Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

The bedsprings creaked under his shifting weight as he got up.

He kept his one suitcase in the small closet and made sure it was locked each time he went out. He’d had problems before with prying landladies, but so far, this one seemed to be minding her own business.

He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small key, unlocked the case, and pulled out a brown envelope. He sat back down on the bed and opened it. In it were two black-and-white photographs. He took out one and examined it.

It showed a young woman holding the hand of a small boy dressed in shorts and a Fair Isle vest and wearing sturdy boots. He smiled awkwardly at the camera, as if the photographer had told him to. The woman gazed down benignly at the boy, her face lit up from within as if by love.

Behind them was a closed wooden door, set into a sturdy stone frame with rosebushes growing up each side. On the door was a knocker, in the shape of a dolphin.

Saunders’s fingers brushed lightly over the image. Oh Mum, he thought for the millionth time. Why did you leave me? What happened to you? Where are you? He ran his fingers lightly over the photo and then, with a small sigh, replaced it in the envelope, tucked the envelope into a corner of the suitcase under a larger envelope, locked the case, and then pocketed the key. He wanted to find out what happened to her, but if he started asking too many questions, that could spell trouble.

He reached into an inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a small black book held closed with an elastic band. What was that Chester woman’s name again? He pulled off the elastic band and riffled the pages. Oh, yes, here she is. Widow, married daughter. Have to be careful when grown-up daughters are in the frame. They don’t approve of mum taking up with a man at her age. Worried about their inheritance, more like. Women without interfering children, like Mrs. Lloyd, were much better bets.

Still, Chester it would have to be. He thought about the woman and wondered which he despised more about her: her foolish gullibility or her little moustache.

He reached for his mobile.

“Supper? I’d love to, sweetie,” he was saying a few moments later. “I’ll catch the next train to Chester and be with you by late afternoon. I’m counting the minutes, too. Good-bye, my dear.”

He ran his hand over his face and decided there was just enough time for a quick shave. In his line of work, you had to look your best.

A few nights later, Penny and Victoria joined the queue of eager, aspiring dancers at the community centre who were lining up at a table where bank manager Huw Bowen, who ran the bridge club evenings, was taking in money, checking names off a typed list, and handing out name tags.

“This is proving much more popular than I thought it would,” said Penny, looking around the room as she peeled off her HELLO! MY NAME IS PENNY badge and slapped it on her sweater.

“Too bad Gareth couldn’t make it, though,” Victoria replied. “There seems to be more women than men. But I guess there usually are at something like this.” After a moment she added, “And don’t forget, it’s just the first night, so people will be here out of curiosity and to see if they like it. Some of them won’t be back next week.”

“Gareth said pretty much the same thing. But he also said that he’d try to come to the second class, if there is a second class,” said Penny, glancing over Victoria’s shoulder and raising her hand. “Oh, look, there’s Thomas and Bronwyn. Let’s go over and join them.”

“Well, what do make of all this, then, Penny?” asked Bronwyn Evans with a vague hint of a mischievous smile.

“Not sure, yet,” Penny replied, “but Victoria and I were just saying there seems to be a pretty good turnout for a cold November night when it’s much easier to stay home.”

“I think some people feel the same way about going to church of a Sunday morning.” The Reverend Thomas Evans smiled. “Of course, I can hardly get Bronwyn to leave the house these days because she doesn’t like leaving wee Robbie home alone.”

“Well, he misses me,” Brownwyn said, referring to the cairn terrier the couple had found cowering in the churchyard a few months earlier. In their kind and loving home, the abused, frightened dog had become a loving, trusting pet.

She seemed about to say something else when a trim man who appeared to be in his fifties took the centre of the floor and clapped his hands. He was smartly dressed in a casual way, in an open-necked white shirt under a navy blue blazer, with a blue-and-white polka-dot handkerchief peeking cheerfully from the breast pocket. Improbably, he was lightly tanned and looked as if he had just spent a long weekend yachting in the south of France.

“Is that him?” Victoria whispered. “He looks a little young for Mrs. Lloyd.” Penny flashed her a knowing look and the two turned their attention back to the speaker.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll just gather round for a moment,” Harry began, “I’d like to explain a few things and then we’ll get started. We’re going to begin our dancing this evening by learning the fundamentals of that most graceful of dances, the waltz. This is the most classic and traditional of all the ballroom dances.”

A tiny murmur of anticipation rippled through the small group as they exchanged nervous glances.

“Here’s a bit of history for you. The waltz originated as a seventeenth-century Bavarian country folk dance before finding its way into European ballrooms in the early 1800s, and since then it’s been one of the most popular of our formal dances and, if I may say so, when done properly, the most beautiful.”

He gave Mrs. Lloyd a warm look, as if seeking reassurance, and then continued.

“Now watch closely. The basic movement is a three-step sequence that consists of a step forward or backward, a step to the side, and then a step to close the feet together.” Saunders demonstrated as he talked, holding an imaginary partner in his arms. “So let’s everybody try doing that, just on your own. You’ll partner up in a moment. So, all together, start off by stepping back on the right leg, then to the side, then together, then forward, side, together.”

He continued his demonstation as he spoke. “Don’t lift your feet too high. You are not prancing ponies. Glide! Glide! And again and again.”

He watched with apparent satisfaction as the group shuffled self-consciously about.

“Now,” he said, “take your partners, gentlemen placing your hands on the small of your partner’s back.” He turned to Mrs. Lloyd, held out his hand, and pulled her toward him.

“Don’t look at each other. Heads to the side, hands just so, and now let’s try doing your little box step.”

Giggling, Penny and Victoria were about to take each other as partners when Philip Wightman, the town undertaker, stepped forward. “May I have this dance?” he inquired in an old-fashioned way, holding out his hand to Victoria. She gave Penny a quick glance and then placed her hand in his. “I’ll be back for you next time, Penny,” said Philip.

Penny smiled at him and walked off to watch from the sidelines as the pairs took their first tentative steps.

“Good, good, very good. That’s it.” Harry and Mrs. Lloyd paused for a moment so he could observe the other couples. “Are we ready to try it with music?” He nodded at a teenager seated in the corner in front of a couple of large speakers and a hefty CD player. “And once we’ve mastered the basic steps, we’ll add in some turns and work on our movements. I want to see you sway, rise, and fall away smoothly in time to the music. Remember, this is an elegant, sophisticated dance. Your steps should be smooth and confident.