Look.” She brought the book to the table. “You can see the style that the illustrator favored.”

  Fay paged through the book. It was devoted to what it called marginalia – the doodles, scribblings, and graffiti that medieval scribes put in the margins of manuscripts. Nella was right. The style of Eleanor’s illustrator was unmistakable. He used solid blocks of color and gave his animals large, cartoon-like eyes. They were drawn with a great deal of care and affection.

  “Who has the originals of these?” she asked.

  “This phoenix and this dragon,” said Nella, pointing at the book, “are in a manuscript that is held by a museum in London. Anyone can go and look at it, although it is kept in a room with very dim light so as not to fade the ink. The unicorn, gryphon, and dragon appear in a manuscript owned by the Bessingers. They have been very generous with it – allowing the other members of RARE to study it at length. And the rest I believe were held by Desmond Pinkerton. He also made them available to the other members, but they were kept at his shop in Truro.”

  “And now they belong to Cecil Travis.”

  “So, it’s true then? I heard that Desmond made Cecil his heir, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe it.”

  “Cecil seems to think it’s true. He told me about it at our first meeting.”

  “Interesting.”

  Fay used her phone to take photos of the mythical creatures. “Thanks for your time, Nella. It’s been a great help.”

  “It was my pleasure. Come back any time. Otherwise I’ll see you at the tombola stand at the spring fair.”

  Fay hurried back up the hill for lunch.

  As a true Englishwoman, Morwen couldn’t let a Sunday go past without producing an elaborate roast lunch with all the trimmings. Dinner tonight would be something light, like chicken salad, but Sunday lunch was always a feast.

  The delicious aromas hit Fay while she was still fifty yards from the kitchen door. She was pleased that her brisk walk up from the village seemed to have burned off her mid-morning cream tea. Besides, she had always had a healthy appetite.

  “That smells like your chargrilled beef fillet with the peppercorn crust,” she said, walking into the kitchen.

  “Spot on,” said Morwen. “Also, individual Yorkshire puddings with gravy, broccoli with cheese sauce, and glazed carrots, because they’re Pen’s favorites.”

  Morwen was the only woman Fay knew who could look cool and calm while cooking a roast lunch in a hot kitchen.

  “We’re having that apple pie you made this morning for dessert,” said Morwen. “I’ll serve it with clotted cream.”

  “Perfect. Although I might pass on the cream. I had a cream tea at the Cracked Spine this morning.”

  “The best in town,” said Morwen. “Good choice.”

  “I think I overdid the cream a little. It was too delicious. Where does she get it from? She wouldn’t tell me who her supplier was.”

  “It’s top secret. All the coffeeshops in the village would like to know the answer to that question, but Nella won’t tell. It’s like she has a secret well of cream in her house.”

  “Or maybe a magical cow in her backyard.”

  “It would have to be an invisible magic cow because no one has ever seen it.”

  “I’ll figure it out,” said Fay. “One of these days, I w
ill engage detective mode and figure it out. How long until lunch?”

  “About twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll check on the kittens in the meanwhile. It feels strange not to be bottle-feeding them every few hours.”

  “I gave them some milk substitute in bowls like you asked. They lapped it very well. Even little Zorro.”

  “Thanks, Mor. Their tummies are still too small for them to take in enough food at breakfast to last them all the way through to dinner time. They still need milk in between, just as they would be getting from their mother if she hadn’t rejected them.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. I ran into Dr. Trenowyth the other day. He told me he recently spayed the kittens’ mother. Her owner finally brought her in to be sterilized.”

  “It’s lucky she wasn’t pregnant again. People who don’t get their pets fixed make me mad.”

  “Me too. He asked after you, by the way - Dr. Trenowyth.”

  Fay pulled a face. “I’m finding him a bit creepy these days, to be honest. He’s just so relentless.”

  “I wish you’d give him a chance, Fay.”

  “He had his chance to back off gracefully when I said I wasn’t interested the first time, and he didn’t take it. He gets no more chances after that.”

  Fay walked up the stairs in a state of mild irritation. Any mention of Dr. Trenowyth had that effect on her.

  The sight of the kittens looking well fed and happy improved her mood. Tigger, Freddy, and Cinnamon were sleeping. They raised their heads and gave her a tired blink as she walked in but promptly went back to sleep again. Only Zorro was awake, playing tag with – of all things – Ivan’s tail. The Siberian had hopped into the nursery, probably to steal the dregs of their milk, and was now stretched out on his side keeping an indulgent eye on Zorro as she made clumsy attempts to pounce on his fluffy tail.

  Fay sat and watched. Their energy was so different. Ivan was large and lazy, while Zorro was tiny and full of mischief. Watching them gave Fay a chance to plan her afternoon. She usually spent Sunday afternoons kicking back with a good book. Most of the guests would be out enjoying the beach or one of the island’s other attractions. She would only be needed again at teatime when she would put in an appearance and chat to the guests.