The surgery was near the top of the village, on a narrow, cobbled lane that was only open to pedestrians. Fay had often thought it unfortunate that sick people were supposed to get themselves up a steep road where cars weren’t allowed. At least both doctors still did house calls.
She went inside and spoke to the receptionist, Isobel. The waiting room was full of people, so she kept her voice low.
“Morning, Fay.”
“Hi, Izzy. Do you have any idea whether Dr. Dyer has finished the autopsy on Mrs. Saville?”
“I think he has. He made me cancel his morning appointments until eleven o’clock so that he could get the autopsy done. He must have finished early because he went upstairs to shower.” She glanced over Fay’s shoulder. “Here he comes now.”
Fay turned. Dr. David Dyer came down the stairs neatly dressed in a charcoal suit that Fay recognized as Hugo Boss. For a split second, Fay thought he looked pleased to see her, but he didn’t go as far as smiling.
“Hello. Are you ill?”
“No, I’m fine. I was hoping to have a quick word if you have time.”
He gave his watch a thoughtful look. Isobel nodded encouragingly.
“Your first patients won’t be here before eleven, Dr. Dyer. Why don’t you take Fay to the living room and give her a cup of tea?”
“Very well. Come along, Miss Penrose.” He held the door to the living room open for her.
“Have I been demoted to Miss Penrose? I thought you were calling me Fay these days.”
“Just maintaining an air of formality in front of the patients. Would you like some tea?”
“Coffee if you have it. I don’t mind the odd cup of tea, but I haven’t got into the English habit of drinking it sixteen times a day.”
“I’ll join you in coffee. I got addicted when I was studying in Boston.”
“This will only take a moment. I wanted to ask if you had finished the autopsy on Mrs. Saville and if so, what you had found. I presume it was routine? It was the gunshot wound to the chest that killed her.”
David said nothing as he poured the coffee. Then he handed her a cup.
“I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mrs. Saville had been ingesting arsenic for quite a long time. If the bullet hadn’t killed her, she would have died anyway.”
Fay thought she must have misheard.
“Arsenic?” she said. “Actual arsenic? Like from Victorian times?”
“I’m ninety percent sure, yes. I’ll confirm it in the laboratory this evening when I’ve finished consulting. But I know I’m right. Judging by her hair and nail growth she had been taking it for the last three or four weeks.”
Fay blew out a breath. “In ten years of police work the only case of arsenic poisoning I came across was a dog that accidently ate some rat poison. The owners had its stomach pumped and it had to stay on a drip for a few days, but then it was fine. Made a full recovery. I’ve never heard of a person being poisoned by arsenic. Where would one even buy it these days?”
“It’s used in insecticides and wood-preserving chemicals. But pure arsenic would be difficult to get hold of.”
“Of course, you can buy most things off the internet,” said Fay. “If you know how to access the dark web, you could get hold of pure arsenic.”
“I suppose so. All I know is that she must have been experiencing severe discomfort. The symptoms of arsenic poisoning are not pleasant.”
Fay winced. “Poor Mrs. Saville. Did she ever come to see you or your father for a stomach complaint?”
“Definitely not me. I’ll check with my father. But I don’t recall seeing her here as a patient. She might have had a regular doctor on the mainland that she preferred to consult.”
“How much longer would she have lived if she hadn’t been shot?”
“A week at the most. Probably less than that. When arsenic reaches a critical level in the body you get total organ failure and the heart stops beating.”
Fay finished off her coffee, deep in thought. “Was someone so impatient that they couldn’t wait for the arsenic to do its job and decided to speed things along by shooting her? Or did the arsenic and the shooting have nothing to do with each other?”
“I guess that’s what the police will have to establish. I’ll give Sergeant Jones my report this evening after I have confirmed the presence of arsenic in laboratory conditions. They might very well want to keep the fact of the poisoning a secret from the general public. As a former police officer, you will understand the need for discretion.”
“Of course. It’s a sensitive detail. It’s very likely that the police will want to keep it quiet for now.”
“I can’t believe it! This is awful.”
“What?”
“What is it?”
“What’s happened?”
Everyone at the lunch table stared at Morwen who was looking at her phone with her mouth hanging open.
“Mrs. Saville was being poisoned by arsenic before she died.”
“How do you know that?” asked Fay.
“From Mrs. Jones. You know she works at the police station?”
“Sergeant Jones’ mother? Sure.”
“She sent a group text to say that Mrs. Saville was being poisoned by arsenic. Apparently, Dr. Dyer phoned Sergeant Jones to tell him his suspicions and said he’ll confirm it tonight.”
Fay closed her eyes. She tipped forward in her seat until her forehead thunked against the kitchen table.
“Is nothing confidential on this island?” Her voice was muffled.
“Why? Was it meant to be a secret?”
Fay sat up. “Yes, it was meant to be a secret. You don’t reveal a crucial part of the investigation to every Tom, Dick and Harry. It’s giving away a piece of information that you could have used to identify the culprit.”
Pen shook his head. He was the gardener and groundsman at Penrose House and joined them every day for lunch.
“That won’t work in a place like this,” he said. “We don’t hold with keeping secrets around here. Your business is everybody’s business. If police work depended on keeping secrets around here, it would be the wrong kind of police work. That’s not how we operate.”
Fay had to acknowledge the truth of this.
“Suspicion is going to fall on that housekeeper of hers,” said Maggie. “What’s her name again?”
“Bertha,” said Morwen. “And you’re right. As the person who prepared the meals in that house, she will automatically be a suspect.”
“She’s a funny one, she is. Can’t say I’ve ever liked her much.”
“Nonsense, Maggie,” said Morwen. “What do you base that on?”
“I don’t know. All she cares about is driving a hard bargain. Have you ever heard her haggling with a shopkeeper? You’d swear it was a life and death matter whether she got a twenty-five-pence discount or not. All I can say is that if she did do it, I hope she gets caught. Poisoning someone is a wicked thing to do.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Fay. “It might have nothing to do with Bertha. I wouldn’t mind talking to her, though. Would I find her at the house?”
Morwen shook her head. “One place you can always be sure of finding her is at the farmer’s market. I might not agree with Maggie that she’s odd, but she’s certainly predictable. At four o’clock every afternoon, she’ll be right there haggling over carrots and bean sprouts.”
“Then if you can handle teatime on your own, I’ll go down to the farmer’s market at four. I’ve already made a chocolate cake for tea. I just need to do the frosting.”
“No problem,” said Morwen.
Maggie nodded. “And when you come back, you’ll agree with me that she’s a very odd person.”
Chapter 5
Fay spent her afternoon catching up on the admin associated with running a B&B. She updated her blog and posted the links to social media. Now that May had arrived, the seasonal Kids’
Club had started up at the beach again. It would run on weekends until summer vacation started, after which it would run seven days a week. Children and teenagers could take part in activities that ranged from sandcastle-building competitions, to treasure hunts, to learning to surf, to taking a lifeguard course. Many of the families that stayed at the Cat’s Paw brought their children with them, and Fay wanted to publicize the activities that were on offer for kids.
With her paperwork out of the way, Fay frosted the chocolate cakes and made sure that everything was ready for tea. Then she set off for the village. The farmers market was held every afternoon in the church square from four until six. It was not only the local farmers who sold their produce there, but also people like Maggie’s mother who grew organic fruit and vegetables on a small scale. It only cost ten pounds to set up a stall, which made it affordable for everyone.
It was a centuries-old tradition for the residents of Bluebell Village to stop off at the market after work to choose fresh food for their dinner. There was a wide and enticing selection. Fillets of fish that had been pulled from the sea that morning, potatoes that still had earth clinging to them, green beans that had never been treated with pesticides – these were the ingredients that the villagers used to create their dinners.
A small amount of good-natured haggling was expected at the market, but no one took it too far. People understood that the farmers had to make a living. The island had a strong farming community. The farmers charged fair prices for their wares and the villagers paid them. That was how it worked.
Bertha seemed to be the exception to this rule.
The farmers market was well underway by the time Fay got there. The moment Morwen heard that Fay was planning to visit the market, she had handed her a shopping list. Fay went from stall to stall buying what she needed, while keeping an eye out for Bertha. Bertha’s life must have been turned upside down in the last twenty-four hours. Her employer had been murdered. She had endured visits from the police, the lawyers, and her employer’s daughter. There was no saying she would even come to the market today.
Fay had just finished purchasing the last item on Morwen’s list – a pint of cream – when a murmur rippled through the crowd.
“Look who’s here…”
“Didn’t think we’d see her today…”
“That poor lady…”
“Did you hear about the poison…?”
Fay paid for her cream and turned in a slow circle looking for the object of the gossip. It didn’t take long to spot her.
Bertha Maidstone was a striking woman. At over six-foot, she was taller than most of the men at the market. She had a very English look, with her pale skin and ruddy cheeks and grey hair that she kept hacked short in no particular style.
With her raw-boned face and angular body, she could have been a high-fashion model in an industry that prized unusual looks. But in a place like Bluebell Island, she was simply an oddity. She looked to be in her mid-fifties – the same age as her late employer.
The crowd parted before her as though she were infectious. Conversations stopped as she drew near. Everyone, it seemed, had heard about the poisoning and decided that she was probably responsible. Everyone was whispering about it, but no one was prepared to speak to her directly. No one, that was, except Fay.
As Bertha went up to a man selling free-range chickens, Fay sidled up next to her.
“Hello! You’re Bertha Maidstone, aren’t you? I’m Fay Penrose.”
“I know who you are.” The woman’s tone was not encouraging.
“Your employer died on my property yesterday. I saw it happen and I found the murder weapon. The police have already questioned me, as I’m sure they have you too.”
There was more interest in Bertha’s eye as she turned to face Fay.
“It’s downright rude, I call it. Fancy giving you the third degree just because it happened on your property. The whole island was at the spring fair last night. There’s no reason why they should single you out in particular.”
“That’s true,” said Fay. “I’ll say that to Sergeant Jones next time I see him. Were you also at the fair last night?”
“Not last night. I had been there earlier in the day. Mrs. Saville gave me the day off. She said she would have had enough to eat at the fair and didn’t need me to prepare her dinner. I got a takeaway pizza from Pappa’s and ate it in my quarters. The first I heard about what had happened was when Constable Chegwin knocked on the door last night.”
Fay made a mental note to check with Luigi and Vito at Pappa’s Pizzeria to confirm that Bertha had indeed been in to order a pizza. It would be a good alibi if she had.
“I presume you’ve heard about the arsenic poisoning?” said Fay. “It was supposed to be kept quiet, but Sergeant Jones’s mother seems to have broadcast it to the whole island.”
“I’ve heard the whispers. They think I did it. The whole island thinks I’m a murderer.”
Fay noticed that everyone in the vicinity had stopped what they were doing and were trying to eavesdrop. She moved to one side, so they could talk privately.
“Mrs. Saville must have been sick for a while. She must have been having terrible stomach pains.”
“She was, but she tried not to complain about it. Sometimes I would walk into a room and find her clutching her stomach and sweating. I’d ask her what was wrong, but she always played it down. Said she didn’t want a lot of fuss.”
“You’d think she would have realized that something was seriously wrong. Did she never go to a doctor?”
Bertha laughed. “Not her. Mrs. Saville didn’t believe in doctors. I don’t think she even bothered to register at the surgery on the hill.”
“Strange. She seemed like a sensible woman.”
“She was stubborn, that’s what she was. Always believed that her way was the right way – the only way.”
“How did your cooking arrangements work? You must have…”
“Oh, no.” Bertha hitched her purse onto her shoulder and turned away from Fay. “Not you too. Not this again. You’re just like the rest of them. You think I poisoned her just because I was responsible for preparing the food. Well…”
Fay touched her arm. “I don’t think anything at all, I promise. I’m not jumping to conclusions. I know you’ve had a rough time being questioned by the police and I don’t want to make it worse. I just wanted to ask whether you and Mrs. Saville ate the same food. And if so whether you could have been exposed to the poison too.”
Bertha was on the brink of storming off, but Fay’s words calmed her. She turned back.
“That’s what I don’t understand. We ate exactly the same food every day. I prepared three meals a day according to Mrs. Saville’s tastes and I ate what she ate. She didn’t want us to eat together so I always took my meal to my quarters and ate there. But it was exactly the same food as I had prepared for her, and in the same pots and pans too.”
“And you haven’t experienced any symptoms…?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been fine. In fact, I’ve been very well lately.”
Fay nodded. “So, she was getting it from a different source. Did she ever go out to eat with friends – either in restaurants or at their houses?”
“Mrs. Saville didn’t have many friends. I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but there were many that found her difficult. We rubbed along together well enough, the two of us, but that’s because I understood her and knew not to say the wrong thing to set her off. Others were less tolerant. She sometimes had lunch or tea in one of the local places, but it wasn’t a regular thing. Although…”
“Although?” asked Fay.
Bertha shook her head. “It’s probably nothing, but I got the impression she had met someone recently. I could be wrong, though.”
“When you say that she had met someone…”
“I mean a man. And I don’t think he was just a friend either. She was acting like a girl with a crush. I think that’s what distracted he
r from paying too much attention to her symptoms. She was floating around on cloud nine. She started going out at night and coming back late. One time, just a few days ago, I could have sworn someone had stayed over. I thought I heard her opening and closing the front door very early in the morning.”
“Any idea who he was?”
“No, none. I never saw him. But I think I know where she met him. A few weeks ago, Mrs. Saville was accepted as a member of the Rotary Club. She had been trying to join for years and they finally accepted her. It was after that meeting that she started to get all giggly and euphoric.”
“Why do you think she was keeping this person a secret?”
Bertha shrugged. “Maybe he was unsuitable in some way.”
Fay could see that she wanted to get on with her shopping, so she thanked her and wished her well. Eyes continued to follow the housekeeper as she went on her way, but the atmosphere at the farmers market seemed less hostile than before.
Fay hoped that by standing and talking in a friendly way to Bertha in front of several villagers, she might have persuaded them to be less judgmental. She had no idea whether Bertha really had been poisoning her employer, but she didn’t think that people should jump to conclusions based on no evidence whatsoever.
From Church Square, Fay walked back to the High Street. She wanted to stop in at Pappa’s. Apart from being able to confirm Bertha’s alibi, Luigi and Vito were always good for the latest village news. Everyone - from Lady Chadwick to the boy who shone shoes in the lobby of the Royal Hotel - got their pizza from Pappa’s.
“Afternoon, Vito. I should never come in here before dinner time, especially when I missed tea. It smells far too delicious.”
“Ciao, bella. Why don’t you take a lasagna back to Penrose House with you? You can save Morwen the trouble of cooking.”
“She has probably already started, but let me order one for tomorrow. Maggie can pick it up on her way up to the house. We’ll have it for lunch. I know Pen is especially partial to your lasagna.”
“Is it not a terrible thing that happened to Mrs. Saville?” said Vito as Fay paid for the lasagna.
The Cat's Paw Cozy Mysteries Page 35
