The Cat That Wasn't There: The Cat's Paw Cozy Mysteries - Book 4 by Fiona Snyckers

Author:Fiona Snyckers [Snyckers, Fiona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fiona Snyckers
Published: 2019-03-01T22:00:00+00:00

Unable to get the goldfish out of her mind, Fay decided to take action.

She drove the cats home and deposited them in her room with instructions to Morwen to check on them every half hour. They seemed bright enough, but Fay wanted to make sure they didn’t have a reaction to their shots. Then she headed out again to the police station.

It was already six o’clock, so she wasn’t at all sure it would be open. But Sergeant Jones and his family lived in the house attached to the station, which meant there was usually someone there. His mother, who had her own cottage in the garden, acted as the station’s dispatcher and administrator.

There was still a light on in the police station, although the front door was closed.

Fay tapped on the door and pushed it open. Mrs. Jones was in the process of packing up for the day.

“Fay, love!” She seemed delighted to see her. “What can I do for you on this lovely summer evening?”

“I’m looking for Sergeant Jones or Constable Chegwin. Are they in?”

“Oh no, dear. They’ve gone out on their evening patrol. Summer is the busiest time of year. The village is full of tourists. We get traffic violations, parking offences, drunk and disorderlies, even the odd punch-up. The days tend to be quiet, but nighttime in the high street can get quite busy. What is it you wanted to see them about?”

“I’m worried about Tabitha Trott’s goldfish. I hate to think of it starving to death in its bowl. I wanted to make sure it’s being fed, and the water is kept clean. I’m happy to look after it for a few days, even if I don’t end up keeping it.”

“Yes, I’m not sure a goldfish would mix with all those cats of yours. So, you need to get into her house?”

“That’s right. I was going to ask Sergeant Jones if he would take me there.”

Mrs. Jones made a doubtful face. “He’ll be busy until at least eleven o’clock when the pubs close. I’m sure you don’t want to wait that long. I’ll tell you what. I have the key right here. I could take you to the house myself. I’m sure Owen won’t mind.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Jones. Thanks.”

Fay tried to imagine a situation at her old job in the south Bronx where a dispatcher would have let a civilian into the house of a possible murder victim in order to rescue a fish. It just wouldn’t come into focus. But this was what made Bluebell Island special. They played by different rules here.

“This is the address,” said Mrs. Jones as they reached a modest two-story house. “This should be the key to the front door. I feel as though I’m breaking and entering, don’t you?” She laughed.

Fay smiled weakly. That was a far-too-accurate description of how she felt. Then she remembered the fish, and she stiffened her spine. There was a life at stake here.

“Now, where would the fish be?” Mrs. Jones held the front door open so Fay could join her in the cramped and gloomy entrance hall.

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