The Cat That Got Your Tongue

by Fiona Snyckers

  “I last came here on a school tour when I was about fourteen.” Morwen stood with her hands on her hips looking up at the church. “It wasn’t very spidery then, so I think you’re okay.”

  “I hope you’re right. Can you remember if there was much in the way of artwork left in here? Mosaics, sculptures, anything like that?”

  “I remember our history teacher going into raptures about the architecture and the moldings on the inside. And there were some bas-relief carvings, which were quite striking.”

  “Look out for anything that looks like a mythical creature. If it has wings, claws, teeth, or feet, I want to see it.”

  “Got it.”

  Fay knew she was imagining it, but the old church seemed hostile to their presence. They were two modern women dressed for spring in jeans, tank tops, and stretchy cardigans. The church seemed to bristle with the disapproval of generations of monks that had paced its floors.

  She told herself not to be silly. Countless school trips and guided tours came through here every year. There was no reason why the church should resent them particularly. But still she felt uneasy – as though she were being watched.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she strode up the steps to the Gothic entrance and went inside.

  It was like stepping into another age.

  The warmth of the day remained outside, to be replaced by dim light and chilly air that seemed to have been trapped for centuries. Some parts of the church were in excellent repair, but others were falling down or obliterated by the weight of the centuries.

  “Creepy place, isn’t it?” said Morwen.

  “I can’t get over how old it is.” Fay looked up at the vaulted ceiling with her mouth hanging open. “In America, if something is really old, it might date back four-hundred years. This church is a thousand years old. Just thinking about that much time hurts my brain. It’s impossible to imagine.”

  “It’s more like eight hundred years old. It was built in the late thirteenth century.”

  “That sounds promising. That’s exactly when Eleanor of Castile was doing her thing. She died in 1290.”

  “Let’s see if she left her mark on this church at all.”

  They split up. Morwen investigated the chapels along the sides, while Fay checked out the nave. The chapels were little more than indentations in crumbling stone and the nave was a small, cramped space, so their inspection didn’t take long.

  “What do I do when I’m finished?” asked Morwen.

  “Go around again. Everything is so faded that it’s easy to miss the details.”

  The morning had started out gloomy, but now the clouds parted, and more light flooded into the church.

  “Wait a minute,” said Morwen. “Did you say something about a cat and a phoenix?”

  “Yes, those two beasts are regarded as signs of the queen. Why?”

  “Because there’s no shortage of them over here.”

  Chapter 24

  Morwen was standing under one of the pointed arches that lined the nave.

  “Look up there.”

  Fay came to join her and looked up as instructed, shielding her eyes from the morning sun that was now throwing golden beams into the church. The roof had collapsed in places, leaving it open to the elements.

  “You see those columns holding up the arches?” Morwen said as she pointed. “And you see the tops of the columns over there and there?”

  “Yes. I think those are called the capitals.”

  “They taught us in school that the medieval sculptors used the tops of columns to express their creativity. They would sculpt biblical scenes and the lives of saints into the stone. It was one of the few areas of medieval life where you were allowed to be creative without getting, you know, boiled in oil or whatever.”

  Fay nodded. Her research had taught her the same thing. Another outlet for creativity had been the illuminated manuscripts, which Eleanor had been such a patron of.

  “I can see carvings at the tops of those columns,” said Morwen. “They looked like cats and phoenixes.”

  Fay squinted as she tried to make them out. The parts of the church where the roof hadn’t caved in were dim and gloomy, but here the slanted morning light was dazzling in its intensity. It was hard to see anything at all.

  Morwen rubbed her watering eyes. “I could see it better a moment ago.”

  Just then, a wisp of cloud drifted in front of the sun and the blinding light faded.

  “I can see it!” said Fay excitedly. “Those are definitely birds. You can see the wings and beaks quite clearly. I think it’s a roc, though, not a phoenix. And what are those other things – lions?”

  Morwen stared hard. “Only if the sculptor had never seen a lion before. They look almost like dogs.”

  “No, look at the ears. It’s clearly meant to be some kind of cat. And it’s standing up on its hind legs with its paws up just like the cat that got the tongue. I think they are connected.”

  Fay used the zoom function on her cellphone camera to take a series of photographs.

  “You said you were looking for a third beast.” Morwen walked up and down the nave, scanning the tops of the columns. “Maybe we’ll find it here.”

  But try as they might, they weren’t able to find any more mythical creatures. There were some rather ordinary lambs, but they were clearly part of a biblical tale.

  “So, the upright cat and the roc. That’s all we’ve got.”

  “But what do they mean?” asked Morwen.

  “That is the question. One thing I’ve noticed is that all the cats are looking to the east while all the rocs are looking to the west.”

  “Not helpful. Why couldn’t they both have been looking the same way?”

  “Maybe it’s not about literal direction. Maybe it has to do with the east and the west and the blending of the two cultures. That’s what was happening in Spain in the Middle Ages with the Moorish and western cultures blending together to create a new form of art.”

  Morwen shrugged. “That’s too deep for me. And how does it help us figure out who hit Desmond Pinkerton over the head last week?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s all related. These creatures are a clue.”

  “They’re hardly a secret clue. This church has been here for more than eight-hundred years. I presume the RARE Society knows all about it.”

  Fay agreed. As she watched, the clouds drifted away, and the beam of sunlight returned, landing squarely on the carved cats with all their eyes turned towards the east. She knew they were trying to tell her something, but she wasn’t sure what.

  “I’d better get back,” said Morwen. “I put a chicken curry in the crock pot this morning, but I still need to make rice and sambals.”

  “Let me take a couple more pictures while the light is good and then we’ll go back. Your chicken curry is all the incentive I need.”

  It was delicately flavored and delicious. Morwen bought a blend of North Indian spices from a vendor who appeared at the farmer’s market once a month.

  As they walked to the car, Fay turned to look back at the church. With the sunlight turning its stone to gold it no longer appeared menacing. The lighthouse a few hundred yards to the north of it, on the other hand, had always made her feel slightly uneasy.

  “What is it about Bluff Lighthouse that makes it creepy?” she asked as they got in the car.

  “Well, it’s supposed to be haunted for one thing.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “I don’t know. When you’ve lived on Bluebell Island as long as I have, there are certain things you just accept. And one of those is that Bluff Lighthouse is haunted. There have been a lot of unexplained sightings around here.”

  “It’s probably just kids playing pranks.”

  “Maybe. All I know is that I’m always relieved to get away from it when I leave.”

  As the Volvo rolled down the hill, putting distance between them and the lighthouse, Fay had to agree.

>   Restlessness carried Fay down to the village after lunch.

  The answer to the puzzle was so close she could almost touch it.

  A roc and an upright cat. Two of the three beasts that would show the way. What was the third? It could be a unicorn, a phoenix, a dragon, a gryphon, or a sphinx. Which was it, and what difference would it make if she knew?

  She remembered what Doc Dyer had said about the late-thirteenth century being a time of rediscovery. Scholars were relearning the ancient knowledge that had gone missing during the dark ages.

  The work of classical scholars like Euclides, Pythagoras, and Archimedes was on the brink of being rediscovered. Would Eleanor of Castile have been interested in this emerging body of knowledge?

  Fay remembered that she had been educated far beyond what was normal for a young noblewoman in those days. She had started her Scriptorum out of nothing to reproduce and preserve the tales of the day. An uncountable number of scribes and illustrators had passed through her academy.

  The answer was undoubtedly yes. Queen Eleanor would have been deeply interested in the scholarship of the day.

  Fay thought of a roc and a cat standing side by side looking in opposite directions. She imagined a third creature forming the triumvirate of beasts that would point the way.

  But what if they weren’t a triumvirate at all, but rather a triangle? That was the shape associated with the classical mathematicians. Three animals in a triangle with the roc and the cat forming the base, and another animal at the apex.

  Fay increased her pace as she walked down to the village. She had a feeling she was onto something here.

  Of course, solving the mystery of the dowry might be satisfying, but it wouldn’t solve the mystery of who had killed Desmond Pinkerton. The two were closely connected. Could she use the one to help her solve the other?

  There were people she needed to speak to. It was time for them to come clean about what they had been doing when Desmond Pinkerton was killed. Perhaps she also needed to come clean about how much she already knew. If she gave them her information, they might give her theirs in return.

  As she passed the library, Fay glanced in out of habit. Then she stopped.

  There they all were – Mrs. Tribble, Paul Leblanc, Marigold Bessinger, Henry Bessinger, Cecil Travis, and Nella Harcourt. They seemed to be having a meeting of some kind. They were clustered around Mrs. Tribble’s work station as she looked something up on her computer.

  Fay knew she would never have a better opportunity to speak to them all at the same time.

  She walked into the library, noting that the mismatched candlesticks were still in place. It could be months before the police returned the one they were holding in evidence. Or they might never return it.

  Mrs. Tribble looked up from her computer and smiled. “Fay, love.”

  She was the only one who seemed pleased to see her.

  “Hello,” said Fay. “Is this a meeting of the RARE Society?”

  Henry frowned. “Certainly not. There are several non-members present.”

  “No problem. Can you tell me where you were on Friday morning at ten o’clock? You said you were at the Cracked Spine, but that’s not quite true, is it?”

  Henry turned to look at Nella. She gave him a regretful look.

  “I had to tell the truth, Henry. You weren’t there. You know you weren’t.”

  “You had just had a fight with your wife,” Fay reminded him. “You said that this fair wasn’t going to be exactly like all the others. You were going to make sure it was different. Then you stormed off somewhere. I want to know where you went.”

  “I have to ask again – what is your interest in all this?” Henry looked down his nose at her. If he was trying to intimidate her, he had picked the wrong person.

  “I’m a suspect in the murder of Desmond Pinkerton and in the break-in at Pinkerton’s Bookshop. I’m just trying to clear my name.”

  “It sounds as though you have bigger problems than we do,” said Henry.

  “Where were you, Mr. Bessinger?”

  “If you must know, I went to the old medieval church. I thought I would find some information I was looking for there. As it turned out, it told me no more than what I already knew.”

  “I can’t believe you went without me,” said Marigold. “After you promised me that we would go to that church together. Even though things were bad between us you said we would always continue to work together. When did that change, Henry?”

  “I just told you. I learned nothing new at the church. If I had, I would have informed you of it.”

  She turned away from him, folding her arms across her chest.

  “And what about you, Marigold?” asked Fay. “You told Nella here you were going to order flowers for the fair. But Laurie at the florist says you had already placed your order the day before. On Friday at ten o’clock, she saw you hurrying past her shop with a load of books. I might as well tell you that I already know about the root cellar your society has been using for storage. Is that where you were going?”

  Marigold looked shocked for a moment but recovered. “I can’t imagine how you found out about that, but I suppose it doesn’t matter now. The truth is that I was putting some documents Henry and I had found into the root cellar so that the other members could see them too. I didn’t think it was right for us to be keeping information from the others. We had agreed to share, so that’s what I was doing.”

  “Without consulting me?” said Henry.

  “You didn’t consult me about going to the church, so I didn’t consult you about this. It seems we stopped trusting each other some time ago.”

  There was silence in the library as tension simmered between them. Fay looked at Marigold’s tall, muscular figure with respect. If she could get that trapdoor open on her own, she was even stronger than she appeared. The silence was broken by Cecil Travis.

  “My dear Miss Penrose. Are you telling us that the police seriously suspect you of breaking into my bookstore? If that is true, you are the one who should be answering questions, not us.”

  “I already have. If the police had anything on me, they would have made an arrest by now. You’re another one who lied, Mr. Travis. You said you were having coffee in the residents’ lounge of the Cracked Spine at ten o’clock on Friday morning. It turns out you left early in the morning and stayed out for hours. Nella asked whether you had done a sightseeing tour, but you denied it. So, where were you?”

  Henry stepped closer to Cecil, looming over the smaller man in a manner that could only be described as threatening.

  “Yes, Cecil. Where were you?”

  “Oh, all right.” Cecil took a step back. “I found a retired school teacher in the village who could explain Euclidean geometry to me. I came back convinced that I had cracked the code behind the three beasts. It turns out I was wrong.”

  “What else did you do behind our backs?” demanded Marigold.

  “Just that, I swear. When it led nowhere it felt like a bad omen. I had gone against the rules of the society and now I was being punished with misinformation. I had no idea how much of a bad omen it was until I heard that poor Desmond had been killed.”

  “And what about you, Mr. Leblanc?” asked Fay. “What is your standing in the RARE Society? Are you a member or not?”

  Chapter 25

  The librarian’s assistant smiled at Fay.

  “I like to think of myself as an honorary member.”

  “Thinking doesn’t make it true, my lad,” said Henry.

  “An honorary member?” Marigold raised her eyebrows. “That’s news to me.”

  “You’re more of an advisor,” said Cecil. “I’d be the first to admit that your knowledge has come in useful. I know Desmond found his meetings with you very helpful.”

  Nella laughed at his dismayed face. “It stings, doesn’t it, Paul? That’s how they make me feel all the time. I’m good enough when they want a place to stay on the island or when they need me to find some i
nformation for them. But heaven forbid I should ever claim member status. That is strictly reserved for real RARE members only.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “If today’s revelations are an example of the loyalty that RARE members show each other, then I’m happy not to be included.”

  Nella turned her smile onto Fay. “What about me, Miss Penrose? Aren’t you going to ask where I was on Friday morning?”

  “I already know you were at the Cracked Spine. Lots of people saw you there.”

  Her face fell. “How dull. I’ve always wanted to be a murder suspect. Without actually murdering anyone, of course.”

  Fay looked at the six of them regarding her with varying degrees of discomfort. It was as if someone had shuffled all the puzzle pieces and let them fall. And somehow, they had fallen into place. She knew what the third beast was, and she knew who had killed Desmond Pinkerton. It had been in front of her all along.

  The only question now was what she was going to do about it. She had no proof, after all. She would have to coax the murderer out into the open.

  “It’s time to stop fencing,” she said. “I’m willing to put my cards on the table if you are. And, yes, I know that’s a mixed metaphor.”

  She watched the six of them, noting their reactions.

  “You are clever, Fay love.” Mrs. Tribble gave her a fond smile. “I don’t know anything at all but I’m sure you will have found out the answer.”

  Henry’s expression was haughty. “The RARE Society doesn’t put its cards on the table, Miss Penrose. You tell us what you know, and we’ll decide if it’s worth anything. Forgive me for saying that I doubt whether you know anything new or worthwhile.”

  “Very well.” Fay had expected this response from him. “We’re after the same thing anyway – the hidden dowry of Eleanor of Castile. We all know that the objects may have been destroyed by time, but we believe that the rumors wouldn’t have persisted over all these centuries if there weren’t something behind them. Besides, we want to know for ourselves.”