A Killer's Christmas in Wales

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  She stood up and walked over to the little desk where she kept her bills, thank-you notes, and other small bits and pieces of correspondence. She pointed to a small, blue, glass jar that held pens and pencils. “It used to live right there in that blue jar, but we haven’t seen it for a while. I thought maybe Florence had stuck it in a drawer or something when she was dusting. Odd that it never turned up, but now that I think about it, we never really looked for it, did we, Florence? Not properly, I mean.”

  Florence nodded glumly.

  Mrs. Lloyd returned to her seat.

  “Florence, do you know where the letter opener is?” Davies asked.

  She shook her head. Her eyes betrayed a dawning fear.

  Watching her intently, Davies told the two women that the letter opener had been found and then, his eyes moving quickly from one to the other, told them where. In Harry Saunders’s back.

  Mrs. Lloyd touched her hand to her cheek and recoiled. She looked as if she had been slapped.

  “I don’t think I can take that in,” she said. “Harry stabbed with my letter opener? O dear Lord.” Across the room, Florence rose from her chair, hesitated, and then sat down again.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lloyd,” Davies continued, “but at some point, we’re going to have to show you the letter opener, just so we can be sure we’re talking about the same one. We’ll need you to confirm that it is, in fact, yours.”

  Mrs. Lloyd nodded.

  “I expect I’ll have to go to the station to do that, will I, Inspector?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not tonight, surely? It’s getting a bit late and I don’t feel up to looking at something like that, knowing that it…”

  “No, Mrs. Lloyd, not tonight. We’ve covered enough for now.”

  “Well, I’ll say good night, then. Florence will show you out.”

  As the three of them turned toward the door, Mrs. Lloyd spoke.

  “Inspector, there’s something I need to ask you.”

  Davies gave her his full attention.

  Mrs. Lloyd hesitated. “No, it’s all right. It doesn’t matter. It can wait.” The detective chief inspector turned his head slightly. “No, really,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “It’s nothing.”

  “Mrs. Lloyd, if you know something, you must tell us what it is. Did you see something? If you have information and you’re not sure if it’s important or not, tell us and we’ll decide if it’s relevant.”

  She pinched her lips together.

  “No, I was just going to ask you something, that’s all.”

  Davies put on his coat. “I don’t need to tell you two that this situation is very serious, and we haven’t finished with either of you yet. You have confirmed that the murder weapon belongs to you, Mrs. Lloyd, you were unable to account for its whereabouts, you were both at the castle, and neither of you seems to have an alibi.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “But because of your standing in the town”-and here Florence raised an eyebrow as Mrs. Lloyd pinched her lips together-“we won’t take you into custody tonight. But neither of you is to leave town without letting us know.”

  The police officers said good night and Florence closed the door behind them and returned to the sitting room.

  “What was that all about, then?” Florence demanded when they were sitting down.

  “Oh, Florence, I’ve gone and done the most terrible, stupid thing.” Her face seemed to have aged years since Florence had last seen her. Deep worry lines had formed where none were before, dark circles had developed under her eyes, and her cheeks appeared sunken.

  Florence leaned forward, her practical, work-worn hands braced on her knees.

  “You can tell me, Evelyn,” she said. “In fact, you might feel better if you did tell me. Maybe I can help.”

  “I was going to ask those police officers if they had found a cheque or something like that in Harry’s pockets when they found the body.”

  “A cheque?” Florence processed this information and then, as she seemed to realize the implication, gave a little gasp.

  “Oh, you didn’t, Evelyn! You loaned that awful man money? Oh, I hope it wasn’t a lot. How much? Five hundred pounds? Was it as much as that?”

  Mrs. Lloyd shook her head. “Much more than that. I’m not sure I can bring myself to tell you.”

  “Tell me. How much?” Florence said in a low voice.

  “Twenty thousand pounds.”

  Florence gave a little gasp with her next intake of breath.

  “I don’t believe it. How could you? What were you thinking?”

  “It gets worse, Florence. I didn’t lend it to him. I have no memo of understanding or anything like that.” She looked down at her hands. “I pretty much gave it to him. He was going to invest it, you see. And as my savings weren’t earning very much interest at the bank, it seemed like a good idea.”

  Florence looked as if she were about to cry.

  “Oh, Evelyn, you foolish woman.”

  Mrs. Lloyd nodded. “Oh, Lord, I know that. You don’t need to tell me.” She looked at her hands and then raised her eyes to her companion.

  “Maybe I should tell the police about it. Huw Bowen, at the bank, he suggested I should go to the police.”

  Florence thought about that for a moment.

  “But if you go to the police, and tell them about the money, they might think that gave you a good reason to kill Saunders. Oh, what do they call that? You see it on the television shows all the time.”

  “Motive,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “They might think I had a motive.”

  “Motive, that’s it.”

  “But speaking of motive, Florence, maybe you had a motive, too.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You were settled and comfortable here in my home and maybe you thought if Harry moved in, as he and I had been discussing, you’d have to leave. As you would have.”

  Mrs. Lloyd sat back and folded her arms. “So maybe you had a motive, too.”

  Florence gave a little chuckle. “Pfft. Why would I waste my time and energy killing that man? I had no reason to.”

  A curtain of coolness had begun to descend between the two women.

  “And not only that,” Mrs. Lloyd continued, “but you could have taken the letter opener yourself to try to make the police think I did it. Well, I know I didn’t kill him,” she said with edgy emphasis. “And if I didn’t, and you had a motive, then maybe it was you.”

  “Ha! Funny you should say that. I was just thinking the very same thing about you.”

  The two women glared at each other as the temperature dropped another few degrees.

  A few minutes later Mrs. Lloyd glanced at her companion and remarked, “Well, there’s one thing I should thank you for, I guess, Florence.”

  “What’s that, then, Evelyn?”

  Expecting her response to refer to the baking, tidying up, or all the other ways Florence had made herself useful around the house, Florence almost cracked a smile when Mrs. Lloyd replied, “Well, a few minutes ago when you called me a foolish woman at least you didn’t call me a foolish, old woman.” She choked back a sob and then covered her face with her hands as the tears began. Florence held out the box of tissues to Mrs. Lloyd and in that small gesture the two friends seemed to understand that some kind of silent apology had been offered on one side and accepted on the other.

  “Here. You’ll feel better after you’ve had a good cry. When you’re up to it, we’ll talk. I’ve had an idea. I’m going to put the kettle on now and I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll make us some nice herbal tea.”

  Mrs. Lloyd gulped and nodded. Florence busied herself in the kitchen, and when she heard the sobbing start to subside, she returned to the living room with a tea tray. She poured Mrs. Lloyd a cup of steaming camomile tea and handed it to her.

  “Now listen to me, Evelyn. You need to buck up. When the police find out about the money, as they’re bound to, you could find yourself in serious trouble. They might very we
ll regard that as a motive, and they’ll figure out that’s what you wanted to talk to him about. Come to think of it, I’m surprised that policewoman didn’t ask you tonight what you wanted to talk to Harry about. They’ll ferret out every detail of your life, the police will. They have to. That’s what they do. They leave no stone unturned.”

  She lifted her teacup to her lips while Mrs. Lloyd gazed anxiously at the fire.

  “And you were right, you know, I do like living here and I did think that if Harry moved in I’d have to leave. So I could be in trouble, too, if the police see that as a motive for murder, except for one thing. Because, as it happens, I had no motive. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if Harry had moved in.”

  Mrs. Lloyd took a tentative sip of her hot herbal tea.

  “What are you trying to say, exactly, Florence? What are you getting at?”

  “When I was away in Liverpool, I went for a job interview with the head housekeeper at the Adelphi Hotel. I told her what all I’d been doing here for you and she was impressed. She said young women today don’t know the first thing about keeping house, and she offered me a job right then and there to train the maids. With live-in accommodation. I’d have my very own room right in the hotel! And I’d decided to accept it. So I was coming back here to tell you that I’d seen the writing on the wall and I was leaving and you and Harry Saunders could have the house all to yourselves. Then I would have collected my belongings and been on my way and good luck to the pair of you.”

  Mrs. Lloyd looked aghast.

  “So, you see, Evelyn, I know for a fact that I didn’t kill Harry Saunders. And what’s more, I don’t think you did, either. You don’t have it in you.”

  Mrs. Lloyd shook her head. “Of course I didn’t kill him.”

  “But the police might see things differently. So if you didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it, I think we should ask that Penny Brannigan to help us find out who did.”

  Mrs. Lloyd took another sip of her tea and nodded, thought for a moment longer, and then moved her head up and down with a little more certainty.

  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt, I suppose, although I’m not convinced she’s quite as good a detective as she might think she is.”

  “Evelyn! She’s your best hope!”

  “Well, I suppose it can’t hurt.” Mrs. Lloyd brightened. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could somehow get my money back?”

  “We don’t even know yet if she’ll help. And as for the money, miracles do happen, but don’t hold your breath. Now, come on, it’s getting late. Drink up so I can tidy things away.” Florence set her cup on the tray and walked over to switch off the gas fireplace. As the flames died away and long shadows crept into the corners of the room, Mrs. Lloyd sighed, handed her half-full cup to Florence, and got heavily to her feet.

  “Well, so much for us being amateur sleuths. I’m so confused by all this I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Mrs. Lloyd said.

  “Well, we’d better try to get some sleep. We’ll talk some more in the morning. Things might seem clearer to us then.”

  It had been some time since Florence had felt in command of a situation and she was enjoying it.

  * * *

  Victoria set her bag down beside Penny’s front door and slipped into her warm boots. They had just about exhausted the topic of Saunders’s death and then moved on to the business of the spa, which would be opening in two days. Every service was ready except the hair salon. They’d had several applications from local hairdressers, but none of them seemed quite the right fit. “It’s a man you should be looking for, even if he’s gay,” Eirlys had told them. “Ladies love the idea of a man touching them, running his fingers through their hair.”

  After a quick exchange of amused glances, Victoria had given Eirlys a broad smile.

  “You just might be on to something there, Eirlys,” she had said, adding she would see what she could do.

  “Now listen, Penny,” said Victoria, giving her a friendly shake of her index finger, “you’re not going to get us involved in this Harry Saunders investigation, are you? We’re going to leave it to the police, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, Victoria, we are. It’s got nothing to do with us, and we’ve got to stay focused on the spa and get it up and running smoothly.”

  “Good. I’m glad we agree on that. We’ve also got that window display judging to sort out. We need to get on with that.”

  “Are you all right to walk home?”

  Victoria peered out the door. “Yes, there’s not much snow now and I’ll be fine. Good night!”

  Penny closed and locked the door behind her and returned to her living room. She switched off the lights, made sure the door leading from the kitchen to the garden was locked, and by the light of the hall walked up the stairs to her freshly painted bedroom with its comfortable bed and soft, puffy duvet.

  After a quick glance at the frozen garden sleeping in the darkness below her window, she closed the drapes against the night and began undressing.

  I wonder if Mrs. Lloyd will sleep tonight, she thought as she tossed her shirt in the laundry basket. And then, as she sat on the edge of her bed and reached under her pillow for her nightdress, she allowed herself to contemplate the question that had been nagging at her all evening.

  What was Saunders doing at the castle? What, or who, had brought him there?

  Fifteen

  “I know it might have seemed like a good idea last night, Florence, but now, in the cold light of morning, I’m just not sure.”

  Mrs. Lloyd spread a generous dollop of ginger marmalade on her whole-grain toast and then sliced the bread in half.

  Florence’s eyes narrowed slightly, giving her a no-nonsense look and Mrs. Lloyd immediately backtracked.

  “What I meant to say is, I’m still thinking about it. I don’t know what Penny can do that the police can’t.”

  “Well, from what you’ve told me about her, she’ll get to the bottom of it,” said Florence. “I think you should go and see her this morning. In fact, maybe we both should.” As the carriage clock on the mantel chimed the half hour, the two women turned to each other. They had both been dreading the arrival of the morning post with its unfortunate reminder of the late Arthur Lloyd’s letter opener.

  Mrs. Lloyd shuddered.

  “When all this is over, if they were to return that letter opener to me, I could never, ever use it again to open my letters.” She took a crunchy bite of toast and brushed a few rather large bits of crust off her bosom.

  “And in all this, Florence, I can’t help thinking how I’ve let my poor Arthur down. I know he would have wanted me to be happy, and if I had found someone nice to marry, I don’t think Arthur would have minded too much. But when I think about the money and how Arthur scrimped and saved every year of our married life so I would be provided for. Do you know, he never had a holiday abroad? ‘What do I want with all that foreign muck?’ he used to say. I tried to talk him into going to Spain, telling him it would be good for him to experience the oranges firsthand, so to speak, but he wouldn’t have it.” She punctuated the last few sentences with a little series of sighs.

  She wiped her lips and then folded her napkin and tossed it beside her plate.

  “Oh! I can’t bear to think of it.”

  “Well, I’ve made my opinion very clear, Evelyn, and I’ll not say it again. But I will say this. I’m going to see Penny this morning and I’d like it very much if you would come with me.”

  Before Mrs. Lloyd could reply, the soft, shuffling sound of the morning post landing on the hall carpet caught their attention. As their eyes met, Florence tilted her head in the direction of the front door.

  “I’ll go,” she said, standing up and leaning on the table with her hands in front of her. “And here’s a thought. I know you hate opening your mail with your fingers, so while we’re in town, why don’t we stop in at the charity shop and see if they’ve got a letter opener? There’s all kinds of nice things in there and you never know wh
at you’ll find.” She took a step away from the table and folded her arms. “Makes you wonder at the things people give away or throw out, it really does.”

  She took a few steps toward the hall and turned back to remark to Mrs. Lloyd, “I’m so glad to see you haven’t lost your appetite over all this, Evelyn.”

  * * *

  At the rectory, Reverend Thomas Evans and his wife were finishing their coffee. They liked to read their morning post over breakfast, and the rector often read aloud interesting bits from the various magazines he subscribed to.

  This morning, however, he was reading the account of the death of Harry Saunders in the morning newspaper.

  “Oh, my,” said Bronwyn. “How dreadful. But I wonder what will happen to the dancing lessons. I believe people were really enjoying his classes. Do you think someone else will take it on?”

  “I doubt it,” replied the rector as he turned the pages to the national news section. “I don’t think we have anyone else around here who could give dancing lessons or he’d have been doing so by now.”

  He paused as an item caught his attention. He read a few lines and then looked at his wife, who was scraping crumbs from one plate onto another.

  “The bishop isn’t going to like this,” the rector said, clearing his throat.

  “What’s that, dear?”

  “The headline says, ‘Gay vicar, 65, to “marry” Nigerian male model half his age.’”

  * * *

  Today was the last day Eirlys would be doing manicures in the old salon, and Penny was filled with mixed emotions. She had loved the little shop she had started all those years ago and was grateful for the modest income it had provided her. But she recognized she had outgrown it and was eager and excited to move on to the new challenges that awaited her. She trusted Victoria’s business acumen and was confident the new enterprise would thrive, just as her old one had. She also trusted her own ability to handle whatever obstacles or setbacks the new venture might bring, and she knew there would be plenty of those.