No Cat Is An Island: A Cozy Cat and Witch Mystery (Cozy Conundrums Book 2) Read online

  She laughed awkwardly.

  “Well, I’ll show you to your rooms,” she continued. “Please follow me. And don’t bother about the luggage, I’ll have someone carry it up later.”

  We thanked her and followed her up a flight of stairs onto a narrow but long landing. We must have passed at least ten rooms on either side until Anita Brown unlocked a door to our left.

  “There we are. This is for your companion, I believe,” she said, smiling at Val. “It should be very comfortable. It’s en suite, too.”

  She briefly showed Val the room while Barry and I waited in the corridor.

  “I’m starving,” Barry whispered irritably after Val had closed the door behind her.

  I had to admit that I was getting rather peckish myself.

  “We’ll have to wait,” I said. “It’s only just getting dark outside. I think they serve meals at set times.”

  “Typical,” he said, whipping his tail up and down in agitation. “But then, what can you expect from a place like this? Scottish hospitality.”

  Before I could tell Barry to be a little more grateful for what he would be getting, Val and Anita Brown had re-emerged from the room.

  “Over here, we have the larger of the two rooms,” Mrs Brown said, bustling over to the door at the end of the corridor facing the landing. “It’s the largest we have, in fact. I do hope you feel at home.”

  We followed her into a cosy bedroom with an old-fashioned but clean carpet. The window – which was round – revealed a sharp drop of several dozen feet to the rocks and the sea below. Val, who had craned her neck to get a better look, shivered slightly at the sight and quickly withdrew.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Anita Brown said, misreading Val’s expression. “This room is the last remaining part of the old building. It has the best view of the sea, as you can see, because it’s closest to the cliff on this side.”

  “What happened to the rest of the old building?” I asked.

  “Oh, there was an accident, quite a few years ago. It burnt down. It used to extend along the cliff, to the left, as well, but that’s all gone now, I’m afraid.”

  Anita Brown then showed us the living room, which was much more spacious than the bedroom, though without the magnificent view of the sea, which was obscured by the workshop next to it. Peeking through the window at the very end of the living room, I noticed that one could just about see the lighthouse if one stood at a far left angle.

  It had struck me as rather odd that one had to enter through the bedroom to get to the living room, rather than the other way around, though I assumed that they must have extended the room after the burning. Barry took an immediate liking to the sofa, hopping onto it when Anita Brown wasn’t looking.

  “Later, Barry!” I hissed at him.

  He gave me a resentful look, but ultimately complied.

  “Well, that’s that,” Anita Brown said cheerfully, turning back to us again. “The bathroom is right over there. Fresh towels are in the wardrobe. Please let me know if there’s anything else you need. I’m afraid I really have to be off. To make dinner, you see.”

  “Oh, you have to make the dinner as well?” asked Val before she could help herself.

  “Yes,” Anita Brown said apologetically. “The cook has… fallen ill unfortunately. My father is too old now, otherwise I would have asked him.”

  “That’s really bad timing with the conference taking place here,” I said.

  “Yes,” Anita Brown said uncomfortably. “Very sudden. Luckily Mrs. Haughton is still here to do the rooms. She’s our maid.”

  She sighed briefly.

  “Anyway, would 7 pm suit you for dinner?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Val said immediately.

  “I wonder if it were possible to make something for our cat, as well,” I said, indicating Barry. “The vet, erm, has prescribed a special diet for him. Cooked tuna if possible.”

  “Of course, I’ll see what we have in the freezer,” she said politely after a brief glance at Barry and back at me.

  “Thank you very much,” I said.

  “No trouble at all,” she said. “If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask me or Mrs. Haughton.”

  Then, she moved over through the bedroom and back onto the landing, closing the door behind her. After she was certain that we wouldn’t be overheard, Val turned to me.

  “Amy, you’ve done it again,” she said in mock-exasperation.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Now everybody’s going to think you’re the crazy cat lady,” she said.

  “Maybe I am,” I said, grinning at both Barry and Val. “Anyway, it came in handy last time, remember? Usually gives Barry a lot more freedom to move about.”

  “Don’t bother this time,” said Barry, yawning. “I don’t think I’ll be moving much in this dump. Better to listen to some Wagner here on the sofa. I just want to get this holiday over with.”

  Val was just about to open her mouth to argue with him when the door to the bedroom opened again. At first, I thought Anita Brown might have forgotten something, but instead an elderly lady – in her late sixties most likely – dressed in a maid’s uniform entered the room.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said wheezily. “Didn’t… didn’t see you there.”

  She walked unsteadily into the room. At first, I thought she may have been drunk, for she had trouble keeping her balance. But I had worked for too many years as a waitress not to recognise the giveaway symptoms. No, something else had got a grip on her. Her face was white as a sheet, and her hands were shaking uncontrollably now.

  “Mrs… Mrs. Haughton?” I asked uncertainly.

  She nodded her head vaguely in my direction. I quickly signalled to Val to give me a hand and we approached her on either side, grabbing her by the arms. We were just in time, too, for a moment later she sagged forward as her feet gave way beneath her completely. With some effort, we manoeuvred her over to the sofa. Barry, who had curled up there and hadn’t been paying any attention, grumpily slouched over to the edge of the sofa, eyeing Mrs. Haughton with suspicion.

  “What’s wrong?” Val whispered, sounding slightly out of breath.

  “I don’t know. I think she might have passed out or something.”

  “I’ll put up her feet,” said Val, taking several cushions and sticking them under the elderly maid’s shoes.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Mrs. Haughton, are you alright? Would you like a glass of water perhaps?” I said.

  But Mrs. Haughton simply stared ahead of her, as if transfixed by some invisible spectacle at the other end of the room.

  “Should we get a doctor, d’you think?” Val asked nervously. “Or tell Anita Brown?”

  But Barry, whose expression had changed completely, lifted a paw to stop her.

  “Wait,” said Barry, moving closer to Mrs. Haughton and examining her face. “I think I recognise some of the symptoms….”

  Before he could say anything more, Mrs. Haughton suddenly began to gasp for breath. Her eyes opened again, and she extended her hand, clutching my arm with an ice-cold hand. When she spoke next, it was in a wheezy tone that was much deeper than her usual voice.

  “There is danger in this place,” she said dramatically, staring up at me, unflinching.

  “Danger?” said Val beside me, utterly bewildered.

  “There’s always danger when you’re around, Val,” I said, smirking.

  “I have… I have seen it,” Mrs. Haughton continued, clearly impervious to our voices. “Terrible danger.”

  “Mrs. Haughton,” Val said, trying to be as loud and clear as possible. “What terrible danger?”

  Mrs. Haughton’s eyes swerved over to Val, her mouth open, as if she were having trouble processing what Val had said to her. Then, she looked at me again and grasped my arm even tighter, drawing me towards her.

  “Death,” she said. “On the island.”

  Chapter 3

  I raised an eyebrow,
looking at Val and Barry. Whatever had possessed this woman to act like this? Her performance hadn’t convinced me for a second. But Val seemed to be taking her very seriously, while Barry’s expression was unreadable.

  “Death?” Val asked, leaning in further. “What death?”

  “Many years…” Mrs. Haughton whispered, closing her eyes again. “The past is the future in reverse.”

  She lay there, quite still for a while. None of us knew what to do. I had been sure that she was playacting, yet the eerie silence let doubt creep into my mind.

  “Is she… is she dead?” Val asked.

  I checked her breathing and her pulse. From what I could tell, they were reasonably stable.

  “No,” I said.

  “What on earth…” Val began.

  “Shh… not now,” whispered Barry, putting a paw to his mouth.

  Mrs. Haughton was opening her eyes again. She coughed, spraying us in the process. I yanked my arm up for cover.

  “Oh, you must excuse me,” she said suddenly, straightening up and acting as thought nothing had happened. “Must have fallen asleep while doing the room. No need to worry, no need to worry.”

  She got up from the sofa, wheezing furiously.

  “Mrs. Haughton…” Val began in concern, but she interrupted her before she could say anything else.

  “No, please. It’s very kind of you. But that was not professional of me,” she said briskly. “My apologies.”

  And with that, she turned around on her heel and bustled out of the room again.

  Val and I looked at each other, not knowing what to say. The whole scene was preposterous, obscene even. What had she meant when she talked of death on the island? And how could she have recovered so quickly? Barry, however, looked the least taken aback of us all.

  “That didn’t just happen, right?” Val asked weakly, holding her forehead.

  “She must have been acting,” I said flatly.

  “I… I don’t know,” said Val.

  “She must have been,” I said again. “But you’re the psychic around here, Val. You tell us.”

  “I felt… I don’t know,” said Val, massaging her temples now. “It sort of took me by surprise when it happened. There were too many voices, I felt like the first time I got my psychic powers. So… overwhelmed.”

  “What can this mean?” I asked Barry.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, frowning.

  “You don’t really believe that little bit of playacting, do you?” I said, looking at both of them. “Nobody recovers from an attack that fast, surely. She just walked out of here as if nothing had happened!”

  “Not a normal attack perhaps,” said Barry. “Valerie, get me my spectacles and my edition of Hebs & Magic, will you? I think the answer might be within its pages.”

  “But they’re downstairs,” Val protested. “They haven’t brought up the luggage yet.”

  “It’s only a book,” Barry said with irritation.

  “It’s easy for you to say,” she said. “We had to lug them up here all the way from the pier.”

  But for once, she gave in to Barry’s wishes without much of a fight. Her curiosity had prevailed.

  “Barry,” I said, after Val had left the room. “What’s going on? You don’t think that was real, do you?”

  “It might have been,” he said.

  “You of all people, I thought you mistrusted hebs.”

  “Of course I do, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be less than completely ignorant once in a while. Anyway, it’s all conjecture at the moment. A warlock needs data. A warlock worth his wand, that is. I’ll need to catch up on my reading to be entirely sure. Naturally.”

  “Naturally,” I echoed.

  Within a few minutes, Val had returned with the requested items, and Barry – reading glasses balanced delicately on his little feline nose – began to read. Puzzled but still sceptical, I was left to discuss the matter with Val, though it was all guess work. When the dinner bell finally sounded from below, Barry still wouldn’t budge from his tome.

  “Barry, you’re missing tuna,” Val said incredulously.

  “Not now,” he muttered. “I’m busy.”

  “Fine, fine,” she said, sounding slightly offended. “See you later.”

  As we stepped onto the corridor, I still couldn’t believe Barry was giving this a moment’s thought.

  “I mean, you would have felt something, right? If it had been real?”

  “I – I don’t know, Amy. It’s all muddled.”

  “But would you have felt anything if she had been acting, too?” I asked as I started walking down the stairs.

  “I suppose so,” she said. “I can usually tell with emotionally meaningful lies. But, you know, the really good liars are hard to see through. You know that. We found that out last time the hard way.”

  With a sudden pang, memories of Rick Lavalle leaning in to me re-emerged from my subconscious. I had rather hoped to keep them buried forever, but to little success, of course. Val, also, hadn’t been able to detect his trickery – despite her psychic powers. But Mrs. Haughton didn’t strike me as a master criminal somehow.

  “Yeah, I remember,” I said as we entered the lounge, not quite able to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

  Before we could continue our conversation, however, Anita Brown angrily rushed into the lounge from one of the adjacent doors, slamming the door behind her. A moment later, she was followed by an old man in an old-fashioned wheelchair. He was swearing at her.

  “You come right back here,” he bellowed.

  “It’s none of your business, father,” she said. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore. I can see whom I like.”

  “Now you listen to me, you…” he began, but his daughter – having spotted us at the other end of the room – hastily held up her hand to silence him.

  “Please, father, our guests have arrived for dinner,” she said.

  Slightly abashed, he wheeled further into the room to get a better look at us. His angular face was a deep purple, his features contorted in repressed rage. Despite his age, he had massive arms, most likely a testament to a life of physical labour. He had long wisps of all-white hair, save for a bald patch at the top of his head.

  “This,” said Anita Brown, approaching us, “is my father. He’s still adapting to me being in charge here.”

  Mr. Brown looked away, though he didn’t dare reproach her in front of the guests.

  “Hello,” he grunted. “Welcome to the Seaview Hotel.”

  He clearly didn’t mean a word of it.

  “Erm, thank you,” I said coldly.

  Mr. Brown puffed and grunted in his wheelchair as he fumbled in his jacket for something. He drew out a round metal tin, which he opened, revealing grainy, brown tobacco. He took a pinch and snorted it quickly through either nostril.

  Then, shaking his head, he wheeled himself in the direction of the door that led outside with powerful strides. I was surprised at how easily he could open the door, too, as it was particularly heavy and also opened inwards – with a spring mechanism that ensured it was closed at all times. As soon as he had disappeared outside, Anita Brown turned towards us.

  “He’s mellowed with age, you know,” she said, resentment flashing in her eyes. “Anyway. Dinner is ready. If you would follow me, please.”

  She led the way to the dining area, which was more spacious than the lounge. Several people were there already. I presumed that most of them were connected to the committee somehow.

  “Excuse me,” said an elderly lady with her hair tied in a tight bun and pointy glasses perched on the edge of her nose. “Might one of you two be Miss Sheridan, by any chance?”

  “That would be me,” I said. “How do you do?”

  “How do you do. My name is Highgarden. Olivia Highgarden. Most of the committee members have already arrived. Please, do come over. I’ll introduce you to them.”

  She bustled self-importantly over to the table at the far
end where several other people were seated.

  “Sorry, Val,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “I’ll check out the drinks they have.”

  “Don’t be silly, you can introduce yourself, too. Come on.”

  We followed Mrs. Highgarden across the room.

  “Everyone,” she addressed the table in a stentorian voice. “This is Miss Sheridan, who has graciously stepped in for the deceased.”

  There was general muttering of approval at the table.

  “Now then, I believe some introductions are in order. This,” she said, indicating a balding man of about fifty, “is Dr. Harold Linton. He’s a trained physician. Used to work for Whitechapel, too.”

  “Yes,” he said nervously, stretching out his hand to shake mine. It was cold and slightly sweaty. “Quite a while ago now. Nice to meet you, Miss Sheridan. If you’ll forgive me, I think I’ll just go for a cigarette.”

  He got up. Even his double-breasted suit couldn’t hide the fact that he was very thin indeed. He smiled self-consciously across the room and then made for the exit. When he had left the dining room, Mrs. Highgarden’s nostrils flared.

  “A filthy habit,” she said, as if she wanted to impress the point upon all of us. “Now then. Who is next? Ah yes, Vanessa. Miss Sheridan, this is Vanessa McQuinn.”

  “Hi,” I said, smiling.

  “Hello,” she said in a bored voice.

  Vanessa McQuinn couldn’t have been much older than 18, though I could see that she had made every attempt at appearing older with the support of her make-up and clothes. Her hair was dyed blonde, and her nails, painted white, were exceptionally long. She was the kind of girl I had tended to avoid when I had been at school.

  “Next up,” Mrs. Highgarden continued, “is Mr. Randolph Bolton. He is a partner in a London-based firm that makes considerable contributions to the committee.”

  Mrs. Highgarden beamed at the corpulent man as he got up from his seat. Despite his smooth, salesman’s manner, I noticed that his small, watery eyes tended to dart from side to side, giving him a somewhat shifty look.