Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

“What do we really know about him? He’s new to the area. Did I hear someone say he’s from Yorkshire?”

“He is,” Penny said, “but you wouldn’t really know it from his accent. He joined the Stretch and Sketch Club, oh, I don’t know, about six months ago, I guess. I asked him once why he joined our group and not the photography club, since he’s a photographer, after all, and he told me he had joined both, but he likes our group for the rambles and outings we go on.”

Victoria nodded. “Keep talking. Maybe it will help if you just throw out everything you know about him. Something might come to mind.”

“Well, he seems a very quiet, decent kind of man. I can’t really picture him as a thief, or a murderer, come to that, although he was there when Harry Saunders was killed. That reminds me, I wonder if he’s shown his photos to Gareth yet.”

She gave a little start.

“That’s what I’m going to do! I was trying to think of a reason to pay him a visit so I could look around his place…”

“Snoop around, you mean,” said Victoria.

“Well, call it what you like, but have a good shufty. Bethan gave me a list of some of the stolen things and I’d really like to see if any of them are in his place.”

“If he’s been nicking things from the local shops, he’s hardly likely to leave them out in full view, is he?”

“You wouldn’t think so, but people do strange things. He’ll probably figure no one will know. And really, why should they? He lives alone and maybe he doesn’t have too many visitors.”

“Anyway,” said Victoria, “if you’re looking for an excuse to call on him, you created the perfect one for yourself tonight.”

Penny raised an eyebrow.

“Penny, you broke his plate! You have to replace it with something at least as good.” Victoria set down her wineglass, walked over to the window, and pulled back the curtain.

“It’s got very nasty out there,” she said, peering out the window into the dark night and leaning a little to her right so her cheek almost touched the glass. “I can’t even see the bridge.” She dropped the curtain and turned to Penny. “Is there any particular reason why you need to go home tonight? I think you should stop here in my spare room. I’ve got one of those five-pack of toothbrushes so you can have one. I can lend you a nightdress.”

“You’re right as usual,” agreed Penny. “I couldn’t bear to put on those awful wet shoes. It wasn’t until I moved to Wales that I developed the wet feet theory.”

“And what’s that, exactly?” asked Victoria, placing the now-empty cheese plate on a tray.

“It’s like this. You can walk around in wet shoes and socks if you have to, but once you take them off, you can’t put them on again whilst they’re still wet. They’re too cold and uncomfortable. You have to put on clean, dry shoes and socks. So I couldn’t possibly put those wet things on again and walk home in them. So either you have to lend me dry socks and boots or I have to stop here.” She spread her arms against the back of the sofa and gave Victoria an amused look.

“So I’m stopping right where I am.”

“Well, that’s settled, then,” said Victoria. “Means you can get to work on time tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, I was going to mention that to you. I’m going to be just a little bit late. I have to go and see a woman in the charity shop about a plate.”

Victoria groaned. “Oh, here we go.”

“Well, I won’t be that long,” Penny protested. “I’ll be quick about it.”

“And there’s something else you should do tomorrow,” said Victoria.

“And what’s that?” said Penny, getting up off the sofa as Victoria switched off the lamp.

“You need to call Gwennie and see if she can come to yours and do the Christmas dinner. You know how hopeless you are in the kitchen, and I’m not doing it. You’re the one who started inviting people. How many have you invited, anyway?”

“Let me see. There’s Bethan, and you, and Gareth, of course. And they’re going to bring Jimmy with them from Llandudno…” Their voices trailed off as they drifted down the hallway to their beds.

The rain, driven by heavy wind, continued to lash furiously against the building, turning its dark grey stone black and glistening. But its deep walls had stood strong and sheltering for almost two hundred years, and after this night’s storm had passed, and all the storms to come, the building would go on for another two hundred years.

In the morning, Penny drank a quick cup of coffee with Victoria and then left for the charity shop that had reported the stolen items.

Last night’s storm had blown itself out and the frosty morning air felt crisp and fresh on her face. Her breath condensed into tiny clouds ahead of her, and she was just starting to feel the benefit of starting the day with a brisk walk when she arrived at her destination.

“Good morning,” she said to the woman behind the charity shop counter. “I’m wondering if you can help me. Do you happen to know if someone called Rhys Hughes, I think it was, donated a plate with a daffodil pattern?”

The woman behind the counter called to her colleague in the back to join her.

“Now that’s a very odd question,” the first woman said. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that I came across a plate with that name on the bottom, and I wondered if it had come from your shop, that’s all.”

The two women exchanged glances.

“Well, it wasn’t Rhys, but Rose Hughes. She might have had her Welsh name, Rhosyn, on the plate that you saw, so it could have looked like Rhys. She died recently and her family brought in a few boxes of her things.”

The second woman joined the conversation. “Where exactly did you see the plate? Do you know who owns it?”

Penny smiled at them.

“Unfortunately, the plate got broken. Well, truth be told, I broke it. I’m trying to figure out where it came from so I can replace it. Do you have anything else available that would be similar, I wonder?”

“Actually, you’re in luck,” said the second woman. “That plate had a companion from the ones in the Rhosyn Hughes donation. Not quite the same, mind you, but close enough. It’s on this shelf over here. Let me get it for you.”

“About the owner,” said the first woman, somewhat anxiously, “if you find out who owned the plate, would you mind letting us know? It could be important.”

“Yes, I will,” said Penny, taking out her wallet to pay for the plate that the second woman was wrapping up. “Do you mind putting an extra bit of cushioning on that?” Penny asked her. “I can be a little clumsy at times and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to this one.” She gave each of the women a bright, conspiratorial smile. “Wasn’t it lucky for me that you had a similar plate? Thank you very much.”

The two women waited until she had left the shop, and then the first one asked, “Do you think we should call the police? She knows more about that plate than she’s letting on.”

“Not sure what we’d say to the police, exactly,” the second one replied. “Let’s think about it. I’ll slip out and get a couple of Bakewell slices. You put the kettle on and we’ll discuss what to do over a cup of coffee.”

“See, I told you I wouldn’t be long,” Penny said, popping her head round the door of Victoria’s office. She held up the well-wrapped plate. “Got a replacement.”

“Good.” Victoria looked up from her computer. “I need you to go through those invoices, and Eirlys wants a word in the manicure salon. Oh, and I’ve had an interesting résumé come in for the hairdresser’s position. A man, so we need to discuss that. I’m thinking we should get him in for an interview. Goes by one name only, like Madonna or Cher. Calls himself Alberto.”