Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

She turned her attention to Mrs. Lloyd.

“I think the best thing you can do is tell DCI Davies yourself. About the money.” She looked from one to the other. “And I don’t know much about these things, but you might also want to consult a solicitor.” She stood up.

“I’m sorry, I know this is very important to you, but you’ll have to forgive me. I do have to go. I’ve got errands to run and we’ve got simply masses to do before tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course, we understand,” said Florence, picking up her handbag. “Come on, then, Evelyn, we’ll find something nice for our elevenses, and then maybe we should think about going to the police about the, you know.” She lowered her voice. “The money.” The women walked down the hall, thanking Penny as they went.

She watched them walk slowly out the door, unsure what to make of them, and then spoke to the receptionist who had just emerged from the storage room.

“Where are those files and my bag, Rhian? I left them right here on your desk.”

“Oh, sorry, hope you don’t mind, but I moved them out of the way. I put them on your desk in your office.”

Penny hurried up the street, past the Red Dragon Hotel, through the cobbled town square and turned right down a narrow side street. She passed the butcher’s shop with its signs urging customers to order a fresh Norfolk turkey now to arrive in time for Christmas, and stopped for a moment at the bakery, its irresistible window display filled with mince pies dusted with icing sugar, mince slices, brandy butter tarts, Eccles cakes, scones, sugar cookies shaped like pigs with bits of glacé cherries for eyes, Christmas cakes with marzipan icing, gingerbread men, custard tarts, and shortbread treats shaped like bells and tiny reindeer. Thinking how wonderfully inviting and creative most of the shop windows looked this year, carefully and lovingly decorated to compete in the local merchants window dressing competition that she and Victoria had yet to judge, she moved on and pushed open the door to the jewelry store.

The bell attached to the door tinkled as she entered, and the jeweler, who was working behind a glassed-in enclosure, stood up, removed a loupe from his right eye, and came out to greet her, taking his place behind the display counter. A short man, he was dressed in an old-fashioned but well-pressed suit with a white shirt and striped tie. His hair was brushed back from his face, revealing deep lines running across his forehead. Something about his round face and deep-set dark eyes suggested an Eastern European heritage.

“Hello,” Penny began. “I wonder if you can do an appraisal for me. It’s a little embarrassing, really, but a friend of mine gave me a brooch as a present, and another friend suggested I should have it appraised, in case it needs to be insured. I’m afraid I don’t know if it’s valuable or not. I don’t even know where he bought it.” She gave a little laugh. “Or even if he bought it.”

The jeweler raised an impressive set of bushy eyebrows.

“Oh, heavens no, I certainly didn’t mean that it might be stolen, no, nothing like that, in fact my friend, the man who gave it to me is a police officer. I simply meant it might have belonged to his mother, or…”

“Oh, right,” said the jeweler. “Would you by any chance be Penny Brannigan?”

“Yes, I am,” said Penny, somewhat surprised that he should know her name. “Have we met before? I’m sorry, I know in a small town our paths have probably crossed, but…”

“No, it’s just that I remember now. Your piece’ll be the snowflake brooch with the rose-cut centre stone, surrounded by six heart-shaped settings, each holding two smaller stones, and six emerald cuts forming a-”

Penny laughed and held up her hand. “You’re familiar with it, I see.”

“Familiar with it? I made it!” said the jeweler, opening a drawer and removing an envelope. “He was going to give this to you, but it took me a few days to write it up, so you can have it now. He called to say he was going to suggest you come in and get it. He just didn’t want to give the appraisal to you at the same time as he gave you your gift.” He handed over the envelope and leaned on the counter.

“So tell me, how do you like it?”

“I love it,” Penny said. “It’s beautiful, and I will treasure it all the more knowing that you made it.” The jeweler came around from behind the counter and gave Penny a shy smile. “The police officer knew exactly what he wanted for you,” he said, “so it wasn’t too difficult. Between us we worked out something he thought you might like.

“I told your friend that if he ever needed any other fine jewelry for you”-he gave a little open-handed gesture-“a ring, for example, to come and see me. I would create something very beautiful.”

Penny felt the beginning of an uncomfortable blush begin to creep up her neck.

“I don’t know about that!”

The jeweler smiled as he held the door open for her, and as she stepped out into the street, she tucked the envelope he had given her into an outside pocket of her bag, snapped it shut, and after a longing glance in the bakery window, set off on the short walk back to the spa.

The morning was mild, but dark clouds were gathering once again to settle on the tops of the hills and she could sense the coming of rain.

A few minutes later, in the privacy of her office, she pulled out the envelope, opened it, and unfolded the document it contained. A little smile played at the corner of her lips at the sight of the colour digital photo of her brooch, displayed to sparkling advantage against a black velvet cloth, stapled to the piece of paper. She glanced over a detailed description of the brooch, the cut and positioning of the stones, the total carat weight, the white gold setting until she arrived at the insured value at the bottom. Her mouth opened slightly and her head jutted forward. That much, she thought. He spent that much on a brooch for me? She picked up her bag, unzipped it, and reached inside to pull out the little red box containing her brooch. It was not on top where she was sure she had placed it just before leaving home, so thinking it might have settled or shifted within the bag as it had been carried about all morning, she scrabbled around inside the bag. An icy sense of panic began to creep into her chest when she did not feel it. She touched the familiar shape of her wallet, her diary, and a small makeup bag. With her heart beginning to pound, she picked up the bag, dumped its contents on her desk, and spread them out. The box was not there. She felt in the four side pockets, hoping against hope but knowing that the smooth leather box she longed to touch would not be there. As waves of disbelief tinged with fear began to wash over her, she rushed down the hall to the reception area.

“Rhian,” she croaked, barely able to speak because her mouth was so dry, “did you see a small red leather jewelry box this morning? It was in my bag and now it’s not there. Is it on your desk?”

“No, I didn’t see any jewelry box,” Rhian said, looking up from her computer and then shifting her coffee mug and a few pieces of paper around on her desk. “I’ll have a look, though.”

“Where’s Victoria?”

“She’s, ah, let me see, did she tell me where she was going? She was here about half an hour ago and then, I think she…” Rhian held her hand to her face.

“Rhian! Where is she? Tell me!”

Not waiting for an answer, Penny ran back to her office and picked up her mobile.

It seemed an age until Victoria answered.

“Where are you? I need to see you.”

“Why? What’s the matter? You sound terrible.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the salon with Eirlys packing up the rest of the nail varnishes. Where did you think I would be?”