A Killer's Christmas in Wales

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  “Did you learn anything useful?” Carwyn asked.

  “I don’t know,” Penny replied. “But I’ve got a few things to think about. I just don’t know how important or useful they are. Yet.”

  Twenty-three

  “See, here’s what I don’t understand,” Penny said to Victoria half an hour later as they had a cup of coffee in Victoria’s office. “If Huw Bowen rarely leaves his office, what was he doing having a nice little outing on a business day at Conwy Castle on the afternoon Harry Saunders was killed? There’s something not right there.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.

  “A little while ago I was talking to this American woman, Dorothy Martin, her name is, and mentioned the Saunders case to her. She’s solved a few murders of her own, apparently, and she reminded me to look for something that was at the scene that shouldn’t have been, or something that should have been there but wasn’t. And maybe that’s Huw Bowen. He shouldn’t have been there, but he was.”

  Penny leaned forward and tapped her finger on the desk. “What if it’s not a thing we’re looking for? Not a some-thing, but a some-one?”

  Victoria thought for a moment. “Well, maybe he was just there to pick up his wife?”

  “Exactly!” said Penny. “If he’d just been there to pick up Glynnis, then he would’ve parked somewhere in town or met her outside the castle at a certain time. He wouldn’t have been traipsing around the castle, himself. With a guidebook! It was meant to be a day out for her, and he was meant to be at work at the bank.”

  They looked at each other.

  “So what was he doing there, then?”

  Before Victoria could answer, Rhian, the spa receptionist, stuck her head in the door.

  “Penny, your one o’clock appointment’s here. We switched her from this morning, remember. Glynnis Bowen.”

  Victoria and Penny exchanged quick glances and Penny gave a small nod.

  “Right, Rhian, here I come,” she said and, with a raised eyebrow in Victoria’s direction, added, “Now there’s a coincidence for you.”

  * * *

  “So, Glynnis, how are you?” Penny said as she picked up Glynnis’s hand and began shaping her fingernails with an emery board.

  “Good, thanks, Penny. Busy, you know, with Christmas and all.”

  “Going somewhere nice?”

  “No, we stay in town for the holidays. Huw doesn’t get much time off at the bank, and this is actually a busy time of year for him.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Penny.

  “And what about you?”

  “Well, this is my first Christmas in the cottage, so I’ve invited a few friends round for Christmas lunch.” She thought a moment as a new idea came to her. “We’ll meet up in the morning for church, and after the service we’ll go back to mine for a traditional Christmas lunch.”

  “That sounds lovely,” said Glynnis. Penny detected a wistful note in her voice and was on the brink of suggesting that Huw and Glynnis might care to join them, when something held her back. Besides the fact that Huw was known to be a dreadful old bore, guaranteed to give the kiss of death to just about any social gathering, she was starting to have serious doubts about him.

  “It was appalling what happened the day of our Stretch and Sketch Christmas luncheon, wasn’t it?” Penny said. “And too bad really, as it was your first time with the group.”

  “Well, I don’t think it had anything to do with the art group, though,” said Glynnis. “But yes, it was terrible. Just terrible.”

  “I was surprised to see Huw there,” said Penny. “At the castle, I mean. Had he come to pick you up?”

  Glynnis gave her a sharp look. “Now why you would ask something like that?”

  “Oh, no reason,” said Penny, trying to gloss over it. “I was just wondering, that’s all.”

  An awkward silence fell between them, and a few moments later Penny tried to put things right. “Anyway,” she said, with false brightness, “have you thought what colour you might like?”

  Glynnis let out a little sigh that Penny couldn’t quite decipher. Despair? Despondence?

  “Some women like the deep reds this time of year,” Penny suggested, showing a small sample to her client. “Do any of these appeal to you?”

  “That one looks good,” said Glynnis, pointing to one.

  Penny applied two coats of the nail varnish as Glynnis watched silently. As she finished the top coat, Glynnis spoke in a low voice.

  “I envy you, you know. You seem to have everything.”

  “I’ve had my ups and downs like everyone else,” Penny replied, “but yes, my life is in a good place right now.” She screwed the top back on the bottle of top coat. “There. All done. They’ll take a few minutes to dry, if you want to make yourself comfortable in reception or in our quiet room. Just be very careful for the next hour or so.” She helped Glynnis gather up her belongings, wished her a happy Christmas, and left her in the reception area.

  That is one deeply unhappy woman, she thought as she returned to her manicure table. And that remark at the end, about having everything, what was that about?

  * * *

  Sergeant Bethan Morgan showed her warrant card to the woman behind the counter in the charity shop.

  “Oh, you’ll have come about that brooch, I expect,” she said. “I’ll just get it for you.” She opened the cash register, lifted out the change drawer, and removed a small bundle of pale pink silk.

  “Here it is,” she said, handing it over. “Valuable, is it?”

  “Very.”

  “Now, who would do such a thing, I wonder. Pin something like that to the top of our little Christmas tree.”

  “That’s what we’d like to know,” said Bethan. “Can you think of anyone who might have done it?”

  The woman shook her head. “But before you go, Officer, there’s something else.” She beckoned to Carwyn. “Carwyn, fetch that box that came in today from the bank.”

  Carwyn brought out the plastic box and set it down on the counter.

  “Mr. Bowen himself from the bank brought this in earlier,” she said. “We were sorting through it and noticed a camera at the bottom of the box. It looked expensive. We didn’t know what to do, and as you were coming in anyway, we thought we’d ask you. Run it by you, like.” Bethan leaned forward to look in the box just as the woman reached into it to pull out the camera.

  “Don’t touch it,” Bethan said. “Have you handled it at all?”

  “Well, just a little, so we could look at it, like, and then we put it right back.”

  Bethan flipped through her notebook and then pulled a plastic bag from her pocket and wrapped it around the camera.

  “You did right to let me know about this. This camera was in the box brought in today by Mr. Bowen from the bank, you say. What time was that?”

  “Oh, around noon, I think, wasn’t it, Carwyn? At any rate, that Penny Brannigan was still here, and she left around one or a bit before, I think it was, so it was before that.”

  “Penny Brannigan was in here this morning, was she?” said Bethan.

  “Oh, yes,” said Carwyn. “Volunteering. Got quite a bit of dusting done, actually.”

  “Volunteering, is it now.” Bethan smiled.

  “Is there something the matter?” asked the woman behind the counter. “I thought there was something odd about her.”

  “No,” said Bethan, “she’s all right is Penny. You’ve no worries there.”

  She picked up the camera and silk-wrapped brooch, which she also placed in a small bag and prepared to leave. “One more thing,” she said to the women. “You didn’t happen to see the box for the brooch, did you? Red, with midnight-blue silk lining.”

  The women looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “No, it was just the brooch. No box.”

  “Well, if it turns up somewhere, give me a call,” said Bethan. “Here’s my card.”

  The two women watched her go and then turned toward ea
ch other.

  “There’s something very wrong going on here, and we seem to be involved,” said Carwyn.

  “Yes,” agreed her companion. “We’d better look sharp.”

  Twenty-four

  As the midafternoon sun bathed the town in a gentle golden light, Penny and Victoria set off from the spa to inspect the window displays of the half dozen or so shops that had entered the competition. Some of the shop windows they passed had been hastily hung with a bit of tinsel or paper chains, but the ones they were to judge had been carefully and creatively dressed with lavish attention to detail.

  Victoria checked the list on her clipboard.

  “Here we are,” she said, stopping in front of a pale blue shopfront and giving her clipboard a quick glance. “Angharad Roberts, dressmaker and seamstress.”

  They leaned forward to study the display, which showed a tableau of a mouse family enjoying a quiet Christmas Eve. Three mouse children were tucked up in a bed, while their parents worked in front of a paper fireplace, the mother sewing a little skirt for her mouse daughter while the father assembled a small red fire engine.

  Each character was made of satin, the coats a shiny grey and their large ears lined in pink. The expressions on their faces had been painstakingly embroidered to reflect the calm repose of the children, the quiet pride the mother took in her little family, and the father’s apparent struggle to piece together the toy.

  “Oh, look!” said Penny, pointing at the children. “The one in the middle… his eyes are slightly open. He’s watching his dad try to put the toy together. There’ll be questions about Father Christmas in the morning!”

  Victoria smiled and jotted down a few notes. “Seen enough?” she asked Penny.

  Penny nodded, and as they turned to go, the shop door opened and Mrs. Lloyd emerged, looking decidedly downcast.

  “Hello,” said Penny. “All right?”

  “Oh, hello, Penny. Victoria.” Mrs. Lloyd shifted her handbag to her other arm. “Yes, fine, thanks. How are you?”

  “You don’t look fine,” said Penny, ignoring the question and gently touching Mrs. Lloyd’s arm. “What is it?”

  Mrs. Lloyd glanced across the street. “It’s getting me down, all this. Everyone knows about Harry’s death, and they think that I had something to do with it. People are avoiding me. I’ve tried to carry on as normal, but it’s difficult when I know they’re all whispering about me behind my back.”

  “Oh, surely not, Mrs. Lloyd,” said Victoria. “Folk round here have been your friends for years. They know you couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it.”

  Mrs. Lloyd shook her head. “No, you should see them at the Over Sixties Club. Hardly anyone speaks to me, and if they do, they’re only being polite. Then they move away as quickly as they can.” She sighed. “About the only friend I have left is Florence.” She shook her head. “That’s what it’s come to, I’m afraid.”

  Before Penny or Victoria could respond, Mrs. Lloyd pointed to a woman walking toward them. “Look,” she said, “there’s Ruth from the Over Sixties Club.” As Mrs. Lloyd started to wave to her, the woman caught sight of the little group and quickly crossed the street.

  “See what I mean?” said Mrs. Lloyd. “It’s like that everywhere I go. I can hardly hold my head up anymore in this town.” A sob caught in her throat and she turned to go.

  “See,” said Penny. “She’s just gone into the bakery. She wasn’t avoiding you.”

  Mrs. Lloyd gave her a sorrowful, pained look. “What are you two doing here anyway? Getting some alterations done?”

  “No,” said Victoria, “we’re doing the window judging you volunteered us for.”

  “Oh, that,” said Mrs. Lloyd, her voice dull and lifeless. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

  Victoria and Penny watched her walk slowly away, her well-wrapped figure growing smaller, until she turned down the little street that led to the town square.

  “She looks older, somehow,” said Victoria. “This is really taking a toll on her. We’ve got to do something.”

  Penny nodded. “Yes, we need to get this sorted so she can get on with her life.” She tapped Victoria’s clipboard. “How many windows left on the list?”

  “Let me see. There’s the bakery and then the shoe store. The bakery has a distinct advantage, I’d say.”

  “Right, but we’re not going in. And we don’t have to spend much time looking at the display. I walk past that window every day and I’ve had my eye on every biscuit, pie, and cake.”

  Victoria laughed. “Isn’t that the best thing about Christmas? We can give ourselves permission to be really naughty.”

  Half an hour later, as the afternoon sun began to cast long, slanting shadows, they stood on the pavement gazing through a window at the last entrant in the competition.

  “I think we agree that it’s down to this one and the dressmaker’s mouse family,” said Victoria.

  Penny nodded. “They’re both so charming.” The window display of the shoe store, which also mended the townsfolk’s shoes and boots, featured Santa Claus repairing the sole of an elf’s pointy shoe. As Santa worked away, tiny hammer raised to strike the upturned shoe, the elf, seated on a small stool, used the time to check off items on the list he held on his lap.

  Penny leaned closer and, breaking out in a sudden smile, pointed. “Oh look! That’s just too adorable.”

  For the elf’s green-and-white-striped stocking had a hole in the toe, which he was trying unsuccessfully to cover up with his other foot.

  Victoria jotted down a few notes on her clipboard and then turned to Penny. “Right, well that’s it, then. Shall we go back to mine and tally up the scores? The temperature is starting to drop and I’m getting cold.”

  The sky was becoming overcast, and as they made their way through the cobbled streets in the deepening gloom, the threat of snow hung over them.

  * * *

  “So we’re decided?” asked Victoria, reaching for the telephone.

  Penny nodded. “I think we did the right thing dropping the best-in-show category and replacing it with most delicious. The bakery was a no-brainer for that one.”

  “And,” added Victoria, “I’m glad we were each able to assign a win to our favourites. The mouse family as most beautiful for me and Santa and his elf for the most creative for you.”

  “I can’t get over that little hole in his sock,” said Penny. “Absolutely delightful.”

  * * *

  Over the next two days, an iron-cold, frozen fog settled over the valley, draping the hilltops in a misty shroud. And although winter held the town firmly in its grip, just about everyone had last-minute preparations for Christmas that needed seeing to, so bundled up against a bitterly cold wind, the townsfolk hurried from shop to shop, darting in and out of doorways, clutching overflowing bags.

  Finally, as the late afternoon gave way to the deepening darkness that signaled the onset of Christmas Eve, they returned to their homes, bearing a last-minute gift, a remembered-just-in-time jar of cranberry sauce, or a few extra batteries to power the children’s toys on Christmas morning.

  In the warmth of Mrs. Lloyd’s home on Rosemary Lane, as Florence closed the curtains against the encroaching night, Mrs. Lloyd looked up from her copy of Country Life magazine and frowned.

  “I don’t know why we should have to entertain an old lag like that Jimmy fellow tomorrow,” she grumbled. “Just because Penny Branningan asked us to have him over doesn’t mean we have to.”

  Florence switched on the Christmas tree lights and then sank gratefully into a wingback chair. With only an hour or so off for a nap, she had been busy all day preparing the sausage stuffing for the turkey, peeling vegetables, setting the table, creating an attractive centrepiece, and ensuring that every aspect of tomorrow’s Christmas lunch would be perfect. She planned to attend church in the morning with Mrs. Lloyd, and then hurry home to see to all the last-minute details. Reverend Thomas Evans and his wife, Bronwyn, had accepte
d their invitation to join them for lunch, and Florence wanted everything to be exactly right.

  “He’s coming over for a couple of hours in the afternoon after lunch because he wants a little visit with us,” Florence explained with exaggerated patience. “You know he lives in that dreadful senior’s home in Llandudno, and according to Penny he’s been looking forward enormously to this Christmas Day outing. It’s a special day for him.”

  Florence took off her glasses and contemplated the smudged lenses. “Really, Evelyn, I’m surprised at you. You have a big, kind heart, and to begrudge an elderly man who’s confined to a wheelchair a bit of pleasure on Christmas Day is just not like you.” She put her glasses back on and peered at Mrs. Lloyd over the top of them.

  “Yes, Florence, you’re right. We must do everything we can to make him feel welcome. I wonder what he likes to drink.”

  * * *

  Victoria tied a pale green bow around a small parcel covered in shiny paper and tucked it under the small tree in Penny’s living room. “There,” she said, “that’s the last of them. Who’s it for?”

  “It’s for you,” Penny replied with a grin.

  “You didn’t!” Victoria exclaimed. “You’ve just had me wrap my own present? What kind of person does that?”

  “It’s just a little something for the flat. It’s not your main present. You’ll see tomorrow. And anyway, you offered to make yourself useful, and the wrapping needed doing, so…”

  Victoria took a sip of wine, sighed, and sat back in her chair.

  “I must say, I thought you’d be spending Christmas Eve with Gareth, not here on your own.”

  “I’m not on my own. You’re here.” She shrugged. “He did ask me if I fancied going away with him for Christmas, and then the murders happened, so we’re staying in town. He’s spending this evening with his son and daughter-in-law, and we’ll see each other tomorrow.”