The Cat That Played The Tombola

by Fiona Snyckers

  “Martin Trenowyth.”

  “The vet? He certainly has. He is kind enough to pay regular house calls to treat my poor Pebbles. She suffers terribly from indigestion and his treatments are the only things that help.”

  “What about Bertha Maidstone – Mrs. Saville’s housekeeper?”

  “No, she …” She stopped. “Actually, now that you mention it, she was here a few weeks ago. Now, why? Ah, I have it. She came here collecting for the Sea Rescue Institute. I remember it took me ages to find my purse. She waited downstairs quite patiently while I searched high and low for it.”

  “What about Gary Malkin?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea who you mean.”

  “The man who runs the holistic therapy center down at the docks.”

  Lady Chadwick’s eyes lit up. “Ah, him! Yes, we have had several interesting chats about alternative medicine. He has never been to Chadwick Manor, except to deliver the remedies I have ordered from him. I know I promised Dr. Dyer not to dabble in such medications again, but that young man makes them sound irresistible.”

  “As long as you’re not sprinkling anything onto other people’s food, I’m sure Dr. Dyer won’t mind.”

  “Do you really think so? Perhaps you’re right. But in answer to your question – he has been to the back door, but he has never been inside the house.”

  “What about Raymond Garver and Pippa Brand?”

  “The amateur dramatic society people? I see them quite frequently. I am a patron of the Players Theater, so naturally we have regular meetings.”

  “Do you hold them here?”

  “Quite often, yes. They know I don’t like going out late at night, so they are quite agreeable about meeting here. The last time we met, which was about two weeks ago, Raymond positively insisted on coming here. He said it was no trouble for them to drive up to the Manor and that he knew I liked to be home at night by ten at the latest.”

  Fay nodded. She tried to remember if there was anyone else.

  “What about Mrs. Saville herself? Did she ever come here?”

  Chapter 18

  Lady Chadwick’s expression suggested that this was a ridiculous question.

  “But of course, she did. You know what she was like. She had an opinion on everything. She was determined to help me save Chadwick Manor. She had an idea that I should open some of the rooms to the public, like a kind of museum, and possibly start a tearoom too.”

  “That’s actually not a bad …”

  “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you have ever heard? As though any member of the public would be interested in seeing the inside of my old house.”

  “Several of the owners of historic houses have done that and …”

  “How do you feel about lions, Miss Penrose?”

  “Lions?”

  “And tigers. How do you feel about lions and tigers?”

  “Uh … they are beautiful and majestic animals, but I wouldn’t want to get too close to one?”

  “But you would like to look at them in a safe environment, wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess so, but …”

  “A safari park!” said Lady Chadwick. “We could turn the grounds of Chadwick Manor into a safari park.”

  “With actual wild animals like lions and tigers?”

  “Precisely. Isn’t that a marvelous idea?”

  Fay was silent as she struggled to articulate what a very bad idea she thought this was. The woman who didn’t have the organizational skills to manage a B&B should definitely not be encouraged to let lions and tigers loose on her property.

  “I think you shouldn’t rush into anything, Lady Chadwick. Maybe give some more thought to Mrs. Saville’s idea of opening a tearoom. Tea and crumpets are much safer than lions and tigers, aren’t they?”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Lady Chadwick appeared to concede, but there was a stubborn look in her eye that Fay didn’t like. It was time to change the subject.

  “So, Mrs. Saville came here several times, along with the other people we’ve already mentioned. Any one of them could have caused this damage.” Fay gestured to the hole in the cabinet. “And any one of them could have gone off with the bullets. We’d better call Sergeant Jones now.”

  “Won’t you do it, Miss Penrose? I see you have one of those new-fangled mobile telephones on your person. And now I suppose I’ll have those two uncouth men tramping around my house for hours. Poor Pebbles. She will be ever so unsettled.”

  Fay was finally able to leave Chadwick Manor after she had answered a few dozen questions from Sergeant Jones about the vandalism in the ammunition room.

  She would have driven home without a care in the world if the Volvo hadn’t cut out at every stop-street along the way. It was time to face facts. She had to take the car in for a service.

  Even without David’s recommendation Fay knew that the best place on the island to take your car was Mike & Andy’s. Mike and Andy were brothers who prided themselves on offering an affordable and reliable service. Their motto was ‘if it’s broken, we’ll fix it.’

  There was a sign at the entrance to the service center, featuring a photograph of both brothers. Under Mike’s face, it said, I’m Mike the mechanic. And under Andy’s face, it said, And I’m Andy the auto-electrician.

  Now that she was finally here, Fay was looking forward to getting the Volvo fixed up as good as new. As she drove into the forecourt, both brothers came out of the office to greet her. There were no smiles of joy on their faces as they watched the Volvo pull up.

  “That’s old Mrs. Penrose’s Volvo, isn’t it, Mike?” said Andy.

  Mike nodded gloomily. “Aye, Andy. That it is.”

  “Thought we’d seen the last of that old …” His brother coughed loudly so he changed what he was going to say to, “that old heap”.

  “But can you fix it?” Fay hopped out of the car. “It keeps backfiring and cutting out and losing power going up hills.”

  Andy gave her a long look. “You’d be Mrs. Penrose’s granddaughter? The one as has taken over Penrose House?”

  “That’s me. I’m Fay.”

  “Well, Fay,” said Mike. “We’re not going to tell you no lies. We’ve worked on this vehicle before without what you might call startling success. Volvos are excellent cars, but this one was bewitched at birth and is also very old. All we can say is that she’ll leave our hands in a better condition than what she arrived in. That’s the best we can do.”

  Fay’s dreams of a purring engine that started first time and drove beautifully were fading fast.

  “I suppose that’s all I can hope for.”

  “Give your details to the ladies in the office and we’ll call you with a quote when we see how bad it is this time.”

  Fay told herself they were being unnecessarily pessimistic. There was a certain kind of islander who took pleasure in looking on the gloomy side of life. The car would probably turn out to be fine.

  She left Mike & Andy’s in a more positive frame of mind. She didn’t have the usual spring in her step, thanks to her head cold, but she felt as though she were getting closer to finding out what had happened to Mrs. Saville. It had obviously been premeditated. Someone had broken into the display cabinet and taken out the ammunition days or even weeks in advance. That person had known that the revolver would be loaned to the amateur dramatic society for their performance of the pantomime during the spring fair.

  They had known that it would be returned to the prop room after the performance and that a key was hanging in the office. They had known that Mrs. Saville would stay at the fair until the end and that there would be fireworks to cover the sound of a gunshot, and darkness to cover the face of the murderer. This was someone with a knowledge of the village traditions and a personal knowledge of the victim.

  Fay walked up the hill that led away from the village deep in thought. Her steps weren’t as brisk as usual. The cold was slowing her down. Doc Dyer’s voice pulled her out of her daydream.


  “You’re not looking your usual blooming self, Fay love.”

  “If one more person tells me how sick I look, I’m going to scream.”

  “Well, you do. You look pale and tired. David told me you have a head cold. You should be in bed.”

  “And you should be working. Who unchained you from your stethoscope?”

  He waved his corncob pipe around. “Just taking the air before lunch.”

  “I’m glad I ran into you. You know everything about the village. If I wanted to spend some time getting to know Pippa Brand and Raymond Garver, how would I go about it?”

  “You mean short of actually joining the amateur dramatic society?”

  “Definitely short of that. There are only twenty-four hours in a day and mine are pretty full as it is.”

  “You could offer to wash and iron some of the costumes. They’re always looking for people to do that.”

  “That sounds horrendous. Could I cheat and have them dry-cleaned instead?”

  “Of course, but only if you used a dry-cleaner that specializes in delicate fabrics. We don’t want sequins falling off all over the place.”

  “Thanks, that’s a great idea.”

  “They will welcome you with open arms. You can spend time in the costume room sorting out what needs laundering and what doesn’t. They are desperate for people who are willing to do that. And they’ll be happy to chat to you as well because you will have generated so much goodwill.”

  “I’ll give it a go. Thanks, Doc.”

  “If you don’t my saying so, today might not be the best time to do it. You look very unwell.”

  “I’m thinking of going to bed after lunch. I want to nip this thing in the bud.”

  “I think we’re past the bud stage, but that’s a good idea.”

  Fay continued on her way up the hill with a wave.

  After lunch, Morwen practically forced her into bed. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you end up seriously ill. I can handle teatime on my own.”

  “But my paperwork …” Fay protested.

  “Your paperwork is in perfect order and completely up to date, no doubt. The world won’t come to an end if you don’t write a blog post this afternoon. See if you can sleep and get better.” Morwen pointed to the kittens who were setting a good example by snoozing in a heap in one of the baskets. “Look, that’s how it’s done. They’re enjoying their outside playtime so much these days that their naps are getting longer. Now, I don’t want to see you or hear from you until this evening when I bring the kittens their dinner.”

  She left Fay’s bedroom, closing the door pointedly behind her.

  Fay rubbed her hands over her face. She felt rather sorry for herself. An afternoon nap didn’t sound like a bad idea at all. She changed into yoga pants and a sweatshirt and got into bed. She was just reaching for the Miss Marple mystery she had lying next to her bed when a thought occurred to her. She hopped out of bed to fetch her laptop, trying not to feel guilty about it. This wasn’t work, after all. It could be classified as more of a hobby.

  She wanted to find out about the business activities of Candice Saville-Wareham. Fortunately, it was such an unusual name that it was easy to trace her activities over the last ten years.

  Her father had died when she was twenty-two – the same year that she married Edgar Wareham. Her father had been such a prominent property developer that his obituary had featured in a number of local and national newspapers.

  Candice and Edgar Wareham had taken over the management of her late father’s property business right around the time that Mrs. Saville moved to Bluebell Island. Eighteen months later, the business had filed for bankruptcy. Somehow, they had taken a thriving business concern and run it into the ground in record time.

  After that, Edgar Wareham had accepted salaried employment as an engineer at a construction company. According to the company’s website, he was still an employee in good standing.

  Candice, on the other hand, had lurched from property development to designing cellphone covers. When that failed, she started a garden design company that was forced to declare bankruptcy when a client refused to pay her for a large contract on the grounds of non-performance.

  After that, she set herself up as a personal shopper. That website was still live, although it had been dormant for five years. She undertook to source suitable clothes for every occasion for busy men and women who had no time to shop. It seemed as though she’d had a few clients before that business fizzled too.

  Up until the previous year, she had sold educational toys by direct marketing. It seemed to work on the same model as Tupperware parties. That business had folded twelve months earlier.

  Thereafter, Candice and Edgar had gone into business together again. This time, he’d had the sense not to give up his day job. They had bought a family-style Italian restaurant and converted it at vast expense into a coffee bar. No one could have predicted that a Starbucks would open across the road from them six months later. Now the coffee shop was failing dismally, and Candice was trying to raise the capital to convert it into an Ethiopian restaurant.

  Why she had chosen Ethiopian was not immediately clear. Perhaps it was to reduce the likelihood of a competitor opening on the same block. In an unguarded moment, Candice had told a community newspaper that she had remortgaged her house to buy the restaurant. If it failed, they stood to lose everything.

  Fay gave a huge yawn. Her tiredness was catching up with her. She closed the laptop and put it on the floor next to her. One of the kittens sighed in his basket. Fay sighed too, and very soon she slept.

  Chapter 19

  A long afternoon nap followed by a good night’s sleep seemed to have done the trick.

  Fay woke up the next morning feeling much better. She did her morning baking with renewed energy and helped to serve breakfast too. She even received a sheepish smile from Candice Saville-Wareham when she brought her a tray of Earl Grey tea.

  “I probably sounded quite out of control the other day. Sorry about that. It’s rather upsetting to hear that your mother has basically disinherited you.”

  “No need to apologize. I understand completely.”

  “I’m feeling much better after a meeting with my lawyer yesterday. She seems to think we would have a real chance of contesting the will. We could argue that Bertha took advantage of my mother’s age and illness to persuade her to change her will, and that the vet – what’s his name?”

  “Martin Trenowyth.”

  “Yes, him. We can argue that he cynically started a relationship with her purely to get her to change her will in his favor. What man of his age goes for a fifty-seven-year-old woman? He was clearly after her money.”

  “The only problem with that theory is that no-one on Bluebell Island knew that your mother had money. She lived very modestly. She got Bertha to go to the market for her every day to haggle over the price of food. They say Bertha never once paid full price for a pound of carrots, or anything else for that matter. As far as we all knew, your mother was living on a limited budget.”

  “Oh, she was a terrible miser. She could squeeze a penny until it wept. Everyone knew that didn’t mean a thing.”

  “But that’s the point – not everyone knew. When Martin befriended your mother, he probably thought she was a retired widow living on a fixed income.”

  Candice frowned. Fay’s words were dampening her mood. “Well, my children certainly knew what she was worth. My lawyer says we can argue that they ingratiated themselves with their grandmother in the hope of getting some of her money. No one can say that they didn’t know how much she was worth because they did. I will testify to that. We often talked about how rich granny was.”

  “How old are your children?”

  “They’re six and eight.” Candice must have seen something on Fay’s face because her voice sharpened. “You’re judging me for suing my own children, aren’t you? Well, you can keep your sour expression to yourself. I need that money more than my children
do. What good is one million pounds tied up in a trust until the children turn eighteen? It’s no good to me and it’s no good to them. Do you know what I could do with one million pounds right now?”

  “You own a restaurant, don’t you?”

  “That’s right. It’s a gold mine. An actual gold mine. Do you know how popular Ethiopian food is right now? We could be raking in money if only we had the capital to invest in it properly. That would be good for the children as well as for me. They could go to a nicer school, afford nicer things. So, you see, it’s really them I’m looking out for with this lawsuit. That money is no good to anyone right now. If I get my hands on it, I can turn it into something that improves the standard of living for my whole family.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “Then why do you still have that annoying look on your face? You’re judging me. I know it.”

  Fay tried to stop looking judgmental but wasn’t sure how. She believed her expression was neutral. It was Candice’s own conscience that troubled her. She knew what she was doing was wrong.

  “You must bear in mind that the success of your lawsuit will depend on the outcome of the investigation into your mother’s death.”

  “What do you mean?” said Candice. “What does that have to do with it?”

  “It wasn’t a natural death. Someone pulled that trigger.”

  “Someone that my mother had annoyed, yes. She had a knack for annoying people.”

  “Or someone who was after her money. Money is a much more powerful motive for murder than annoyance.”

  “Yes, but as you already said, no one on Bluebell Island knew what she was worth. And what difference does it make anyway?”

  “There’s a principle in Roman-Dutch law that says de bloedige hand erft niet. It means ‘the bloody hand does not inherit’. It’s a law that most countries have implemented, including the English common law. If you murder someone, you don’t inherit their money. Once the case is solved, that might narrow down the number of people you need to sue.”