A Killer's Christmas in Wales

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  “Whatever is it?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking how lovely you look tonight,” he said. “Is that a new dress? The colour is very becoming on you.”

  Mrs. Lloyd laughed and shook her head.

  “New? No, I’ve had this old thing for ages!”

  * * *

  Florence Semble had spent many Saturday nights alone in a cramped, cold Liverpool bedsit, so she was not the least bit unhappy at having been left home alone in Mrs. Lloyd’s spacious, warm home. After eating a poached egg on toast for her supper, she tidied up the kitchen she was starting to think of as hers. Then, after browsing the television listings in the Radio Times, she sank into a comfortable chair, put her feet up, and with a cup of tea on the small table beside her, settled in to watch a variety show. She enjoyed the dancing well enough, although the costumes were a little on the skimpy side. But after listening to the wailings of two young singers she’d never heard of and thought remarkably talentless, she began to get restless, and when a comedian came on, telling off-colour jokes, not in a saucy, humorous way, but in a manner Florence thought vulgar and obvious, she gave up.

  She thought about watching a DVD, My Fair Lady, perhaps, but the television system was complicated and she wasn’t sure how to switch over to the DVD setting. She felt a sharp pang of longing for a simpler time when a television set was either on or off and there were four channels to choose from. And if there was nothing on that you wanted to watch, you simply went to bed with a good book. With a small, disappointed sigh, she switched off the television. But perhaps it was just as well there was nothing on the television she wanted to watch, she told herself.

  Mrs. Lloyd had told her not to wait up and Florence knew what that meant: if Mrs. Lloyd returned with that man, they would want the downstairs to themselves. Florence shuddered at the very thought of it.

  She switched off all the lamps in the sitting room except one, which cast a small pool of light over one end of the sofa. Normally, she wouldn’t dream of leaving a light on in an empty room, but she didn’t want Mrs. Lloyd tripping over anything in the dark.

  After a backward glance at the living room, she rinsed out her cup in the kitchen, and then climbed the stairs and headed down the hall to her bedroom. Passing Mrs. Lloyd’s room, she saw a light seeping under the partially opened door. Such an unthinkable waste that was, a light burning in an unoccupied room.

  She pushed the bedroom door open so she could go in and turn the light off. As she reached the bedside table to switch off the lamp, a pile of tissue paper, bags, and packaging on the bed caught her eye, and unable to resist, she began to sift through it. She noted the posh carrier bag from the most exclusive ladies’ dress shop in Llandudno and beside it a tag that Mrs. Lloyd had apparently cut off her new dress.

  She picked up the tag and looked at the price. Almost one hundred and fifty pounds! For Florence, who had not bought anything in decades that she didn’t absolutely need, and even that had to be on sale or from a charity shop, one hundred and fifty pounds seemed like a small fortune. She dropped the price tag, pinched her lips together, and picked up a plastic bag with a cardboard insert. As she started reading the package insert, a knowing smile spread slowly across her face.

  A shapelier, slimmer, lovelier you!

  … The revolutionary new BodySlimline is a firm, natural-looking way to help control, shape, and smooth. Three-ply tummy panel helps eliminate bulging… guaranteed to improve your posture while it makes you look younger and slimmer. Lose a dress size instantly! Guaranteed!

  So that’s why Evelyn Lloyd had walked so stiffly into the sitting room, with her back ramrod straight and shoulders back, Florence thought. She’d been compressed into this torturous device, whatever it was. Florence turned the package over and looked at the photograph of the full-length body shaper. Anyone over a certain age who had ever had any experience with a girdle would have recognized the power of this foundation garment, which reached from just above the knee practically to the neck, compressing and squeezing everything in between. It was a 1950’s girdle on steroids.

  Florence was tempted to gather up all the packaging, tissue paper, and tags and cram it all in the large, heavy paper shopping bag from the dress shop, and maybe even turn down Mrs. Lloyd’s bed, but decided she should leave everything as it was. She switched off the light that had beckoned her into the room and, closing the door behind her, walked along the patterned carpet runner to her own bedroom.

  * * *

  “That was absolutely delicious,” said Mrs. Lloyd, licking the sweet stickiness of cherry brandy off her lips. She set down the small glass and smiled at her dinner companion.

  “Very nice indeed, but the best part, of course, was the company,” Saunders replied as the waiter approached their table with a coffeepot. Catching Mrs. Lloyd’s eye, he raised the pot and she shook her head.

  “That’ll be all, I guess,” Saunders told the man. “Just the bill, please.”

  A few minutes later their server returned, bearing the bill on a small plate, which he set down at Saunders’s place. Saunders reached for the bill with his left hand and patted the inside breast pocket of his jacket with the other. A small look of alarm flashed across his face as he reached inside the jacket. A moment later he replaced the bill on the plate and, with an apologetic look at Mrs. Lloyd, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

  “That’s funny,” he said. “I must have left my wallet in my coat pocket. But I always keep it right here,” he said, tapping his breast pocket, “so I know where it is.” He stood up. “Just give me a moment, Evelyn, I’ll be right back.”

  Mrs. Lloyd’s shining eyes followed him as he headed off to the coatrack and then gazed contentedly around the room, taking in the few remaining diners. She was disappointed that no one from her immediate circle of friends had seen her dining with Harry. It would have been nice, she thought, if Reverend Thomas Evans and his wife, Bronwyn, for example, had come into the hotel tonight.

  Saunders returned and from the worried look on his face, she knew that the news would not be good.

  He shook his head as he sat down. “I’m terribly sorry, Evelyn,” he began, “but I seem to have lost my wallet. So embarrassing.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Lloyd replied cheerfully. “You’ll have left it in the taxi, that’s all. After all, you paid the fare, so you had it then, didn’t you?”

  She smiled at the look of relief that crossed Saunders’s face.

  “Of course,” he said, “that’ll be it. I’m sure someone will hand it in. Perhaps if you tell me what firm you used we could call them and see if anyone found it.”

  “Well, I’m not just sure which taxi firm Florence rang,” Mrs. Lloyd said in a slightly evasive manner. “But why don’t you come back to mine for a nightcap and we’ll soon find the number and sort this out.”

  Saunders nodded and Mrs. Lloyd reached for the bill.

  “Now, why don’t I take care of this and you can…” “reimburse me later” hung unspoken in the air between them.

  Mrs. Lloyd opened her purse and set a credit card down on the small plate beside the bill. As the waiter took the plate away, she reached into another section of her purse and withdrew two twenty-pound notes.

  “Now you’re not to argue with me, Harry, but I want you to take these,” she said, holding the banknotes out to him. “Go on, take them. I insist.” She thrust the notes closer to him. “You’ll need a bit of walking-around money until you get your wallet back. Go on now.”

  “Well, I feel terrible,” said Harry, taking the money. “Of course, I’ll…”

  “Reimburse you later” again hung unspoken in the air between them.

  “Yes, of course, you will,” Mrs. Lloyd said.

  The waiter returned to present the credit card receipt for signature and Mrs. Lloyd did a double take when she saw it. That much? she thought. Of course, Harry had ordered the best wine on the menu, and his menu choices were at the top of the price list, too.


  Well, she reassured herself, you don’t mind paying when you’ve really enjoyed yourself, and anyway, he’ll be reimbursing me. She added a generous tip, smiled at Saunders as she gathered up her handbag, and the two of them prepared to leave the dining room.

  “Don’t forget your credit card, Evelyn,” Saunders said as he handed it to her.

  He helped Mrs. Lloyd on with her coat. A moment later, as they approached the front desk to ask the hotel clerk to ring for a taxi, the young woman smiled and nodded toward the door.

  “Already here,” she said. “Just dropped someone off. I asked him to wait as I thought one of our customers would likely need him.”

  “Oh, well done, you,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Come along, Harry, we mustn’t keep him waiting.” A sudden thought made her smile. “Now wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was the same fellow who drove us here? We could get that wallet business sorted out right away.”

  “That would be great,” Saunders agreed. But he didn’t look as if he really meant it.

  Six

  Come Dancing!

  Group Dance Instruction

  Tango, Fox Trot, Waltz, Quick Step, Rhumba, and Swing!

  Great fun! Great exercise!

  Classes begin Friday, 12 November in the community centre, 7:30 P.M.

  Register now to avoid disappointment!

  Penny and Victoria joined the small group peering at the hand-lettered sign in the newsagent’s window.

  “Do you think we should go?” Victoria asked. “Would Gareth come, do you think?”

  Penny smiled. “I know he likes gardening, but I’m not sure about dancing.” She shrugged. “It might be fun. Why don’t we take down the number and think about it.” As she reached into her bag for the notepad and pencil she now carried everywhere with her, Mrs. Lloyd joined the little group.

  “Good morning,” she said. “What’s all this, then?” Penny pointed to the sign and a broad, knowing smile lit up Mrs. Lloyd’s face. “Oh, so the sign’s up, then, is it?” She beamed at Penny. “That’s my friend Harry who’s teaching the class. And if he’s half as good at dancing as he is at bridge, we’re in for a treat, I can tell you.”

  “Oh, you’ll be going, then, will you?” Victoria asked.

  “Of course I will,” Mrs. Lloyd replied. “It was my idea, after all. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She thought for a moment, then added, “And Morwyn will be doing a write-up about it for the newspaper, I shouldn’t wonder. After all, how often does someone come from Palm Beach to give us dancing lessons?” As she shifted her shopping bags from one hand to the other, she missed the quick exchange of glances between Penny and Victoria as Victoria mouthed Palm Beach?

  “Well, I must get these bags home,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “Florence is doing a nice chicken casserole for our tea tonight. Now, girls, I do hope you’ll sign up for the dancing lessons as we want a very good turnout for Harry. If we don’t get enough people, the classes won’t be able to go ahead and that will certainly be a disappointment to some of us. And don’t forget they begin in just a few days.”

  “We’re definitely leaning toward going, Mrs. Lloyd,” Penny told her.

  “Yes, we are,” Victoria echoed. A couple of people standing nearby murmured their assent, and as the group began to disperse to get on with the busy morning that lay ahead, Penny raised a hand to brush her hair back from her eyes and gave Victoria an almost apologetic smile.

  “We must be starved for excitement because I’m starting to think I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” she said. “And who’s this Harry when he’s at home?”

  “No idea,” replied Victoria as they turned to go, “but we won’t have to wait very long to find out.” They walked on for a few metres behind Mrs. Lloyd. Just as she was about to turn down the road that led to her house, she stopped and, noticing Penny and Victoria, raised a hand and headed back toward them.

  “Something I meant to ask you. If you wouldn’t think it terribly rude, I wondered if I might bring two guests to the grand opening of your new spa. Florence, of course, having only just moved to Llanelen doesn’t know anyone so it would do her good to get out and meet some new people. If she’ll agree to come, that is. And well, Harry and I have started seeing each other, I think you might say, so naturally he would want to be my escort. I’m sure your opening will only benefit from having an extra person or two, to help fill the room. People always say they’re coming and then don’t turn up.” She looked from one to the other.

  Victoria’s eyes widened slightly and Penny nodded.

  “Of course, Mrs. Lloyd, we’d be delighted if you brought your guests,” Victoria said. “In fact, we’re meeting with Gwennie later this afternoon to sort out the catering, so we appreciate your letting us know so we can figure out the numbers.”

  “Oh, Gwennie’s doing the catering, is she? Well, that’ll be lovely, then. Do you think she’ll make those little petit fours I like so much?”

  “We’ll ask her to make them just for you, Mrs. Lloyd,” Penny replied.

  Mrs. Lloyd let out a little squeak of disappointment.

  “On second thought, better not. I’ve just started a bit of a slimming regimen and her petit fours would be so tempting.”

  “Right,” Penny said. “No petit fours, then. We’ll have a nice veggie tray for you.”

  Mrs. Lloyd groaned. “Do you know, I’ve never been particularly fond of vegetables, even though I was married to a greengrocer all those years.” She gave a little shudder. “And especially not raw! Still, I appreciate the thought.” She shifted her bags. “Well, must get these things home. Florence will be waiting for them. See you at the dance lessons, if not before.”

  Penny and Victoria headed off to the salon where their morning’s work awaited them. On the way, they discussed how they should go about judging the Christmas displays in the merchants’ shop windows and the kinds of categories they should create. “Most creative?” suggested Victoria.

  “Like it,” agreed Penny, adding, “Most beautiful?” And then they both agreed there would have to be a best in show.

  * * *

  In Llandudno, about fifteen miles away, Harry Saunders inserted a key into the front door of a bed-and-breakfast inn near the railway station. He opened the door quietly, hoping he would not attract the attention of the owner, a robust, bossy woman in her early sixties.

  As he entered the small hallway, with its faded brown floral-patterned carpet, he was greeted by a hovering smell that put him in mind of decades of boiled vegetables and wet dog. To his dismay, he heard his landlady clumping up the stairs from the breakfast room in the basement.

  “Is that you, Mr. Sanderson?” she called. “I need a word if you don’t mind.”

  Harry sighed.

  “Ah, there you are,” she wheezed as she closed the basement door behind her. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you. Are you planning to stay on?”

  “If that would be all right with you,” Harry replied with a weak smile.

  “Perfectly all right,” she replied, “only we’ll need to square up the money. You’ve paid until today, so if you’re going to stay for another week, I’ll need to have your money by this afternoon. Same rate as last week, and you know what I charge.”

  Harry nodded.

  “Yes, I’ll just slip out this afternoon and cash a few travellers’ cheques. No problem.”

  “Right, then.”

  Harry climbed the stairs to a small room on the second floor, overlooking the street. He closed the curtains, lay down on the single bed and, tucking his hands under his head, stared up the ceiling.

  Where could he get sixty pounds by this afternoon, he wondered. He had a few pounds left over from the money Mrs. Lloyd had given him. He thought about a woman he’d met recently in Chester and decided to give her a call. He didn’t have any time to lose and this affair with Mrs. Lloyd was taking longer than he liked to get going. But he had high hopes there. She just needed a little more cultivation, but if his experience was anything
to go by, she’d be well worth it in the end. Oh yes, he had high hopes with that one. And then the dancing classes would bring in a bit of money, but it would have to be cash. He’d have to make sure Huw Bowen didn’t try to take advantage of him.

  The bedsprings creaked under his shifting weight as he got up.

  He kept his one suitcase in the small closet and made sure it was locked each time he went out. He’d had problems before with prying landladies, but so far, this one seemed to be minding her own business.

  He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small key, unlocked the case, and pulled out a brown envelope. He sat back down on the bed and opened it. In it were two black-and-white photographs. He took out one and examined it.

  It showed a young woman holding the hand of a small boy dressed in shorts and a Fair Isle vest and wearing sturdy boots. He smiled awkwardly at the camera, as if the photographer had told him to. The woman gazed down benignly at the boy, her face lit up from within as if by love.

  Behind them was a closed wooden door, set into a sturdy stone frame with rosebushes growing up each side. On the door was a knocker, in the shape of a dolphin.

  Saunders’s fingers brushed lightly over the image. Oh Mum, he thought for the millionth time. Why did you leave me? What happened to you? Where are you? He ran his fingers lightly over the photo and then, with a small sigh, replaced it in the envelope, tucked the envelope into a corner of the suitcase under a larger envelope, locked the case, and then pocketed the key. He wanted to find out what happened to her, but if he started asking too many questions, that could spell trouble.

  He reached into an inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a small black book held closed with an elastic band. What was that Chester woman’s name again? He pulled off the elastic band and riffled the pages. Oh, yes, here she is. Widow, married daughter. Have to be careful when grown-up daughters are in the frame. They don’t approve of mum taking up with a man at her age. Worried about their inheritance, more like. Women without interfering children, like Mrs. Lloyd, were much better bets.