Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

“I’ll go,” volunteered Penny. “No problem, Brian, you’re all right.” With a slight nod at Victoria to keep an eye on things in the kitchen, Penny returned to the refreshment area. A few audience members, apparently working on their second sherry, lingered to talk to neighbours they hadn’t seen for a few days or to make arrangements to get together soon with a friend for cake and coffee. Mrs. Lloyd and Florence, Penny noticed, seemed to have left.

Several half-empty trays and plates remained on the serving table, so she piled the food on three plates and set three empty ones aside. As she handled the daffodil plate, she ran her hand underneath it and felt a sticky little tab. Turning the plate over and pretending to look at the manufacturer’s label, she noticed what looked like a small strip of white adhesive medical tape, and just as Victoria had suggested, there seemed to be some writing on it. She held it up to the light, closer to her eyes, and tried to read it. The letters were blurred, probably from having been washed a few times, but she managed to decipher something that looked like Rhys Hughes. Who’s she when she’s at home, Penny wondered. Or he. I suppose a man can own a plate.

She put the three plates together, carried them into the kitchen, and set them down beside Glynnis Bowen.

“Thank you, Penny,” said Glynnis, as she slid the plates into the sudsy wash water.

Penny gave Victoria a meaningful glance and a slight nod.

“Well done,” she said softly. “You were right. There was a name on the bottom, but I didn’t recognize it. Now we just have to wait and see who collects the plate.”

“And how long’s that going take?” Victoria whispered back. “And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Just stand here?”

“You’re right,” said Penny. “I’ll speed things up.”

She joined Glynnis at the sink and, after picking up a dish towel that was sitting beside the draining rack, selected a plate from the rack, dried it, and then carried it over to the table and set it down carefully. She repeated this with two more plates.

When the daffodil plate arrived in the rack, Penny picked it up and gave it a brief swipe with the drying cloth and then turned toward the table. With a quick glance at Victoria, she let the plate slip from the towel. It crashed to the floor, shattering into several pieces. At the instantly recognizable sound of kitchen breakage, all conversation stopped and everyone turned in surprise toward the source of the sound. As Victoria knelt down and began picking up the broken shards, Penny turned to the others in the kitchen.

“Oh, how clumsy of me!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. Of course I’ll replace it. Do we know who owns it?”

“It’s mine, but don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

But Brian Kenley’s words did not match his facial expression. He looked almost as shattered as his plate.

The little group stood for a moment in the kitchen and then, as the sound of rain began to rattle the windowpanes, resumed their work. Alwynne arrived in the kitchen carrying plates of leftover food and empty glasses on a tray. She set everything down on the counter near Glynnis.

“Everyone’s left,” she said. “And this is the last of the food. Not sure what to do with the rest of these mince pies,” she said. “Don’t know who brought them. Would someone like to wrap them up and take them home?”

“Why don’t you have them?” Glynnis said. “There’s a box of plastic wrap just over there.”

“Well, if no one else wants them, I’d be glad to have them,” Alwynne said, looking around the room. “Or my husband will be glad to have them, I should say. Have to wrap them up well to get them home in this rain, though.”

The group worked quickly to finish the cleanup to Huw Bowen’s satisfaction and then trooped out, with him bringing up the rear so he could lock up behind them.

A cold, sharp rain assaulted them as they emerged into the dark street. Brief good nights were said as everyone went their separate ways, the Bowens hurrying off toward the car park; Alwynne gratefully accepting a lift from Brian Kenley; and Penny and Victoria, seen as two bobbing umbrellas, setting off at a fast pace to walk to Victoria’s flat in the spa by the river.

The rain bounced off the pavement, finding its way into the small stream that gurgled along the side of the road toward the drains.

“Don’t say anything until we get to yours,” Penny said. “I have to concentrate on keeping my feet dry and I can only think about one thing at a time.”

Victoria did not reply and the two walked steadily but quickly past silent shops through the dark, deserted streets. The rain, large, heavy drops against the orange glow of the streetlamps, did not let up, and occasionally they had to lower their umbrellas in front of them to protect their faces from the steady, driving downpour. Every few minutes a car splashed by, causing them to leap into a doorway or huddle against the side of a building to avoid being sprayed. After about ten minutes of hard, steady slogging, hunched against the rain, they reached the River Walk and turned toward the spa.

Crouched in darkness on the bank of the rapidly rising River Conwy, the spa loomed out of the darkness to greet the two women as they pressed on for the last moments of their sodden walk. Victoria led the way up the path and then to a side door that bypassed the front reception area and opened near the kitchen and back storeroom. She fumbled about in her bag, put the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and switched on the light. Shaking the rain off their umbrellas before entering, the two stepped out of the night and into the welcoming warmth just as the rain began to transition into icy pellets of sleet.

“Let’s just leave all our wet things down here,” Victoria said. “We can hang them overnight in the reception area and keep all the wet in one place. We’d better take our shoes off, as well.”

“Right,” said Penny. “Here, give me your coat and I’ll hang it up. The umbrellas, too.” She padded down the corridor, hung up the coats, left the umbrellas open to dry on the doormat, ducked into the supply room, and then returned to Victoria, who was unlacing her shoes. “Let’s get upstairs and get dry,” she said to Victoria, handing her a fluffy white towel she had picked up in the supply room. “My feet are soaked. Hope you’ve got a spare pair of socks you can lend me.”

A few moments later, their hair towel dried and feet in warm, dry socks, they settled into the new flat Victoria had created on the top floor of the spa building. During the day it was filled with light and gave wonderful views over the River Conwy to the green hills beyond.

“Right, let’s see where we’re at,” said Penny. “Let’s go over what we know so far.”

“Which isn’t very much,” said Victoria, handing Penny a glass of white wine and setting down a small plate with cheese and oat crackers on it. “I must say, I was really surprised when you deliberately broke that plate. That was the last thing I expected you to do.”

“Yeah, I felt bad about it,” replied Penny. “But I’m pretty sure it was on the stolen list and I wanted to see who owned it.” She shrugged and held up her hands in an open gesture.

“Well, it’s done now,” said Victoria. “Do you want anything more to eat?”

Penny shook her head. “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

She looked around her.

“I haven’t been up here in your flat for a while. You’ve done a great job. Very smart and comfortable.”

“Glad you like it. But I can see now that I’m going to keep you away from my crockery. I was so shocked when you broke that plate. And poor Brian Kenley. Did you see the look on his face? I think he was really upset that his plate got broken.” She took a sip of wine and then cut a sliver of Brie and balanced it on a biscuit.