“That’s certainly what I thought,” said Aggie. “In fact, I was so convinced of it that I offered her my arm to steady her just so I could get close enough to smell her breath.”
The committee turned to look at her.
“And?” asked Colonel Trengove.
Aggie shook her head. “She didn’t smell of anything. It wasn’t alcohol that was making her slur her words and stagger around like that. It was as though her brain wasn’t functioning properly.”
“I saw her later that morning and thought she had a bout of the flu,” said Doc Dyer.
“And now we know that she didn’t.” Gertie rapped on the table with her knuckles to bring the meeting to order. “We can no longer deny reality, which is that Tabitha was suffering from the early stages of dementia. It was progressing quickly and would have killed her sooner or later. It turned out to be sooner, of course, as she toppled from the lighthouse platform. The unfortunate result is that the harbormaster now doesn’t trust any of us. That’s why they want to make the lighthouse automatic.”
Fay knew she was pushing her luck. She should let the meeting move on. But she couldn’t stay quiet.
“I don’t quite see how the harbormaster can believe that Tabitha had anything to do with the wreck of the Sinead. She died the day before the Sinead sailed anywhere near these waters.”
Gertie rolled her eyes and sighs were heard around the table. Doc Dyer came to Fay’s defense.
“Fay is quite right. If the lighthouse did malfunction – and that’s a big if – Tabitha couldn’t have had anything to do with it unless she was operating from beyond the grave.”
“I don’t know that the harbormaster literally believes that Tabitha was at fault,” said Gertie. “But the optics of the situation aren’t good. A museum worker who was losing her grip. A corpse at the bottom of the lighthouse. A shipwreck where the captain publicly blames the functioning of the lighthouse. It’s more drama than we’ve had on Bluebell Island in years. The harbormaster wants it to stop. He wants the lighthouse functioning reliably again. One can’t blame him for that.”
“All that is true,” said Betsy. “But what about the historical appeal of the old lighthouse mechanism? It’s one of the few left in Britain – possibly in the world. It’s part of the reason why the lighthouse museum is so popular, and why people leave big donations in the box. They’re fascinated to see how lighthouses used to work in the old days. It’s a big draw-card.”
There was silence as everyone digested this. Then Doc Dyer made a suggestion.
“We could have the best of both worlds,” he said. “We could keep the old lighthouse mechanism for display purposes only, but have the real light controlled by electrical automation. That way the light would always be dependable, and we would have an interesting exhibition for the tourists.”
There were nods all round. Doc Dyer’s suggestion was voted on and passed by a majority of five to one. Betsy still believed that the lighthouse should keep operating as it had for centuries, for the sake of tradition. She argued convincingly, but the vote went against her.
“It’s vandalism, that’s what it is. It’s destroying something precious and historical.”
Aggie had had enough of her attitude. “First of all, it’s not our decision – it’s the harbormaster’s. And secondly, they’re not motivated by preserving history, but by saving lives. Not just lives either, but people’s possessions. Some people lost a lot of money when the Sinead went down.”
“Ah, yes,” said Colonel Trengove. “I forgot that you had a financial interest in the cargo. I do hope you didn’t lose a lot of money, Agatha?”
“Well, the truth is that I did. I had placed an order for forty sets of the finest Irish linen sheets, duvet covers, and pillow cases. I was going to sell them to some of the high-end guesthouses and B&Bs on the island. I paid for the shipment in advance and lost every penny of that. It might not have been a huge amount of money, but it was significant to me.”
“What about insurance?” asked Fay.
“I didn’t accept the insurance option when I placed the order. It was expensive and seemed like a waste of money. After all, what could possibly go wrong? Shipments come into Bluebell Island every day without a problem.”
“But the cargo as a whole was insured, right?” asked Fay. “I would have thought it was a legal requirement in the shipping industry.”
“I suppose so.” Aggie sounded grumpy. “Someone is getting paid out for that shipment of linen, all right, but it’s not me.”
“I wonder who would handle an insurance policy like that,” Fay said, thinking out loud.
Colonel Trengove gave her a superior smile. “That’s easy enough, my dear. Bluebell Maritime Assurance insures most of the cargos that go in and out of the port here.”
Chapter 19
“Bluebell Maritime Assurance,” said Fay as she and Doc Dyer walked up the hill towards the surgery. “Do you know anything about them?”
“They’re one of the oldest marine insurance companies in the west country.”
“I presume they have an office here on the island?”
“They do indeed. This is where they originated, after all. You’ll find them on the high street, two doors down from Pappa’s.”
“Not that big old building with the pillars? I thought that was a house.”
“It started out as a house but was taken over by the BMA. I believe the inside is quite modern and smart.”
“Perhaps I’ll pay them a visit tomorrow. I’m interested to know who will get paid out for the wreck of the Sinead.”
“I hope the committee meeting was helpful.”
“It really was. I’ll type up the minutes tonight while they’re still fresh in my mind and email them to Gertie for approval. Thanks for organizing for me to be there.”
They stopped outside the surgery and he patted her shoulder.
“My pleasure. But why don’t you come in for a quick glass of wine? David and I will be having one.”
He looked at her with such appeal in his eyes that she didn’t have the heart to say no.
“I suppose one glass will be fine. It’s not like I’m driving.”
The first thing Fay noticed as she walked in the surgery was that Cheeto the goldfish had undergone a major upgrade in his accommodation. He was swimming around in a much larger tank that contained everything his fishy heart could desire, including tunnels, hoops, a bubble fountain, and a pirate chest that opened and closed automatically.
“Wow,” said Fay. “He’s coming up in the world. You didn’t have to buy him such a mansion.”
Doc Dyer scratched his head. “I didn’t. It must have been David.”
“What must have been David?”
The younger Dr. Dyer wandered through from his office. He had taken off his jacket and tie and undone the top buttons of his shirt. His hair was disordered, as though he had been running his fingers through it.
Fay thought there ought to be a law whereby men who were neither single nor available were not allowed to go around in public looking quite so disturbingly handsome. The open collar of his shirt showed intriguing glimpses of his chest and collarbones.
“We’re talking about Cheeto’s new accommodation,” said Doc.
“Oh, that.” Was that a tinge of red that had stolen into his cheeks? “I just thought … because we have a number of young children who come into the practice … it might be nice to give them a more interesting tank to look at.”
“Well, Cheeto seems to appreciate it,” said Fay. “He looks much livelier today.”
“He certainly does.” Doc Dyer smiled as the fish darted around exploring his new home. “Fay and I need a glass of wine after that committee meeting. Will you join us, David?”
“I will, thanks. I’ve been wrestling with funding applications for our new MRI scanner. I could use a break.”
His father led Fay through to the cozy parlor that they used in the evening when they weren’t expecting compan
y. The night was too warm for a fire, but the hearth added a cozy touch.
David uncorked a bottle of good red wine and poured a glass for each of them. Doc Dyer’s eyebrows rose when he saw the label. He had thought David was keeping that bottle for a special occasion. He almost opened his mouth to comment but managed to refrain.
“Cheers,” said David. “Here’s to justice for Tabitha Trott.”
Fay raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that. I think she put up with a lot of injustice just before her death.”
She took a sip of her wine and gave a happy sigh. It was an excellent cabernet sauvignon. Her eyes landed on a collection of objects that had been left in a corner of the parlor. The light was dim, but she was pretty sure she could see two kinds of cat baskets, four kinds of scratching posts and climbing frames, a large litter tray, and an assortment of fluffy, feathery, shiny toys.
“I see you’ve been stocking up for Zorro and Tigger.” She smiled at Doc Dyer. “They’re going to love it.”
Doc’s eyes were wide as he stared at the wealth of cat equipment. “Once again, this is not my doing.”
This time David definitely blushed. “It makes sense to buy a few items when you have new kittens coming into the house. Otherwise they’ll scratch the furniture and you know I won’t tolerate that, Dad.”
Doc smothered a smile. “Of course not.”
“Either way,” said Fay. “The kittens are going to love this. In the last two days, I’ve saddled you with a rescue fish and two rescue cats. Thanks for being such responsible pet owners. On a different note, if I wanted to visit the wreck of the Sinead, how would I go about it?”
Fay was admiring the glow of the lamplight through her wineglass. When silence greeted her question, she looked up to find both Dyers staring at her.
“What? What did I say?”
“You want to visit the wreck of the Sinead?” said David. “That is a very bad idea. It is impossible to overstate what a terrible idea that is.”
“Why, though? Is it dangerous?”
“It is extremely dangerous. The fact that the Sinead wrecked itself on the rocks is an indication of how dangerous it is.”
“Yes, but the Sinead was a freighter. What if one took a much lighter craft – like the lifeboat they used to rescue the crew. That got to the Sinead and back without running into trouble.”
David’s mouth opened and shut as he tried to think of words to convey to her how this was not remotely the same.
“The Sinead was still sitting high in the water at that stage. She has now sunk so much that she is barely visible from land. There are bits of her still caught on the rocks, but that makes the whole situation more dangerous not less.”
“But the lifeboat …”
“The lifeboat cannot be used for any unofficial purpose ever. It gets used for two reasons only – to run practice drills and to save lives.”
Fay rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting using the actual lifeboat. I just meant that if a craft of a similar size and speed could be hired, wouldn’t it be possible to reach the wreck? In theory?”
There was another silence.
“It would be unwise, to say the least,” said Doc Dyer.
“But possible?” persisted Fay.
“Why would you even want to do such a thing?” asked David. “What would be the point?”
“I’m not sure. It all depends on the outcome of my visit to the insurance company tomorrow. But let’s say I did want to go out to the wreck, where would I find a cool-headed, experienced sailor to take me?”
The silence stretched even longer. When Doc Dyer finally spoke, it was with reluctance.
“David is an excellent sailor.”
“Dad.”
“He used to pilot the lifeboat before he qualified as a doctor and was deemed more useful on land giving medical treatment. And what’s more, he already owns a powerful motorboat.”
“Dad.”
His father turned to him with a shrug. “What do you want me to say? It’s the truth. Do you really want Fay going down to the docks and hiring the first person she finds? She would probably end up going out to the wreck with that maniac Declan O’Grady.”
David swallowed. “Not O’Grady.”
“Or Lawlor. Or Haverstock. Or any one of those hard-drinking lunatics. At least if she were with you, she’d be safe.”
David shook his head. “It’s still a crazy idea.”
“And it might just stay as an idea,” said Fay. “It all depends on what I find out tomorrow. Besides, I wouldn’t want to bother you, David. I’m sure this Mr. O’Grady is a lovely man.”
The corner of David’s mouth twitched upwards, but he shook his head again. “It would be a suicide mission.”
The next morning after breakfast, Fay was back in the high street standing outside Pappa’s Pizzeria and trying to figure out which old building housed Bluebell Maritime Assurance. There was an old house on either side of the ristorante. They clearly didn’t feel the need to advertise because there was no visible signboard.
Fay glanced into the restaurant. Vito and Luigi were hard at work serving Italian breakfast delicacies like eggs in carrozza and fluffy frittatas.
Vito caught sight of her. He greeted her as he always did – as though she had made his day just by being there.
“Bellissima, Fay! Buon giorno!”
“Morning, Vito.”
“Can I interest you in some breakfast, cara? I have a cup of coffee and a sweet biscuit with your name on it.”
“No, thanks. Tempting as that sounds, I already ate. I’m looking for the marine insurance company. Which building is it?”
Vito came to the door, balancing three plates in one hand. He pointed with his free hand. “Do you see the grey door next to the pillar? That is the main entrance.”
“Do you know anything about them?”
“A little. We have been neighbors for a long time. What is it you wish to know?”
“I have a bunch of questions I want to ask them, but I don’t know where to start. It was much simpler back when I was in the NYPD. All I had to do was ask and people would have to answer me. It’s not easy getting used to being a civilian.”
Vito tapped the side of his nose. “Ask to speak to Mr. Van Holt. He is in his nineties, but he still goes to work every day. The rest of the partners ignore him because they think he is past it. The truth is that he knows everything that goes on in that company. And he loves to talk. He’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“Thanks, Vito. You’re a star.”
Fay set off down the sidewalk with a spring in her step.
Chapter 20
The only obstacle Fay could see was how to get to speak to Mr. Van Holt. What if he occupied an office at the back of the building? What excuse could she give for wanting to see him?
She needn’t have worried.
As she walked into the front office of Bluebell Maritime Assurance, she saw a receptionist sitting behind a curved desk and an elderly man leaning his elbow on that desk chatting to her.
“Good morning,” said the receptionist as Fay walked in. Her relief at having another human being to speak to was obvious. “Can I help you?”
“Good morning, my dear,” said the elderly man. He spoke in the raised voice of the hard of hearing. “You’re just in time for tea.”
“Now, sir. You promised you weren’t going to do that anymore. You know the clients don’t come in here just to have tea with you.”
“Naturally not, my dear. But it just so happens that I know this young lady. Or rather, I knew her late grandmother, whom she looks remarkably similar to.”
“Really?” The receptionist turned to Fay for confirmation.
“Are you Mr. Van Holt?” Fay asked the old gentleman.
He extended a liver-spotted hand for her to shake. “At your service, my dear.”
“Then I would very much like to have tea with you.”
The receptionist blinked. “But surely �
�� I mean … you must have come in here for some other reason?”
“Not at all.” Fay waved a hand. “I came here to have tea with my grandmother’s old friend.”
Beaming at the prospect of company, Mr. Van Holt showed her into a parlor with a bay window looking out onto the high street. The receptionist came in carrying a tea tray and Mr. Van Holt thanked her in his courtly manner.
“I’ll be Mother, shall I?”
“Please do.” Fay had only recently become familiar with this British phrase. It meant, ‘Shall I pour the tea?’
He poured a cup for himself and for Fay, and handed her a macaroon on a delicate porcelain plate.
“I believe you are carrying out your grandmother’s dream of making Penrose House self-supporting?” he said. “It bothered her that the old place was turning into a money pit and that it might one day pass out of Penrose hands.”
“I’m doing my best,” said Fay. “We broke even for the first time last month. This month we are expecting a modest profit. So yes, for now Penrose House is supporting itself.”
“I hear you also have a sideline in solving mysteries. I suppose it is bred in the bone with you.”
“I was a homicide detective with the forty-eighth precinct in the south Bronx for years. I guess it comes naturally to me.”
Mr. Van Holt sipped his tea and nibbled on a macaroon. “And you didn’t come here just to have tea with an old man. It’s information you’re after.”
Looking at his green eyes, alive with intelligence and interest, Fay could see why Vito had recommended that she speak to Mr. Van Holt.
“I do have a few questions if you’re willing to answer them.”
“Go ahead, my dear. I will do my best.”
“I’m interested in the wreck of the Sinead. I believe Bluebell Maritime Assurance insured the cargo of fine Irish linen.”
“It is seldom as simple as that. In shipping insurance, there is never one insurer who carries the full liability for a freighter. Everything is backed up by a network of reinsurers so that the exposure is evenly spread. Imagine an oil tanker going down in the high seas. A loss like that would break a single insurance company. But with the liability being spread evenly, we can avoid destroying a company with a single disaster.”
The Cat That Wasn't There Page 12
