Elizabeth Duncan: A Killer's Christmas in Wales

“I think she enjoyed her walk,” said Penny, taking off her coat. “That’s the great thing about keeping a dog. It gets you out and about.”

Gareth raised an eyebrow.

“You do know where this is going, don’t you?” he asked. “With the Hall being sold and Emyr traveling, there’s a good chance Trixxi’s going to need a new home. And it won’t be with Gwennie at her sister’s place. You heard what she said.”

“Neither fur nor feather.”

“So, how do you feel about having her?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that. What do you reckon?”

“I really liked the sound of what you said.”

“What did I say?

“You told Gwennie, ‘She’ll be all right with us.’ I liked the ‘us’ part.”

Penny smiled up at him. “What would you like to drink? Some wine? Beer?”

Davies hesitated.

“I know,” said Penny. “How about cocoa?”

“I like the sound of that, too.”

With warm mugs of cocoa on the table in front of them, Penny and Gareth sat together on the sofa.

“I love the painting of Conwy Police Station,” Gareth said. “I’ve been wanting something you painted and this is perfect.” After admiring the painting a moment more, he handed her a small package awkwardly wrapped in colourful red paper. “Here,” he said, “I hope you like it.”

Penny removed the red paper, revealing white tissue paper. She unfolded it slowly and pulled out a delicately carved wooden spoon. The handle featured a Welsh dragon and, above it, a hollowed-out heart. She read on the attached card that the heart meant steadfast love.

Davies pulled her closer. “You know what it is, don’t you?” he said.

Penny nodded. “I do. It’s a Welsh love spoon.”

“I hope you know how much I…” He hesitated.

“Yes,” said Penny. “I do know.”

And with the curtains drawn against the long, silent night, shutting out the moonlight that shone so bright on the ancient snow-covered hills, and in the warm glow of the dying embers, they wrapped themselves around each other.

Penny knew that she had finally left her past behind and was ready to move forward into a future filled with love and promise. The sound of Trixxi’s gentle breathing filled her heart with joy, and she reached out to stroke a black velvet ear.

Gareth stirred beside her and looked at his watch.

“Must you go?” she asked. “Do you have to? Why don’t you stay?”

He groaned as his phone rang.

“Oh, why can’t they give it a rest, tonight of all nights,” he muttered, seeing who was ringing. “It’s Bethan,” he said. “Do you mind?”

“No,” said Penny. “I want to know what’s happened.”

Davies pressed the green button.

“This had better be important, Sergeant.”

He listened for a few minutes, never taking his eyes off Penny. A slow smile played around the corners of his lips, and then he replied. “We’ll deal with it in the morning. Thanks for letting me know.”

Penny sat up straighter. “What? Tell me. What’s happened? It looks like good news. What is it?”

“A call from the daughter of a B and B operator in Llandudno. Visiting mum for Christmas. Seems the mother had a gentleman renting a room on a weekly basis who suddenly disappeared. She packed up his things in a hurry so the daughter could use the room over Christmas but wasn’t sure what to do with the stuff. And then the daughter and her family arrive. The daughter had seen our television appeal, put two and two together, and called us. One of our officers collected the case, and lo and behold the key found in Harry Saunders’s pocket opened it.

“There was a stash of passports. U.K., United States, and even a Canadian one. All in different names.”

“Let me guess. Harry Saunders.”

“That was one of the names, yes.”

Davies leaned forward and handed Penny her mug of cocoa.

“But that wasn’t all.” He grinned at Penny, enjoying his moment. She raised her eyebrows and turned her head slightly as Davies nodded.

“There was an uncashed cheque drawn on a Chester bank in the amount of twenty thousand pounds.”

Penny laughed and raised her mug.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Lloyd!”

Like all good things, novel writing saves the best for last-when the author gets to reflect on the work just completed and to acknowledge those who made it possible. So I begin with a few words about the late Ruth Cavin, for it was she who called me on a blustery March day in 2008 to tell me I had won the Malice Domestic/St. Martin’s Press award and that St. Martin’s would be publishing my first novel. Ruth died earlier this year and the mystery community mourns her loss. She was ninety-two when she died, still working as an editor. Ruth taught us many things, including that one is never too old to enable the dreams of others.

As I pay tribute to Ruth, I thank my new editor, Toni Plummer, who enhanced many aspects of this novel. She caught errors, suggested clever bits of dialogue, and suggested many other improvements, as did my agent, Dominick Abel, and friends Carol Putt and Madeleine Matte.

If you love the wonderful Dorothy Martin mystery series by Jeanne M. Dams as much as I do, watch for a special guest appearance in this novel. And be sure to see if you spot a familiar character in Jeanne’s next Dorothy Martin, The Evil that Men Do. Warm thanks to Jeanne for her contribution.

On the home front, I am always grateful to my son, Lucas, for his encouragement, support, and the occasional, unexpected cup of coffee, and to Dolly, who brings boundless joy into my life.

In Wales, it was great fun getting to know Peter and Sylvia Jones. Sylvia is an ex-pat American who has settled into her life in Wales rather like Penny. It was in their Conwy kitchen that I discovered the Rayburn cooker and airing rack.

With apologies to the Arriva train system that connects North Wales, I look a liberty with one of the routes and had the Llandudno-bound train make a regular stop at Conwy. However, everything else described in the town is as it should be.

And finally, to my friend Eirlys Owen in Llanrwst, I am grateful for her Welsh translation skills, helpful suggestions (the window-dressing competition and Welsh love spoon were her ideas), her hospitality, and above all, her friendship.

New York City,

May 2011

Elizabeth J. Duncan is the first Canadian writer to win the Malice Domestic Best First Traditional Mystery Novel Competition. She has been a finalist for the Agatha and Arthur Ellis Awards. She enjoys spending time each year in North Wales and lives in Toronto with her dog, Dolly, where she teaches in the public relations program at Humber College.