Cornish Castle Mystery Collection: Tales of murder and mystery from Cornwall

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 one 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?’