“It’s certainly a good cause,” said Penny. “We’d be happy to share this with our Stretch and Sketch Club, wouldn’t we, Alwynne.”
“Good,” said Cilla when Alwynne agreed. “I’m preparing a letter now with all the details, and I’ll make sure you get a copy. I’ll send it you, shall I, Penny? I have your address on file. Right, well, I won’t take up any more of your time.” She acknowledged Alwynne, then held out her hand to Louise. “It was nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay. How much longer will you be here?”
“I’m not sure. Depends what happens. Maybe another week?”
“Well, I’ll let you get on with your visit to the gallery, and I’ll leave word in the café that coffee and cake for all three of you this afternoon will be complimentary.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s very kind,” said Louise. Cilla pursed her lips and seemed about to say something, but hesitated. Reading the situation, Alwynne touched Louise lightly on the arm.
“I think Cilla wants a word with Penny about the upcoming Christmas exhibit. I’m curious to see what’s upstairs. Shall we?”
As the two women disappeared up the stairs, Cilla said, “That was perceptive of your friend. I did want a word alone with you, but not about the exhibit. It’s something I wouldn’t have felt comfortable saying in front of your friends.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s just that now that I think about it, Sarah Spencer’s husband, the one who conveniently moved away, leaving her free to move in with Bill Ward— he was from New Zealand. Although, it actually happened the other way round. The two of them moved in together, and then the husband moved away.”
“It’s been a long time,” said Penny, “but I don’t suppose you happen to remember his name?”
“Yes, it has been a long time, but when your husband leaves for you another woman, believe me, you remember every detail. Mark Currie, his name was.”
“And you don’t know where he moved to?”
“No, he and Sarah split up about the same time as Bill and I did. Mark and I met for coffee a couple of times. We thought talking it over might help us come to terms with what had happened.”
“How did he take it?”
“Even worse than I did. He was shocked. I suspected Bill was cheating on me, but Mark had no idea his marriage was in deep trouble. Anyway, Bill and Sarah moved in together, and poor Mark was determined to win Sarah back, but not long after I last spoke to him, I guess he saw it was hopeless, and then he obligingly made himself scarce. Everyone assumed he’d returned home to New Zealand, and eventually my husband and that woman moved to Anglesey. End of story.”
“And were they ever divorced?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Seized by an idea, Penny got out her phone and thumbed through the camera roll until she came to the photo Colin had taken in the dining room of the Georgian house in Beaumaris where Sarah Spencer was living.
She showed Cilla the image of the couple standing in front of what she and Colin thought could be a country hotel. “Is that Mark Currie?”
Cilla held the phone, expanded the image and stared at it. “It’s been a long time, but yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s him.” She handed back the phone. “And that’s her, of course. Where on earth did you get this?”
“It’s a copy of a photo in Sarah Spencer’s dining room.”
“Huh. Interesting she’d have that out for all to see.” Her body twisted slightly as she turned away. “Well, I’d better get back to work. And do let me know if your group is interested in donating to my auction. It could be good exposure for them.”
Cilla returned to her office, and Penny raced upstairs in search of Louise and Alwynne. “How would you feel about having that complimentary coffee now?” she asked when she found them examining a series of seascapes.
“What about seeing the rest of the exhibits? We’ve only just got started in here,” said Alwynne.
“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for that after. There’s something I need to discuss with Louise.”
“Oh dear, has something happened?”
“Let’s go downstairs and have a chat. I’ve just heard something that might help us find out what happened to Jessica.”
Louise spun on her heel and led the way to the café.
When they were seated with their coffee at a table with an open view of the surrounding green fields and forest, with low clouds seeming to hang in the tops of the trees, Penny rested her arms on the table as she wrapped her hands around her mug. “When I was talking to Cilla just then, something that might be important came back to me.”
Louise ripped open a packet of sugar and tipped it into her coffee. “Sorry, I don’t understand. What came back to you?”
“Something Jessica mentioned when we spoke to her in the bar on the Friday night. She said she was here in the U.K. to find out what happened to a man from New Zealand who disappeared several years ago, but she didn’t mention his name. Or at least, if she did, I don’t remember it. Now this is a long shot, but I need your help.”
“Anything. What do you want me to do?”
“I’d like you to email Jessica’s editor at the newspaper—Dave, I think she called him—and ask him to give you all her assignment details. Everything she was meant to be working on while she was in this country. Will you do that?”
“I could ring him if that would be faster, although I’m not sure about the time difference.”
Penny tapped a few times on her phone, and then replied, “New Zealand is twelve hours ahead of us, so it’s the middle of the night there. Email is better, so he’ll see it when he wakes up or gets into the office. And besides, it would be better if we had his response in writing.”
“You sound very serious. Is this important?”
Penny gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know, but it could be. I’m getting that tingly feeling I get when I’m on to something. One tiny detail, one piece of missing information, sets off a cascade, and then everything comes together.”
“Yes, but why is this name important?”
“I’d rather wait to discuss it until I know for sure. If you can get the man’s name from Jessica’s editor, we’ll take it from there. But I will say this. Sometimes a fresh approach to an event that happened in the past can shed light on something that happened in the present.” She smiled at the two women. “Let’s leave it at that for now, and wait and see what happens.” She picked up her fork. “Tell me about the paintings you were looking at upstairs. Anything interesting?”
“Well, yes,” said Alwynne. “Louise and I were just looking at a rather nice painting of the South Stack Lighthouse at Holyhead, and I was explaining to her that it welcomes travellers home to Wales from Ireland, when you caught up with us.”
“Jessica was enthralled with lighthouses,” said Louise. “She would certainly have been eager to see the one at Beaumaris.”
“Oh, Penny,” said Alwynne. “That reminds me. You know that question we had about why lighthouses are round? I looked it up. It’s to do with the displacement of wind and waves. Apparently, the round shape disperses the energy better than a square or rectangular shape.”
Penny’s eyes flickered away from the table and settled on the slopes of the ancient hills that would soon be drenched with nourishing rain.
* * *
Penny inserted the key in the lock of her front door and turned it. She hesitated for a moment and glanced at Victoria, who gave her an encouraging nod, and then entered. After pausing in the small entryway, she moved into the sitting room, and when Victoria turned to close the door behind her, Penny spoke.
“Leave it open for a few minutes. It feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the place. Do you feel it? Not just the air. The life. It feels stale and lifeless.” She ran a finger over the coffee table, where a light dusting of fingerprint powder remained.
“We’ll send Gwennie over tomorrow to clean up,” said Victoria. “If I’d thou
ght of it, she could have come today so everything was a bit better for you.” She carried a bag of groceries through to the kitchen and unpacked the contents, placing some items in the fridge and leaving a few on the worktop.
Penny walked through the kitchen, unlocked the back door, and called out, “Harrison! Come home, Harrison.” Leaving the door open, she said, “I’m so worried about him. He should have been back by now.”
“He’s probably hiding nearby,” Victoria said. “I expect all the coming and going scared him off, and then the door was locked so he couldn’t get back in.” She reached out to Penny and hugged her. “This has been a major disruption in his life, but he’ll be back—you’ll see.” She released her, then gestured at the food on the work top. “Shall we make a start on supper? What would you like?”
“Just something light.”
“How about your old favourite, scrambled eggs on toast?”
“Sounds good. Have we got a bit of cheese we can add in?”
“We do.”
Dinner over, and arrangements made for Gwennie, who kept the Spa clean and tidy, to come in the next morning, Penny and Victoria relaxed in the sitting room over cups of decaffeinated coffee.
“You must be really looking forward to seeing Colin again,” said Victoria. “Have you heard when he’ll be here?”
“He’s got a few loose ends to tie up in Toronto and a meeting in New York, and he’ll be here when all that’s sorted. Early next week, he thinks. And yes, I can’t wait to see him.” Penny drained the last of her coffee and stood up. “I’m absolutely knackered. I think I’ll have a bath and then get into bed. Thank you so much for stopping with me tonight. It means a lot to me that you’re here.”
“I’m glad to be here. There’s no way you should be on your own, and besides, I know you’d do the same for me.”
“Of course I would.”
Victoria stood up. “I’ll come up with you. Tell me where I can find a set of clean sheets, and while you’re in the bath, I’ll make up your bed.”
Penny started to pick up her coffee cup, but Victoria stopped her. “Leave that. Go have your bath. After I’ve made your bed, I’ll tidy up down here, and then I’m going to watch a bit of telly.”
“I need to make sure that the back door’s locked.” While Victoria waited, Penny checked the door, and then, as they passed the front door on their way to the stairs, she checked that door, too.
* * *
Warmed and refreshed after her bath, Penny slipped into her clean, fresh bed and pulled the sheets up under her chin. She ran her hand over the coverlet where Harrison should be, sighed, and then, unable to stay awake, turned on her side and immediately fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.
A creak on the step awoke her. Heart pounding, she sat up in bed, paralyzed with fear. And then the steps came closer and outside her door, stopped. A moment later, came the sound of the lever handle of her bedroom door being pushed down, and slowly the door opened, letting in a muted light from the hall. A shadowy figure in the doorway entered the room and approached the bed.
“Penny?” whispered Victoria. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Yes,” Penny croaked.
Victoria bent over the bed and set down a small furry bundle. “I’ve got somebody here who missed you.”
Penny scooped up Harrison into her arms, eager to hold him, and buried her face in his fur.
“How did you find him?”
“He found me, really. I opened the back door to check on him one last time before coming up to bed, and there he was. I must say he made his entrance in a very lord of the manor kind of way, strolling in like nothing had happened. So I fed him, changed his water, and then brought him upstairs.”
Harrison wriggled to be released and then curled up beside Penny, and in a moment the sound of his purring filled the room and her heart.
“And you locked the door after he came in?” Penny asked as she leaned back against her pillows.
“Yes, I did,” said Victoria. “Everything’s locked up, and Bethan texted me to say a police car will drive by a couple of times during the night to check up on us. If we need assistance, we’re to leave an upstairs light on.”
After a whispered goodnight, Victoria closed the door, and a few minutes later the hall light was switched off. With Harrison beside her, Penny slept peacefully through the night until she was awakened by the ping of an incoming text.
Chapter Thirty-One
The text was from Louise. See email, it read. Now fully awake, Penny raised herself up in bed, opened her email, and clicked on the message Louise had forwarded.
Dear Mrs. Graham,
In reply to your question about the stories Jessica had been assigned to work on during her stay in the United Kingdom, her main reason for being there was to write a news story (or stories) in response to the resurgence in interest surrounding the disappearance of an Auckland man, Mark Currie, whose family has not heard from him for coming up seven years.
She was also to research several travel stories, which we left open to her discovery—she was free to explore and write about whatever caught her attention that she thought would interest our readers, and while she would research these while she was in the U.K., we expected she would complete them on her return. And finally, the Jubilee Terrace actor Bill Ward had agreed to an interview with her.
May I say once again, on behalf of all of us at the newspaper, how very sorry we are for your loss. The newsroom isn’t the same without Jessica, and we all miss her terribly. If I may provide any further information, please be in touch.
Dave
Penny checked the time. Almost seven thirty. She gave Harrison a good-morning stroke, threw back the bedclothes, got dressed, and headed downstairs, with Harrison padding after her. She unlocked the back door and opened it for him. Then she put the kettle on, pulled a couple of croissants from the freezer, and switched on her laptop. “Mark Currie,” she Googled, and then started devouring everything she could read about him.
Half an hour later, Victoria arrived downstairs, and after a brief greeting, said, “Checking for the latest on Colin, are you?”
Penny raised her head, and her eyes left the screen a few seconds later. “Oh, Colin. No, he’s fine. It’s Mark Currie I’m interested in, actually.”
“Who’s he when he’s at home?”
“If I’m right, and I think I am, he’s the key to all this.”
Victoria poured a cup of coffee and then helped herself to a warm croissant, pulled it apart, and slathered on some raspberry jam.
“The key to all what?”
“He could be the key to Jessica’s murder, and I’m trying to work out how and why. Jessica was here to do a story on him, and Cilla told me yesterday he’s the husband—or perhaps former husband—of Sarah Spencer, so that gives us a strong link to the hotel.
“Here’s the thing. He disappeared about seven years ago. Now the seven years is significant for two reasons. One, it was around the time Sarah Spencer’s affair with Bill Ward was getting serious, and two—and here comes the big one—it says here,” she continued, gesturing at her laptop, “Mark Currie comes from a very wealthy family. His family makes millions in the farming and exportation of lamb. Every sheep in New Zealand is somehow connected to a Currie business. “
Victoria groaned. “I’m sure they’ve heard every possible joke about lamb Currie.”
“I’m sure they have. Now then. Because he’s been missing for seven years, the family has applied to have him declared legally dead so they can settle up financial matters like wills, investments, trusts and inheritances, and all the rest of it.”
“Fancy and complicated money matters that ordinary people don’t have to worry about.”
“Exactly. Issues that only people who are well off have to worry about. This is what happened when Lord Lucan disappeared. His family had to have him declared legally dead so his son could inherit the title.
“And although neither Jessica nor her e
ditor mentioned this, I’d be willing to bet that the seven-year anniversary of Mark Currie’s disappearance is the reason she was working on this story now. Journalists often use dates as the hook for a story, and the timing here is important.”
“So, that means because it’s been seven years since Mark Currie disappeared, if he is declared legally dead and Sarah is legally declared his widow, she could stand to inherit a lot of money?” asked Victoria.
“She could,” said Penny. “Depending on what’s in Mark Currie’s will.”
“But if this Mark Currie had all that money, why would he be working in a hotel?”
“Good question. But we don’t know that he was working in a hotel. He could have been doing anything when he was married to Sarah. Anyway, from what I read here”—she motioned to her laptop screen—“it seems the Currie family business was started by one of those old-fashioned rags-to-riches type of man who was determined that his children and grandchildren would have to work for a living like he did, not just have access to a lot of easy money. But it would definitely be worth knowing the terms of Mark Currie’s inheritance.”
“And if he had a will and, if so, what was in it.”
“Oh, I’m betting there was a will leaving everything to his wife, Sarah. In fact, I overheard Bill Ward saying something about Sarah coming into some money soon. And I’m thinking of that old saying, ‘Where there’s money, there’s motive.’”
“Motive for what?”
“Murder, of course.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Mark Currie is dead.” Inspector Bethan Morgan folded her arms and sat back in her chair in her orderly office in the Llanelen police station.
On Deadly Tides Page 18