Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

He cleared his throat.

“But because of your standing in the town”-and here Florence raised an eyebrow as Mrs. Lloyd pinched her lips together-“we won’t take you into custody tonight. But neither of you is to leave town without letting us know.”

The police officers said good night and Florence closed the door behind them and returned to the sitting room.

“What was that all about, then?” Florence demanded when they were sitting down.

“Oh, Florence, I’ve gone and done the most terrible, stupid thing.” Her face seemed to have aged years since Florence had last seen her. Deep worry lines had formed where none were before, dark circles had developed under her eyes, and her cheeks appeared sunken.

Florence leaned forward, her practical, work-worn hands braced on her knees.

“You can tell me, Evelyn,” she said. “In fact, you might feel better if you did tell me. Maybe I can help.”

“I was going to ask those police officers if they had found a cheque or something like that in Harry’s pockets when they found the body.”

“A cheque?” Florence processed this information and then, as she seemed to realize the implication, gave a little gasp.

“Oh, you didn’t, Evelyn! You loaned that awful man money? Oh, I hope it wasn’t a lot. How much? Five hundred pounds? Was it as much as that?”

Mrs. Lloyd shook her head. “Much more than that. I’m not sure I can bring myself to tell you.”

“Tell me. How much?” Florence said in a low voice.

“Twenty thousand pounds.”

Florence gave a little gasp with her next intake of breath.

“I don’t believe it. How could you? What were you thinking?”

“It gets worse, Florence. I didn’t lend it to him. I have no memo of understanding or anything like that.” She looked down at her hands. “I pretty much gave it to him. He was going to invest it, you see. And as my savings weren’t earning very much interest at the bank, it seemed like a good idea.”

Florence looked as if she were about to cry.

“Oh, Evelyn, you foolish woman.”

Mrs. Lloyd nodded. “Oh, Lord, I know that. You don’t need to tell me.” She looked at her hands and then raised her eyes to her companion.

“Maybe I should tell the police about it. Huw Bowen, at the bank, he suggested I should go to the police.”

Florence thought about that for a moment.

“But if you go to the police, and tell them about the money, they might think that gave you a good reason to kill Saunders. Oh, what do they call that? You see it on the television shows all the time.”

“Motive,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “They might think I had a motive.”

“Motive, that’s it.”

“But speaking of motive, Florence, maybe you had a motive, too.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You were settled and comfortable here in my home and maybe you thought if Harry moved in, as he and I had been discussing, you’d have to leave. As you would have.”

Mrs. Lloyd sat back and folded her arms. “So maybe you had a motive, too.”

Florence gave a little chuckle. “Pfft. Why would I waste my time and energy killing that man? I had no reason to.”

A curtain of coolness had begun to descend between the two women.

“And not only that,” Mrs. Lloyd continued, “but you could have taken the letter opener yourself to try to make the police think I did it. Well, I know I didn’t kill him,” she said with edgy emphasis. “And if I didn’t, and you had a motive, then maybe it was you.”

“Ha! Funny you should say that. I was just thinking the very same thing about you.”

The two women glared at each other as the temperature dropped another few degrees.

A few minutes later Mrs. Lloyd glanced at her companion and remarked, “Well, there’s one thing I should thank you for, I guess, Florence.”

“What’s that, then, Evelyn?”

Expecting her response to refer to the baking, tidying up, or all the other ways Florence had made herself useful around the house, Florence almost cracked a smile when Mrs. Lloyd replied, “Well, a few minutes ago when you called me a foolish woman at least you didn’t call me a foolish, old woman.” She choked back a sob and then covered her face with her hands as the tears began. Florence held out the box of tissues to Mrs. Lloyd and in that small gesture the two friends seemed to understand that some kind of silent apology had been offered on one side and accepted on the other.

“Here. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a good cry. When you’re up to it, we’ll talk. I’ve had an idea. I’m going to put the kettle on now and I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll make us some nice herbal tea.”

Mrs. Lloyd gulped and nodded. Florence busied herself in the kitchen, and when she heard the sobbing start to subside, she returned to the living room with a tea tray. She poured Mrs. Lloyd a cup of steaming camomile tea and handed it to her.

“Now listen to me, Evelyn. You need to buck up. When the police find out about the money, as they’re bound to, you could find yourself in serious trouble. They might very well regard that as a motive, and they’ll figure out that’s what you wanted to talk to him about. Come to think of it, I’m surprised that policewoman didn’t ask you tonight what you wanted to talk to Harry about. They’ll ferret out every detail of your life, the police will. They have to. That’s what they do. They leave no stone unturned.”

She lifted her teacup to her lips while Mrs. Lloyd gazed anxiously at the fire.

“And you were right, you know, I do like living here and I did think that if Harry moved in I’d have to leave. So I could be in trouble, too, if the police see that as a motive for murder, except for one thing. Because, as it happens, I had no motive. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if Harry had moved in.”

Mrs. Lloyd took a tentative sip of her hot herbal tea.

“What are you trying to say, exactly, Florence? What are you getting at?”

“When I was away in Liverpool, I went for a job interview with the head housekeeper at the Adelphi Hotel. I told her what all I’d been doing here for you and she was impressed. She said young women today don’t know the first thing about keeping house, and she offered me a job right then and there to train the maids. With live-in accommodation. I’d have my very own room right in the hotel! And I’d decided to accept it. So I was coming back here to tell you that I’d seen the writing on the wall and I was leaving and you and Harry Saunders could have the house all to yourselves. Then I would have collected my belongings and been on my way and good luck to the pair of you.”

Mrs. Lloyd looked aghast.

“So, you see, Evelyn, I know for a fact that I didn’t kill Harry Saunders. And what’s more, I don’t think you did, either. You don’t have it in you.”

Mrs. Lloyd shook her head. “Of course I didn’t kill him.”

“But the police might see things differently. So if you didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it, I think we should ask that Penny Brannigan to help us find out who did.”

Mrs. Lloyd took another sip of her tea and nodded, thought for a moment longer, and then moved her head up and down with a little more certainty.

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt, I suppose, although I’m not convinced she’s quite as good a detective as she might think she is.”

“Evelyn! She’s your best hope!”

“Well, I suppose it can’t hurt.” Mrs. Lloyd brightened. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could somehow get my money back?”

“We don’t even know yet if she’ll help. And as for the money, miracles do happen, but don’t hold your breath. Now, come on, it’s getting late. Drink up so I can tidy things away.” Florence set her cup on the tray and walked over to switch off the gas fireplace. As the flames died away and long shadows crept into the corners of the room, Mrs. Lloyd sighed, handed her half-full cup to Florence, and got heavily to her feet.