Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

“Well, so much for us being amateur sleuths. I’m so confused by all this I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Mrs. Lloyd said.

“Well, we’d better try to get some sleep. We’ll talk some more in the morning. Things might seem clearer to us then.”

It had been some time since Florence had felt in command of a situation and she was enjoying it.

Victoria set her bag down beside Penny’s front door and slipped into her warm boots. They had just about exhausted the topic of Saunders’s death and then moved on to the business of the spa, which would be opening in two days. Every service was ready except the hair salon. They’d had several applications from local hairdressers, but none of them seemed quite the right fit. “It’s a man you should be looking for, even if he’s gay,” Eirlys had told them. “Ladies love the idea of a man touching them, running his fingers through their hair.”

After a quick exchange of amused glances, Victoria had given Eirlys a broad smile.

“You just might be on to something there, Eirlys,” she had said, adding she would see what she could do.

“Now listen, Penny,” said Victoria, giving her a friendly shake of her index finger, “you’re not going to get us involved in this Harry Saunders investigation, are you? We’re going to leave it to the police, aren’t we?”

“Yes, Victoria, we are. It’s got nothing to do with us, and we’ve got to stay focused on the spa and get it up and running smoothly.”

“Good. I’m glad we agree on that. We’ve also got that window display judging to sort out. We need to get on with that.”

“Are you all right to walk home?”

Victoria peered out the door. “Yes, there’s not much snow now and I’ll be fine. Good night!”

Penny closed and locked the door behind her and returned to her living room. She switched off the lights, made sure the door leading from the kitchen to the garden was locked, and by the light of the hall walked up the stairs to her freshly painted bedroom with its comfortable bed and soft, puffy duvet.

After a quick glance at the frozen garden sleeping in the darkness below her window, she closed the drapes against the night and began undressing.

I wonder if Mrs. Lloyd will sleep tonight, she thought as she tossed her shirt in the laundry basket. And then, as she sat on the edge of her bed and reached under her pillow for her nightdress, she allowed herself to contemplate the question that had been nagging at her all evening.

What was Saunders doing at the castle? What, or who, had brought him there?

“I know it might have seemed like a good idea last night, Florence, but now, in the cold light of morning, I’m just not sure.”

Mrs. Lloyd spread a generous dollop of ginger marmalade on her whole-grain toast and then sliced the bread in half.

Florence’s eyes narrowed slightly, giving her a no-nonsense look and Mrs. Lloyd immediately backtracked.

“What I meant to say is, I’m still thinking about it. I don’t know what Penny can do that the police can’t.”

“Well, from what you’ve told me about her, she’ll get to the bottom of it,” said Florence. “I think you should go and see her this morning. In fact, maybe we both should.” As the carriage clock on the mantel chimed the half hour, the two women turned to each other. They had both been dreading the arrival of the morning post with its unfortunate reminder of the late Arthur Lloyd’s letter opener.

Mrs. Lloyd shuddered.

“When all this is over, if they were to return that letter opener to me, I could never, ever use it again to open my letters.” She took a crunchy bite of toast and brushed a few rather large bits of crust off her bosom.

“And in all this, Florence, I can’t help thinking how I’ve let my poor Arthur down. I know he would have wanted me to be happy, and if I had found someone nice to marry, I don’t think Arthur would have minded too much. But when I think about the money and how Arthur scrimped and saved every year of our married life so I would be provided for. Do you know, he never had a holiday abroad? ‘What do I want with all that foreign muck?’ he used to say. I tried to talk him into going to Spain, telling him it would be good for him to experience the oranges firsthand, so to speak, but he wouldn’t have it.” She punctuated the last few sentences with a little series of sighs.

She wiped her lips and then folded her napkin and tossed it beside her plate.

“Oh! I can’t bear to think of it.”

“Well, I’ve made my opinion very clear, Evelyn, and I’ll not say it again. But I will say this. I’m going to see Penny this morning and I’d like it very much if you would come with me.”

Before Mrs. Lloyd could reply, the soft, shuffling sound of the morning post landing on the hall carpet caught their attention. As their eyes met, Florence tilted her head in the direction of the front door.

“I’ll go,” she said, standing up and leaning on the table with her hands in front of her. “And here’s a thought. I know you hate opening your mail with your fingers, so while we’re in town, why don’t we stop in at the charity shop and see if they’ve got a letter opener? There’s all kinds of nice things in there and you never know what you’ll find.” She took a step away from the table and folded her arms. “Makes you wonder at the things people give away or throw out, it really does.”

She took a few steps toward the hall and turned back to remark to Mrs. Lloyd, “I’m so glad to see you haven’t lost your appetite over all this, Evelyn.”

At the rectory, Reverend Thomas Evans and his wife were finishing their coffee. They liked to read their morning post over breakfast, and the rector often read aloud interesting bits from the various magazines he subscribed to.

This morning, however, he was reading the account of the death of Harry Saunders in the morning newspaper.

“Oh, my,” said Bronwyn. “How dreadful. But I wonder what will happen to the dancing lessons. I believe people were really enjoying his classes. Do you think someone else will take it on?”

“I doubt it,” replied the rector as he turned the pages to the national news section. “I don’t think we have anyone else around here who could give dancing lessons or he’d have been doing so by now.”

He paused as an item caught his attention. He read a few lines and then looked at his wife, who was scraping crumbs from one plate onto another.

“The bishop isn’t going to like this,” the rector said, clearing his throat.

“What’s that, dear?”

“The headline says, ‘Gay vicar, 65, to “marry” Nigerian male model half his age.’”

Today was the last day Eirlys would be doing manicures in the old salon, and Penny was filled with mixed emotions. She had loved the little shop she had started all those years ago and was grateful for the modest income it had provided her. But she recognized she had outgrown it and was eager and excited to move on to the new challenges that awaited her. She trusted Victoria’s business acumen and was confident the new enterprise would thrive, just as her old one had. She also trusted her own ability to handle whatever obstacles or setbacks the new venture might bring, and she knew there would be plenty of those.

This evening a couple of local lads would move all the stock out of the old shop, and among her other tasks for the morning, Penny wanted to dust shelves at the spa in preparation for the arrival of the best of the old stock. The rest would be donated to a local women’s shelter.

She had taken her time over her coffee this morning, sipping it while she got dressed and mulling over what she thought the day would bring, making a rather lengthy list of all the things she needed to do. One of the items on this list was to take the snowflake brooch Gareth had given her on the night of the spa party to the jeweler’s for an insurance appraisal. So after breakfast she unpinned the brooch from the red dress she had worn to the spa launch party and, before replacing it in its little red leather box, had taken a few moments to admire it. She loved the way the brooch felt in her palm, cool and glittering with its intricate six-point pattern. She thought about each snowflake being unique and wondered if that’s how Gareth saw her.