Death Plays a Part (Cornish Castle Mystery, Book 1)

by Vivian Conroy

  Tegen sat on her haunches now, rubbing Dolly’s back. ‘Well, Haydock was a pompous ass. But I did know he had money so I was nice to him for that reason. You never know when you might need a local connection. I thought this re-enactment could get me noticed. Now you’re from London. Do you think you could … recommend me to someone?’

  Ah. That was Tegen’s reason for being nice to her, inviting her in for scones and all. For rushing after her to talk to her, away from the B&B. It wasn’t about Oliver, as Kensa had suspected, but about a chance to get away from Cornisea, to London.

  Guinevere said, ‘The theatre where I’m at is undergoing renovations. We don’t open up again until after summer. I guess you’ll be back in school then.’

  Tegen scoffed. ‘Who needs school?’ She shot to her feet and stood with her weight forward, her youthful face tight with tension.

  Guinevere studied her. ‘Can you vouch for your mother that she was with you all of the time before the re-enactment began?’

  Tegen turned to the wall with the niche. ‘Sure.’ She pointed at the alcove and said, ‘Do you know who Ganoc is? Our very own patron saint. He’s all over the island, also at the castle.’

  Ignoring the distraction, Guinevere pressed, ‘Can you vouch that your mother didn’t go down to the dungeon to talk to Haydock? Or that she didn’t leave the castle for some time? There’s this new chap around, you know, an inspector, and a sharp observer. He saw things about the crime scene nobody else noticed.’

  Tegen looked taken aback. ‘A new police officer?’ she asked in a shaken tone. ‘An inspector even?’

  ‘Yes, brought in from the mainland.’

  ‘But why? It isn’t a big case or something.’

  ‘Haydock was an influential man, and the castle is part of your local heritage, I suppose.’ Guinevere hoped Tegen would offer some revelation at this point, but the teen just looked dejected. She turned away.

  ‘Tegen!’ Guinevere took two steps after her. ‘You better be sure that your mother and you were together all of the time. Because lying to a smart inspector could be a very stupid thing, you know. He’ll find out sooner or later, and then you could both be in major trouble.’

  Tegen held her gaze as if to determine if she meant this or had an ulterior reason for acting concerned for them. Then she made a dismissive gesture. ‘We told the truth. Bye now. See you later.’

  And she ran back to the B&B.

  Guinevere said to Dolly, ‘What do you think?’

  Dolly cocked her head.

  ‘Not sure, huh?’ Guinevere said with a sigh. ‘Me neither. I felt she was lying about being with her mother all of the time. She put too much stress on it. And hearing that LeFevre showed up seemed to spook her.’

  Guinevere sat on her haunches to scratch Dolly behind the ears. ‘But I don’t think she had an affair with Haydock. I think she likes Oliver. She watched us as we walked down from the castle together and she thought Oliver was also coming to the B&B. She didn’t know about him having to meet the lawyer.’

  Her stomach knotted a moment, thinking about this meeting and what the lawyer might say. How bad it could really look for her new employer.

  As if Dolly noticed her anxiousness, the dachshund threw herself on her back to be patted on her tummy. She wriggled all her four short legs in the air.

  Guinevere laughed, the heavy feeling fading into the background. ‘Silly girl. Shall we go see Meraud? And her bookshop? I’m quite curious what it will be like on the inside.’

  ***

  The words THE COWLED SLEUTH were inscribed over the window in curly golden lettering. The gold had faded a little over time, but the mere name put a rush of excitement in Guinevere’s stomach. Going through old books was like sleuthing, searching for clues and hitting on gold dust.

  The books on the rack beside the entry door were all leather-bound and old-looking, dealing with sea travel, local lore, and gardening. She ran her finger across the spines, spelling out the titles that were sometimes barely legible.

  Hey, Ganoc. The patron saint Tegen had just mentioned.

  Guinevere picked out the book and leafed gently through the dry, breakable pages.

  Ganoc was the patron saint of fishermen, revered all along the coast, but especially on Cornisea where he was supposed to have spent the last years of his life, as a hermit in a little shack on the beach. His only companions had been the gulls and the sea mammals that swam to the shore to greet him every morning.

  ‘I’d rather have you,’ Guinevere told Dolly as she put the book back in place. ‘Let’s go in, huh?’ She pushed down the door handle and stepped inside, an old bell ringing somewhere over her head.

  The hushed silence made her walk on tiptoe to the counter where a woman with greying hair was completely focused on repairing the binding of a book.

  Guinevere watched her gentle movements with admiration. There was precision and certainty in each step of the process, like she had done it countless times before, but still she held her breath to see if it was working, determined to have the best possible end result.

  Then Dolly yapped, and the woman looked up with a jerk. ‘I hadn’t heard you come in.’ She leaned over the counter to see Dolly. ‘Hello there, who are you?’

  ‘That’s Dolly.’ Guinevere perked up when she heard an answering bark from behind the counter. ‘And what dog do you have there?’

  The woman sighed. ‘I’m just taking care of him for the time being. I’m not keeping him.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Guinevere said, suppressing a smile at the emphasis put on the statement.

  The woman placed her tools on a clean sheet of plastic and reached down, to pick up a cute, fluffy golden retriever puppy. ‘Jago is trying to find a home for him on the island.’

  ‘I see. Tegen mentioned the other night that an ad for puppies was up at Emma’s Eatery.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Jago is trying to find homes for three puppies.’

  ‘Can’t Jago take on a puppy?’

  ‘Not really. He’s out on the water most of the time. He can’t take a dog. At least that’s what he said.’ The woman held up the puppy to look him in the eye. ‘That’s what he said, but we know he was making that up, right?’ She lowered the doggy and looked Guinevere in the eye. ‘It was a setup.’

  Guinevere suppressed another smile. ‘A setup?’

  ‘Yes.’ The woman looked down. ‘My own dog died a couple of weeks ago. Jago was trying to cheer me up by dropping off this little fellow with me. But he can’t replace …’

  ‘I don’t think Jago wants to replace anything,’ Guinevere said quickly. ‘Maybe you can take care of him just for the time being. What’s his name?’

  ‘Vivaldi.’ The woman rolled her eyes. ‘Jago likes his classical composers.’

  Guinevere reached out and patted the puppy. ‘Hey, Vivaldi.’

  The little fellow put a paw on her arm, his snout out to her to sniff her scent.

  ‘There you go.’ The woman put him down again behind the counter. She reached out her hand to Guinevere. ‘Meraud.’

  ‘Guinevere. I come from London. I work at the theatre with your brother.’

  Meraud’s friendly expression froze. ‘I see.’ She leaned over her book again and ran a finger over the bit of spine that was still tattered. ‘What does he want?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Guinevere was taken aback by the abrupt change in Meraud’s demeanour and tone. One moment she had been interested and engaging, now she was aloof and dismissive as if a wide-open door had suddenly snapped shut. And Guinevere had been so eager to find out what lay behind that door, in the treasure trove of books collected in this quaint little shop.

  Guinevere said quickly, ‘I’m going to work at the castle for the summer, cataloguing books for Lord Bolingbrooke, and I thought that it would be nice to drop by and say hello.’

  ‘For Lord Bolingbrooke no less.’ Meraud scoffed. ‘You can tell that my brother hasn’t set foot on the island in years. He doesn’t understand o
ne bit of what our lives are like.’

  Guinevere said softly, ‘Maybe he wants to get back in touch?’ She wasn’t quite sure what Mr Betts had wanted when he had recommended her to Oliver, but she did want to help him achieve whatever he had intended.

  Meraud narrowed her eyes as she focused on the book’s damaged spine. ‘Maybe. So you work for him at the theatre? Selling tickets or what?’

  ‘I do costume design, help with props, décors. I also worked out some kinks in the scenario for the play we’re doing when the theatre reopens.’

  ‘Reopens?’ Meraud sounded startled. ‘It’s closed now?’

  ‘For renovations only,’ Guinevere rushed to reassure her. Her heart skipped a beat that Meraud did seem to care for her brother’s life’s dream.

  ‘And he’s believing that?’ Meraud scoffed again. ‘Renovations. Leave the theatre for the time being. Before he knows it they will have knocked it down and built apartments in its stead.’ Meraud waved her finger at Guinevere, her voice rising. ‘The injustice that is committed in the name of progress.’

  ‘Here on the island too?’ Guinevere asked. ‘By people like Arthur Haydock?’

  Meraud’s expression grew cautious. ‘I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. You do know that he’s dead, right?’

  ‘Yes, I was there last night when it happened.’

  Meraud looked her over, narrowing her eyes. ‘You don’t say. You must be stronger than you seem, girl. How old are you anyway?’

  ‘Twenty-four.’ Guinevere held her gaze. ‘Did everybody hate Arthur Haydock?’

  ‘I can’t speak for everybody else. But I can tell you a lot of people didn’t like him. He always knew better. He wanted to change things. He wanted to buy up our stores and turn it all into his concept.’

  ‘His concept for what?’

  ‘Cornisea.’ Meraud gestured around her. ‘This island, the whole place, one big tourist attraction. An open-air museum he called it even. But this is our home. We grew up here; we live here. We don’t want to be part of a museum.’

  Guinevere’s thoughts were racing at this new information. So Bolingbrooke hadn’t been the only one under pressure from Haydock to hand over his property and cater to Haydock’s plans for the island. ‘How did he respond to your objections?’

  ‘He laughed them off. He said times are changing. We could live on the mainland and come here to work. In his open-air museum. Playing islanders for the tourists, instead of being islanders like we truly are.’ Meraud laughed softly. ‘Haydock should have known we would never fall for that.’

  Guinevere studied her. ‘Now that he’s dead, his plans will probably never become a reality.’ And that gave several people a motive for murder.

  Meraud held her gaze. ‘Probably not. And personally I’m not sorry for that. But I am sorry that he died. For his wife and daughter. Leah’s a sweet girl. She can’t help it that her father is … was so overbearing.’

  Behind the counter was a whining sound and something falling over. Meraud looked down quickly. ‘Vivaldi! You naughty boy.’ She sighed and looked at Guinevere. ‘Jago forgot that my dog was old and obedient, snoozing in his basket during opening hours. This little fellow wants to play all of the time, and I can’t just lock up and leave for a beach walk in the middle of the day.’

  ‘I can take him along for a while. You’ve got a leash?’

  ‘Of course. Are you sure though? He’s a handful.’

  ‘Dolly will teach him to behave.’ Guinevere smiled. ‘Dogs learn behaviour from each other. Vivaldi will look to her and see how things are done.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Meraud went to a corner and picked the leash off a hook on the wall.

  Vivaldi shot after her like a ball of fluff at high speed. He bounced into her and yapped.

  Meraud leaned down to clip the leash onto his collar. She held it out to Guinevere. ‘There you go. Keep an eye on him because he’s smart. He senses when you’re not paying attention and he’s off like an arrow. Last week he even managed to use his front paws to slip the collar over his head.’

  ‘I’ll be careful. Hey, boy. Let’s go for a walk.’

  Guinevere led both dogs out of the shop. Dolly was curious about her new friend, sniffing him and licking him. Vivaldi wasn’t interested in anything but the freedom beckoning outside the shop door. He pulled on the leash, wanting to go to the pier. Maybe he remembered Jago and wanted to look for him?

  Guinevere walked fast enough to stay beside the dogs, not letting Vivaldi get the idea he was leading her. Dolly did her best to stay in front of him as well, consciously coming into his path so the puppy collided with her and was pushed back. He whined in indignation.

  Guinevere spied a familiar tall figure on the pier. Oliver shaking hands with a man in his fifties, who had a shock of white hair and a briefcase in his free hand. That had to be the lawyer he had wanted to meet to discuss his father’s case.

  After the handshake Oliver turned away and came walking towards them. Dolly spotted him and tried to race ahead, Vivaldi following her. Guinevere had to hold on tightly to the leashes to prevent them from being torn from her palm.

  ‘Hello!’ she called to Oliver. ‘Didn’t you take him to the castle?’

  ‘No, are you crazy? My father can’t know a thing about this. Hey, who’s that?’

  Oliver sat on his haunches and let Vivaldi try to climb up his legs.

  ‘Vivaldi, Meraud’s new dog,’ Guinevere explained. ‘Jago got him for her. She’s not sure yet she wants to keep him, but I think she’ll come round.’

  ‘He’s a lot to handle for someone who has a shop to look after.’

  ‘He’ll calm down as he gets older. We can lend her a hand now.’

  ‘We?’ Oliver asked with a hitched brow.

  ‘Don’t you like him?’

  Vivaldi had turned away from Oliver and wanted to walk onto the pier, but Dolly got in his way and stopped him. The puppy looked at her and then sat down on his rear.

  ‘See?’ Guinevere winked. ‘He already understands who’s the boss.’

  Oliver shook his head as he rose to his feet again. There were tight lines around his mouth. Guinevere asked softly, ‘What did the lawyer think of your father’s case?’

  ‘Not looking good. He knows LeFevre. The ambitious type. He thinks he’ll want to make a big arrest, and quickly, to set an example. Show off that he doesn’t care for names and titles.’

  ‘He won’t arrest your father just to make a point.’

  ‘He did say he doesn’t have a lot of time for this particular case. What better way to wrap it up quickly than by arresting my father? I bet you his fingerprints are on the knife. That will seal the deal.’ Oliver clearly wanted to continue, but his phone began to ring. He pulled it out – one of the newer models, sleek and black – and answered. He looked at Guinevere with a surprised expression as he said, ‘Yes, Leah.’

  So Haydock’s daughter was calling him.

  ‘Of course that’s fine, but … Where? What time?’ He checked his watch. ‘Yes, I can make that. All right.’

  He looked stunned as he lowered the phone. ‘She just hung up on me without even saying goodbye. She wants to meet me to have a bite for lunch and discuss something important with me. She sounded rather mysterious. Maybe even … anxious?’

  Guinevere pursed her lips. ‘Maybe Leah has an idea who killed her father, but she’s afraid to tell the police in case she can’t back it up?’

  Oliver put the phone away. ‘I guess I’ll hear more when we meet. Are you coming along?’

  Guinevere hesitated. ‘Didn’t she just ask for you?’

  ‘Well, the call ended abruptly. I’d rather you came along. Should we be seen together, I don’t want people to think I’m influencing Leah or anything. She is the victim’s daughter, you know. And I’m the son of the suspected killer.’

  That was a real risk. ‘All right. I’ll come along. If you don’t mind the dogs. I just promised Meraud I’d take care of Vivaldi for a wh
ile. Where’s this meeting anyway?’

  ‘At The Bull and Crow, an inn in the countryside. We’ll need to drive out there. I’ll take my father’s’s car. It’s parked on the mainland because the island is kept as automobile-free as possible. The inn has dogs of its own so taking Dolly and Vivaldi there isn’t a problem. We’d better go back up to the castle to get the car keys.’

  Oliver glanced down at his clothes. ‘And maybe I’ll grab a jacket or something. Leah likes it formal.’

  Guinevere wondered why Oliver even cared what Leah would think of his outfit. He seemed a free spirit who followed his own path in life.

  Chapter Eight

  On their way to The Bull and Crow Guinevere had time to study Oliver. He had changed into a fresh shirt and jacket, still with jeans, but it made him look a lot more serious.

  ‘What had your father wanted you to do?’ she asked. ‘For a career I mean.’

  Oliver glanced at her. ‘I have no idea. He never told me.’

  ‘Not even when you left to travel? Didn’t he say: “I had wanted you to do so and so and now it turns out you’re doing this and this”?’

  ‘No, that’s not like him. He just eats his heart out in silence. I disappointed him by leaving Cornisea, and he’ll never forgive me for that.’ It sounded bitter and at the same time resigned. ‘Islanders are supposed to stay around here. You’re born here, you live here, and you die here. There is this unique sacred bond with the place that you’re not supposed to violate.’

  Guinevere thought of Cador’s emphatic statements that this was his place. How far had he been willing to go to protect his place?

  She said to Oliver, ‘You grew up here. Didn’t you feel that bond?’

  Oliver shrugged. ‘What about you? You grew up in Devon and now you’re in London.’

  ‘Yes, but there was nothing to keep me in Devon. My grandmother died, her cottage had never been hers, just rented.’ Guinevere bit her lip as she recalled the last time she had walked around it and said goodbye to it all. ‘I took along the furniture for my place in London, even some of the seeds from the garden to grow on my balcony.’ She had to smile thinking of her hollyhocks. Her landlady was taking care of those for the time being. ‘I don’t have anything left in Devon to go back to.’