A Killer's Christmas in Wales

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  “Yeah, I felt bad about it,” replied Penny. “But I’m pretty sure it was on the stolen list and I wanted to see who owned it.” She shrugged and held up her hands in an open gesture.

  “Well, it’s done now,” said Victoria. “Do you want anything more to eat?”

  Penny shook her head. “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  She looked around her.

  “I haven’t been up here in your flat for a while. You’ve done a great job. Very smart and comfortable.”

  “Glad you like it. But I can see now that I’m going to keep you away from my crockery. I was so shocked when you broke that plate. And poor Brian Kenley. Did you see the look on his face? I think he was really upset that his plate got broken.” She took a sip of wine and then cut a sliver of Brie and balanced it on a biscuit.

  “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 discu
ss 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.”

  “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.”

  Nineteen

  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, l
ooking 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.”

  He showed her out and she returned to the spa where Victoria was waiting for her. They reviewed the most recent applicant for the hairdresser’s position, and Penny agreed that Alberto was definitely someone they should interview. With Christmas coming up so quickly, though, it might not be possible to get the position filled. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him. She smiled at his confidence in calling himself by just one name: Alberto.

  The day passed quickly, filled with small things that needed crossing off the to-do list and other things that popped up and needed her attention right away. As she responded to yet another e-mail, she wondered how business ever got done without it. She had just about cleared her electronic in-basket when a direct message popped up. Seeing who it was from, she read it immediately.

  Have dinner with me tomorrow night? it read.

  She thought for a moment, then typed. Early? 5 P.M. Conwy?

  Where? came the reply.

  Meet you police station?

  Right!

  A few minutes later another message arrived from Gareth. Doing TV appeal tonight Harry Saunders.

  It was getting on for four, so Penny checked on Eirlys in the salon and, after reassuring herself that everything was fine, gave Eirlys a grateful pat on the shoulder and went off in search of Victoria.

  She found her in the photocopy room, bending over, feeding paper into the machine. “I’m not sure where all the paper goes, but we’re going through reams of the stuff,” she muttered as Penny walked in. “What did we do before we had our own photocopier?” she asked as she stood up, and then answered her own question. “Got by just fine, thank you very much.”

  Penny looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Just coming to tell you that I’m ready to go now. I’m tired. Oh, and I’m having dinner with Gareth tomorrow night. Seems ages since I’ve seen him.”