Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

“Right, I’ve just got some phone calls to make, but I’ll check in with Eirlys and then get on with things.”

Victoria took a closer look at her friend. “You look excited. What’s up? You’re on to something. Tell me.”

“I’m going to ring Brian Kenley and see if I can pop in and see him this morning.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s got anything to do with the theft of my brooch, but you can understand how much I want it back.”

Victoria nodded. “I do understand, but don’t forget Gareth and Bethan will have made it their top priority, so why not just leave it to them? They’ll find it. Gareth told you they would and they will.”

“Well, let’s just say I’m helping them with their inquiries, in a good way. Anyway, I’ll get Brian’s number from the Stretch and Sketch membership list and see what happens.”

She ducked out into the hall and returned in a few minutes, holding a modest but charming spray of pale pink roses that she had picked up at the florist on the way over and set down outside Victoria’s office.

“These are for you for putting me up last night.”

“Just plain putting up with you, more like.” Victoria laughed. “Right, I’ll hold the fort. Off you go.”

Penny left for the second time and then reentered, and this time she sat down in the visitor’s chair that faced Victoria’s desk.

“It’s just a theory, and it might be half-baked, but I think Mrs. Lloyd’s letter opener was stolen, and whoever stole it used it to kill Saunders. I don’t think Florence or Mrs. Lloyd would have had the strength to do it-Saunders might have put up a struggle up there on the parapet-so it had to have been someone else.”

“But Brian Kenley? Surely not. I can’t picture it.” Victoria’s eyes widened. “Are you mad? If you think he killed Saunders, why would you be going over there by yourself to confront him, deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way?”

“Because I can’t picture it myself, either, but I think somehow he’s linked to both the thefts and the murder, through the plate.” She thought for a moment. “It may be that he just doesn’t know it. I’d really like to talk to him. And, of course, look at the photos he took that day at the castle.”

“The police have probably seen those photos.”

“Right, but they don’t know the people in the photographs. I do. I might spot something that they missed because it didn’t mean anything to them. Something that might be significant, but they just didn’t see it.” She thought back to what Dorothy Martin had said to her during her manicure. “Something or someone who should have been there who wasn’t, or just something out of place… not quite right.”

“Well, be careful, and good luck,” Victoria said. “You can tell me later how you got on.” She held up the local newspaper. “Oh, and we’ve got to get on with that window judging. There’s a piece in here about us doing it. Great publicity for the spa.”

Just after eleven Penny walked slowly up the path that led to the front door of Brian Kenley’s pebbledash bungalow a few streets from the town centre. The small garden, filled with dead black roses, had been damaged by the wind and rain of the previous night, and several hydrangea bushes were lying crushed and broken on the dark, damp earth.

Just as she was about to knock, the door opened and Brian Kenley invited her in.

Tall and thin, with an almost gaunt look about him, Kenley gave her a thin, superficial smile. He cleared his throat and gave a wheezy chuckle.

“Hello, Penny. Do come in.”

He tapped his chest. “Sorry, I have a touch of bronchitis and this damp weather isn’t helping.”

He led Penny down a short, narrow passageway that opened into a small sitting room and gestured toward a chair that faced the front door. As she sat down, holding her package on her lap, Penny noticed a small suitcase leaning against the wall.

“Going somewhere nice, Brian?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m leaving on Monday for Yorkshire. Spending the holidays there with family. My brother and his wife and their sons, actually. They’re the only family I have left.”

“Oh, that will be nice.” Penny smiled. “I hope the weather will be good for the journey. Driving, are you?”

Kenley nodded as Penny shifted forward in her seat.

“I wanted to see you, Brian,” she began, “to apologize for the breakage last night. Your daffodil plate. But fortunately I was able to get a pretty good replacement at the St. David’s Charity Shop.” She held the package out to him. “Is that where you got yours?”

Kenley reached out to accept the package. “This was very kind of you, Penny, and much appreciated, but you didn’t need to go to all that bother. The plate wasn’t worth much, I don’t think, and anyway, I hadn’t had it very long. Still, very good of you. Thank you.”

Penny groaned inwardly. He hadn’t answered her question and she couldn’t think how to ask it again.

“The ladies at the charity shop told me that the plates had once belonged to Rhosyn Hughes,” Penny said desperately. “Did you know her?”

“No, I never heard of her.”

A heavy, awkward silence descended. Penny smiled at Kenley, then took in her surroundings. The room was neat and well kept. The surfaces were free of clutter and appeared to have been recently dusted. A built-in set of shelves stood floor to ceiling near an arched opening that led to the kitchen. Realizing that Kenley wasn’t going to offer her a cup of coffee and sensing that he wanted her to leave, Penny tried one last time.

“We’re really glad you decided to join our Stretch and Sketch Club, Brian. Your photographs are wonderful. We’ll be organizing an exhibit in the spring and I do hope you’ll consider showing some of your photos.” At this, Kenley’s face lit up.

“I was wondering, Brian, if you’d consider letting me have copies of the photos you took that day at Conwy Castle? With all the commotion, I didn’t even get my quick sketches finished. I don’t have the perspective or the details nearly right. And we’d love to have a couple for our Stretch and Sketch newsletter.”

Kenley hesitated. “I didn’t know there was a Stretch and Sketch newsletter. I’ve never seen one. Still, I guess that would be all right. Perhaps I could e-mail them to you?”

Penny pulled a computer memory stick out of her pocket.

“Do you think you could put them on here? That would be easier. Sometimes the files get too big and the e-mails don’t arrive.”

“Oh, right. My computer’s in the spare bedroom. Won’t be a minute.” As Kenley disappeared down the hall toward the back of the bungalow, Penny jumped up and reached the bookshelves in two long strides. She ran her fingers over the titles on the spines but saw only popular fiction paperbacks and several expensive-looking nature and photography books. Displayed amongst the books were several thriving plants in copper pots and photos of smiling boys with their happy parents. Hearing Kenley’s footsteps in the hall, she pulled out a book on Bodnant Garden and was leafing through it when he reappeared, holding out her memory stick.

“Here you go. They’re all here.”

“Oh, thanks very much, Brian. These will be really helpful.” Now that the two of them were standing, the timing seemed natural for her to leave.

“Well, again, I’m sorry about the plate, but I hope you’ll enjoy the new one.”

“Yes, I’m sure I will,” Kenley said politely, looking somewhere over her shoulder. “It was very kind of you to bring it, although, really, you needn’t have bothered.” He gave another wheezy chuckle. “I was a bit shocked when it got broken, but honestly, it’s fine.”