A quick search through the dozen or so jars of marmalade revealed none with a red-and-white gingham top.
“Where’s mine?” Florence demanded. “It should be here.”
Florence and Mrs. Lloyd took a closer look at the jars with silver lids, picking up one after the other, until they had examined every one. Florence shook her head each time. That jar was too big. This jar was the wrong shape. The orange peel in the other one was too finely chopped.
“Now you didn’t write your initials on the lid or do anything that would identify you and get you disqualified, did you, Florence?” asked Mrs. Lloyd.
“No, I certainly did not. And I have to say how disappointing this is. It seems terribly unfair. First there was that misleading phone call telling me to bring my entries on Saturday, and now both my cake and marmalade entries are missing. We moved heaven and earth to get them here on time, and they were officially entered. All present and correct. I must say, I’m not impressed by how this competition has been run. I wonder if anybody else has had entries go missing, or am I the only one? There’s something very peculiar going on.”
Mrs. Lloyd pulled the program book out of her handbag. “Don’t you worry, Florence. I’ll get to the bottom of this. Who are the judges this year?” she mused. “Might be worth our while to find out. The names will be listed in the program book. I’ve a good mind to launch a protest over your missing marmalade. And the cake,” she added. She began flipping through the program book, but Florence gently closed it.
“No, Evelyn,” said Florence. “You mustn’t. Not now. I don’t want any fuss. Please, just leave it.”
“But something’s not right,” Mrs. Lloyd protested, gesturing at the jars. “Those leftover entry forms last night. They were in the name of Gaynor Lewis. So if she didn’t get her entries in on time, how is it that her marmalade is on the table, winning first prize, and yours isn’t? I’m going to be speaking to Joyce Devlin about this. There’s something very irregular going on here, and I mean to find out how this happened.”
“Why don’t you let us look into that?” suggested Penny. “Victoria and I were responsible for checking in the entries, so if we were to ask why Gaynor Lewis’s marmalade was admitted after the deadline, it might look more official. But we probably won’t be able to do that until the show’s over. The organizers will be too busy today. So Florence is right. Let’s leave it for now. This isn’t the right time.”
Perhaps because both she and Florence were outsiders, Penny had felt an immediate connection to her. Penny had lived in Llanelen for almost thirty years, Florence for about three, but in many ways they were both still trying to prove that they belonged in the community. That they had earned their right to be there. Both contributed to Llanelen life, making it a better place. Penny, a gifted and skilled artist, often donated her watercolour paintings to charitable causes, and Florence happily catered local special events, such as the opening of a new exhibit at the museum, in addition to teaching a cooking class in the town hall to help young mothers learn how to stretch their food budgets.
Mrs. Lloyd mulled over the suggestion that Penny and Victoria should be the ones to raise the issue of Florence’s missing entries. “You might be right,” Mrs. Lloyd finally agreed. “Go on, then. And if we’re not happy with what you find out, I will use my influence as a member of the show’s organizing committee to demand an official inquiry. But one way or another, Joyce will be hearing about this; you can count on that.”
Florence sighed, although it was difficult to tell if it was a sigh of resignation, disappointment, or a melancholy mixture of both.
“By the way,” said Penny, “I was wondering what happens to all the jams and cakes at the end of the show. Are they donated to the nursing home, say, or some other worthy cause?”
“No,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “The food products will remain on display until four-thirty today and then the owners can come and pick them up. If they want them. Anything unclaimed is discarded, because they’ve all been opened and sampled, although I suppose the person who does the clearing up could take anything left over. Food items can’t be raffled or given away, because they were made in home kitchens and may not have been made or stored in accordance with food hygiene regulations.”
“Well then,” said Florence. “I’ll collect my raspberry jam at the end of the day and that’ll be the end of it.”
“And you’ll collect your certificate and rosette, too,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “But that won’t be the end of it. It’ll be the start of it.”
* * *
When they had finished looking at the food and floral exhibits, the little group wandered over to the other side of the marquee, which had been designated as the tea area. Although the area was pleasantly crowded, Florence and Mrs. Lloyd managed to find an empty table. Victoria joined them, but, after checking her watch, Penny remained standing.
“I’ve got to get ready for the judging of the children’s pets,” Penny said.
“There’ll be a steward waiting for you at the ring,” said Mrs. Lloyd, “and he’ll have a box of rosettes and certificates you can use for prizes. First-place winners in each category get rosettes and the rest get consolation prizes.”
“I hope I remember to say the right things,” said Penny. “I thought of a few last night.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “Right, well, enjoy your coffee and cake or whatever you’re having for your elevenses.”
“Let’s all meet up at the end of the day,” said Victoria. “I’m probably going to go into work for a few hours, but I’ll be back with the car later, when the parking situation eases up a bit, and I’ll give you a lift home.”
* * *
Penny strolled through the field, pausing to observe the judging of the horse classes, including the hardy, stocky Welsh mountain ponies and cobs, whose ancestors had worked down the slate mines, and the tall, noble shires with their feathery feet, who for centuries had ploughed fields and pulled heavy wagons.
After a few minutes, Penny tore herself away from the equine judging and walked on until she reached the enclosure where the children’s pet competition was to be held. As Mrs. Lloyd had said, a steward was waiting for her, and he turned out to be none other than farmer Haydn Williams. The two greeted each other, and after Haydn had offered a few helpful tips on how she might carry out her role, she asked him to help her line up the dozen or so children with their pets.
She walked up and down the row, pausing to have a word with each child. Haydn had suggested she ask each one a question about the animal’s health or how the child cared for the pet. She was touched by the earnest sincerity of their answers, their eagerness to please, and their obvious love for the animals they cradled in their arms or who stood patiently beside them.
“Now, then,” she said, “who wants to win a rosette?” Her question was answered by cheers, waving hands, and enthusiastic grins. “Mr. Williams here”—she beckoned to Haydn—“is going to hold the basket for me, and if you win a prize, he’ll check your name off on his list. Let’s get started. First place in the friendliest-dog class goes to … Gypsy!” She pointed to a black cocker spaniel whose tail wagged vigorously and who strained at her lead to get to Penny. Penny laughed as she patted the little dog and handed a rosette to her young owner, whose endearing smile revealed two missing front teeth.
Penny moved down the line, awarding prizes, until she came to a girl wearing a pink net tutu and a glittery top. She held a Yorkshire terrier in her arms, dressed in the same pink net skirt and little top. “And you must be our two-of-a-kind entry,” Penny said. “What are your names?”
“I’m Macy,” the little girl said, and, indicating her dog, added, “and this is Tinker. Short for Tinker Bell.”
“Well, I don’t think we’ll see any better than you today, so I’m giving you first prize in your class.” She pinned a ribbon on the dog’s dress and handed one to the girl, but as she started to move on to the next child, the girl burst into tears.
&nb
sp; “What’s the matter?” Penny asked, crouching to the child’s eye level. As she did so, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of Gareth Davies leaning on the metal rail, watching her. She ignored him to focus on the girl. “Where’s your mum? Is your mum or dad here with you?” The girl nodded and pointed to a woman with blond hair the same colour as the girl’s who was standing with the parents ringing the enclosure. The woman waved, and the girl thrust her dog into Penny’s arms and ran out of the enclosure and into her mother’s arms. The child wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and buried her face in the warmth and security of the woman’s jacket. Penny hesitated for a moment, then followed the girl, leaving Haydn in charge of the children in the competition.
“I’m not sure what happened,” Penny said when she reached the mother, handing her the little dog. “Macy and Tinker won first prize in the two-of-a-kind competition, with their absolutely lovely outfits, but it seemed to upset her.”
“Oh, she’s just so happy that she won, aren’t you, poppet?” the woman said, cradling her daughter’s head.
The little girl looked up at her mother, her wide eyes threatening to release more tears. “No, Mummy, that’s not why I’m crying. I wanted my nain here to see me. She promised me she’d be here, and she isn’t…” The last sentence trailed off somewhere between a whine and a wail.
“Macy’s nain made the costumes, and we thought she’d be here to support her in the competition,” the woman explained. “We’ve looked everywhere but haven’t seen her yet, have we? I tried ringing her, but she’s not answering. We don’t know where she is, but I expect she’s on her way and she just got held up, that’s all.”
“Look,” said Penny, taking a step backward and glancing at Haydn, who was doing his best to entertain the impatient children until Penny returned, “I’ve got to get back to the judging, but you’re obviously concerned, so here’s what I’d do if I were you. I’d have a word with that man over there.” She gestured at Gareth. “He’s a former police officer, senior rank, and he’ll be able to provide some suggestions. I know him, and you might find talking to him reassuring. I shouldn’t be too much longer, so if you want to wait, I can go with you when you speak to him. I’d be glad to do that.”
“Thanks, but I really don’t want to talk to the police, retired or not.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean any official involvement,” Penny replied. “I just thought he could give you some advice.”
“No.” The woman shook her head. “Mum’s probably just delayed somewhere. I’m sure she’ll be along soon, with a perfectly reasonable explanation. She’s likely in the grounds somewhere, having a natter with a friend, and she’s forgotten all about the time. The show grounds are a big place, and she could be anywhere.” The woman glanced down at her daughter’s blond curls and gave them a reassuring stroke.
“It’s all right, Macy love,” she said. “You can tell your nain all about the show when we see her. We’ll go round to hers later and she’ll give you something nice for your tea, like she always does. How about that? Now, should we go see the chickens? See if your granddad’s won a prize like you did?”
The little girl shook her head. “I want to watch the rest of the pet contest. Then we’ll go see Granddad.”
Five
When the last pup had been praised, and the last prize presented, Penny scanned the faces of the spectators who had gathered to watch the children’s pet competition. At some point, unnoticed by her, Gareth Davies had slipped away. She wasn’t surprised. There would have been plenty of demands on his time.
As Penny and Haydn led the young contestants through the opening in the metal enclosure and watched them reunite with their proud parents, Macy’s mother approached, with Macy by her side.
The woman’s face was set with tense anxiety. Acutely aware of Macy’s presence, and not wanting to upset the child further, Penny did not ask if there was any news of Macy’s grandmother.
“I’m Michelle Lewis,” the woman said, her hands resting lightly on her daughter’s shoulders, “and you know Macy.”
“I certainly do.” Penny smiled at the girl’s upturned face. “Did you enjoy the rest of the pet show?”
The girl nodded. “My best friend won the ribbon for the cat the judge would most likely want to take home.” Deep frown lines crossed her forehead and she looked up at Penny with intense blue eyes. “You’re not going to, though, are you?”
Penny assured her the cat was quite safe and would be going home with its owner, and then she introduced herself to Michelle.
“Oh, I know who you are,” said Michelle. “I’ve just started getting my hair cut at your salon.”
Haydn, who had been standing beside Penny, nodded at Michelle and began to edge away. But before Penny could thank him for his help with the pet show, Michelle spoke, and Haydn remained where he was.
“I’m just going to pop round to Mum’s,” Michelle said, “just to check if she’s…” She glanced at her daughter. “And I think it best if Macy stays here at the show, with her grandfather. To save me a bit of a time—well, quite a bit, actually, as it’ll take me at least twenty minutes to walk over to the fur-and-feather area, drop her off, walk back, and get out of the car park. So I hope it’s not too much to ask, but I wondered if you’d mind walking Macy over to her granddad. He’ll be with the fur-and-feather people. Carwyn Lewis is his name.”
“I know Carwyn,” said Haydn. “I saw him about thirty minutes ago. I can take them over.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose you’ve seen my mother anywhere on the grounds this morning, have you?” Michelle asked him.
Haydn shook his head. “No, sorry, can’t say as I have.”
“Well, I’ll be as quick as I can,” Michelle said. “It’s just that Mum might have fallen or something, so…”
“Of course,” said Penny. “We’ll deliver Macy safely to her granddad and she’ll stay there until you get back, and you’ll pick her up from her grandfather, will you? Is that the plan? Is that what I should tell him?”
Michelle nodded. “Yes, I should be back within the hour, but let me give you my number, just in case you need to reach me, and I’ll ring Dad to let him know you’re on your way.”
“But your father…” said Penny after she’d added Michelle’s number to her mobile phone contact list. “Perhaps he might know where your mother is?”
Michelle shook her head. “No, he won’t know anything. They’re separated.” She kissed her daughter good-bye and then, after reassuring the little girl that she wouldn’t be gone any time at all and would be back before she knew it, Michelle handed the Yorkshire terrier to Penny.
After taking a few steps, Michelle turned around, gave her daughter a reassuring wave, then set off at a brisk pace for the car park. A moment later, she broke into a gentle run.
“Right, then, Macy, let’s get you over to your granddad, shall we?” said Penny. “Does your dog like to walk, or should I carry him? And why don’t you tell me a little more about his name. I’ve been wondering this whole time why he’s called Tinker Bell.”
Macy laughed. “He’s not a boy; he’s a girl.”
With Macy chatting happily between Penny and Haydn, and showing them things of interest along the way, the three walked through the crowded show grounds. They strolled past several canopies where various products, ranging from pet treats to dog-grooming services, were being promoted. The last canopy was the mobile office of Jones the Vet, available in case of injury to any of the animals. Just beyond that, they reached a larger canopy that sheltered hundreds of cages from the sun.
“Here we are,” announced Haydn. “Fur and feather.” Members of the fur category, including rabbits, gerbils, hamsters, and ferrets, peered out from behind the tiny bars of cages of various sizes, some made of wood, most of metal, and a few, stylish and rustic, fashioned by hand in dark brown wicker. On the other side of the canopied area, facing the fur group, was the feather contingent: pigeons, ducks, geese, chickens,
mourning doves, and turkeys. Smaller birds were caged; the larger ones were penned. Fresh bedding in the bottoms of the cages absorbed droppings, and despite the warmth of the space, there was no unpleasant odour. There was, however, plenty of avian noise, as the birds honked, clucked, cooed, and called to one another.
Judges, wearing distinctive armbands to identify them, moved from cage to cage at a measured pace, making notes on clipboards, occasionally pointing to an especially good-looking creature and asking the owner to remove it from its cage so they could examine it more closely.
“Taid!” Macy called out, breaking free from Penny and running toward an exhibitor who stood in the rear of the space, hands clasped behind his back, while he waited for the judges to reach him. At the sound of her voice, he turned, and his eyes lit up as a generous grin and a look of undisguised joy spread across his face. He crouched slightly to bring himself down to the girl’s level, his arms outstretched, as she ran to him.
“I guess we delivered her to the right person,” Penny remarked with a sideways glance at Haydn.
“That’s Carwyn Lewis all right.”
With Macy safely in the care of her grandfather, Penny and Haydn slowed down to examine the many breeds of birds entered in the competition. Stately, elegant chickens, tall and thin, contrasted with others that were short and plump. They all came in rich colours, some with feathers speckled in cream and brown, others the glossiest of blacks. Hens looked back at them with bright yellow eyes; roosters with extravagant tail feathers, proud of their plumage, took no notice of them.
Haydn and Penny walked on.
“I didn’t realize geese were so big,” said Penny as they paused in front of several white birds with bright orange beaks in a metal pen. One goose, apparently in a bad mood and tired of being looked at and talked about, hissed and rushed toward her, flapping its wings.
The Marmalade Murders Page 4