The Cat That Played The Tombola

by Fiona Snyckers

  “Not one penny of that money did I see. Instead, he gave me a job in the company. So, if you want to know why mother and I weren’t close – there’s your answer right there. She could have made things easy for me by parting with some of the cash that my father had left her. But no, she kept it all for herself. Said it was important for me to learn to make my own way in the world. As if she had ever done such a thing. She sponged off my father her whole life. But it’s all coming to me now. Finally.”

  She stared into the distance, sipping her tea. Then she turned and faced Fay with a smile. “Unless the old bat went and left the whole lot to the local cats’ home or something ridiculous like that.” She laughed at the idea.

  “Technically, this is the local cats’ home,” said Fay. “It was my great-great-grandmother who started Penrose House as a cat sanctuary, and I’ve carried on the tradition. I doubt that your mother left us anything.”

  “Maybe not, but I’ll feel a lot better when that will has been read.”

  “You were told how your mother died?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why do you think someone would do such a thing? And, more importantly, who?”

  Candice’s eyes met Fay’s for an indifferent moment. “Who knows? It was probably someone that she annoyed. Mother could be very abrasive.”

  Chapter 4

  After breakfast, Candice went to consult with her mother’s lawyers while Fay walked down to the village to visit the doctors’ surgery.

  On her way down the driveway, she met Maggie Binnie coming in to clean the guest rooms and bathrooms.

  “Hey, Mags. All good?”

  “Hiya, Fay. All good, thanks. I’m still reeling from last night, though. Can you believe that such a thing could happen, and at the spring fair too? My mum is gobsmacked. Mrs. Saville was always around at our place telling Mum how to run her organic produce business. It’s impossible to believe that she’s not going to pop up at any moment.”

  “Mrs. Saville’s daughter is staying here. She has come to sort out her mother’s affairs. I put her in the Boscastle suite. She’s quite particular, so please give her room an extra polish.”

  “I’ll do that.” Maggie continued up the driveway but then stopped. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Mum’s interested in those kittens of yours. It’s been three months since our old Tiddles died. Mum loved that cat. She’s starting to feel as though she might be ready for another one. Maybe even two.”

  “You know I’ll have to do a home inspection first.”

  Maggie laughed. “You’re welcome any time. We live on a big plot at the end of a quiet country lane. It was your grandmother that sold us Tiddles eighteen years ago. I don’t even remember it because I was a baby. Your grandmother came and did a home visit just like you’re going to do and said there couldn’t be a better place for a cat. Our Tiddles died of old age.”

  “Sounds perfect. Tell your mom if she’s still interested in a month, I’ll come and see her.”

  Fay wondered if her grandmother had also gone through heartache every time she homed a cat. On one hand, you were happy that the kitten was going to a good home, but on the other you wished that you could keep them all forever.

  The sea breeze lifted her ponytail and tickled the nape of her neck. The sun shone mildly in a blue sky that was liberally dotted with clouds. Those clouds would almost certainly draw together in the afternoon, bringing rain after four o’clock. But for now, it was a lovely spring day and Fay was determined to enjoy it.

  A curve in the road took her past a popular lookout spot. She took a moment to stop and enjoy the view, which wasn’t misted over for once. Bluebell Village was almost heartbreakingly picturesque with its grey stone houses tumbling down towards the sea. There was a tiny harbor, a small strip of sandy beach, and a longer strip of pebble beach. Fishing boats and pleasure boats went in and out of the harbor all day long, adding to the beauty of the scene.

  Fay felt like pinching herself. She could hardly believe that this was now her home. She had swapped the mean streets of Manhattan and the Bronx for this seaside village, and sometimes she couldn’t believe it.

  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?”

&nbs
p; “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. 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 j
ust 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 …”