The Marmalade Murders

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  “Since people have been coming in and out all day, it was probably placed there sometime after we left last night and before the tent opened for the judging this morning,” said Penny. “I can’t see anyone being able to put something like that under the table while the show was going on, can you? I mean, think about it.”

  “No, I suppose not,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “I wonder who it is, though.” She mulled that over. “Could be one of the judges, I suppose. There’s a lot of rivalry that goes on behind the scenes, I understand, and some of the judges aren’t too popular with the losers.” She glanced at Florence and then let out a little gasp. “What about the authorities! We’ve been serving food in this marquee all day, and just over there”—she tipped her head in the direction of the table that hid the body—“well, I mean there must be a food hygiene regulation against that sort of thing. You know what those health and safety people are like. Oh, when word of this gets out, we could be in big trouble.”

  “I don’t think the show committee will be in any kind of trouble for violation of health and safety standards,” said Florence. “It’s an unsavoury thought, yes, but no one was to know.”

  “Well, someone knew!” retorted Mrs. Lloyd. “Whoever left that body there knew. And they must have known it would be found at the end of the day, when everything was taken down.” She made a little tsking noise. “Disgusting, that, really, when you think about it. Leaving a body for some other poor soul to find. It was a good thing Penny here was the one to find it. It’s not the first body she’s found. But it could have been found by someone of a more nervous disposition, someone like…”

  “You?” suggested Florence.

  As they were speaking, Penny’s eyes followed Joyce Devlin, who had emerged from a blocked-off area at the rear of the marquee and, with Billie at her heels and Barbara by her side, was heading toward the exit. Penny stood up.

  “Oh Lord. Now what?” Mrs. Lloyd asked.

  “They’re leaving.” Penny sighed and sat down. “I was about to suggest that they stay, because I’m sure Gareth will want to speak to them, but then I thought I don’t really have the authority to ask them to do anything. If the police want to talk to them, and I’m sure they will, they’ll find them.”

  The issue was resolved when Gareth Davies entered the tent just as Joyce approached the exit. Tall, with an air of calm authority about him that inspired trust, he spoke to her for a few moments. She looked at her watch and then raised an arm in a wild gesture.

  “She doesn’t have time for this,” muttered Florence, interpreting the body language of the unfolding scenario. “She’s a busy woman. The show’s closing and, body or no body, she’s got things to attend to.”

  A moment later, Florence’s take on the situation was revealed to be correct. Gareth stood to one side, making room for Joyce, her companion, and her dog to leave.

  “He’s not a police officer anymore,” commented Penny. “He can’t actually force them to stay. If Joyce wants to leave, she’s perfectly free to do so. Although I wonder what he said to her. If he told her that a body had been discovered, wouldn’t you think she’d want to stick around and find out more? Seems like a very odd reaction.”

  “And that woman with her,” commented Mrs. Lloyd. “Barbara. She’s such a little mouse, you hardly take any notice of her.”

  Gareth paused for a moment, as if gathering himself together, and then made his way to the table where the women were seated. He greeted each one by name, then pulled out a chair and sat down. “So,” he said to Penny, “the police are on their way. Tell me how you happened to find the body.”

  “It’s under the table,” she replied, pointing. “Over there. Joyce’s black Lab, Billie, was sniffing around under the table and came out with cake icing on her nose. You know what Labs are like. Always looking for crumbs and things to eat. So I thought in case she got into something that could hurt her—chocolate, maybe—I’d better see what she was up to, and when I lifted up the tablecloth, that’s when I saw it. A woman’s body.”

  “Not to mention Florence’s carrot cake is there, too,” said Mrs. Lloyd, her voice prickling with indignation. “All the trouble she went to, and her cake didn’t even make it into the judging. And now we know why.”

  “We do?” asked Florence.

  Mrs. Lloyd turned to her. “Well, we don’t really know how it got there, but at least we know where it is. That’s a start, I suppose.”

  “Well, the cake definitely helps us with the ‘When?’ question,” said Penny. “You brought the cake here last night at eight o’clock and it was on the table when we left last night, about eight-fifteen. And it must have been under the table, along with the body, when the judges arrived this morning.”

  “That would make sense,” said Gareth. He then asked Penny if she’d been able to get a look at the person’s face and, if so, whether she’d recognized it.

  “No, I didn’t recognize the person, but it’s a woman, and I have an idea who it might be.” He waited, tracing tiny circles on the white tablecloth with his index finger. “While I was judging the children’s pets entries, one little girl became upset that her grandmother wasn’t there. I spoke to the child’s mother, and she said that they hadn’t been able to get in touch with her mother—that’s the child’s grandmother—and I suggested she speak to you. I pointed you out to her.” She frowned. “Did she speak to you?”

  It was Gareth’s turn to frown. “No, she didn’t.”

  “Well, I’m not surprised. She said she didn’t want to get the police involved, even a retired officer.”

  “And what’s her name?”

  “The woman I spoke to?” Gareth nodded. “The little girl’s mother is called Michelle Lewis, but her mother—the one she was concerned hadn’t turned up—is called Gaynor Lewis. So it could be her. She’s the president of the WG.”

  “The WG. Oh, right. The Women’s Guild. My grandmother belonged to that. It’s been around for a long time.”

  Gareth patted the pockets of his jacket and Florence, sensing what he was looking for, pulled her little notebook out of her handbag, wrote down the name Gaynor Lewis, tore out the page, and handed it to him with a tight-lipped smile.

  “To save you some time,” said Penny, opening up the contact list in her mobile, “here’s Michelle Lewis’s phone number.” She held out her phone, and Gareth copied down the number. “And there’s something else,” Penny continued. “I don’t know if this is important or not, but Gaynor’s marmalade wasn’t officially entered in the competition by the time entries closed at eight P.M.”

  “And yet it won first place!” exclaimed Mrs. Lloyd. “And Florence’s marmalade, which was entered on time, is nowhere to be found. How can that be? Believe me, I intend to get to the bottom of that.”

  “Erm, well.” Gareth frowned slightly and rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure I quite grasp the significance of the marmalade, but the police will be here in a minute, so…” His voice trailed off as he folded his hands and rested them on the table, his arms outstretched. The little group sat in silence.

  Penny looked more closely at him, as if she were seeing him for the first time in a long while. There was something different about him, but at first she couldn’t place it. And then she realized he was wearing new glasses and had a slightly different haircut. He exuded that same cared-for look that she’d recognized earlier in Carwyn Lewis. Gareth was spoken for, Penny realized. She knew he’d been seeing a woman from Edinburgh, but she hadn’t realized the relationship had reached the point where his new flame was sprucing him up.

  How different our lives are now, she thought. A year ago, Gareth would have been the lead detective on this case, and I would have been eagerly offering suggestions and helping in any way I could, whether he wanted that help or not. And now he’s sitting here in a marquee at the end of the day, waiting for the police to arrive. She wondered how he felt about that.

  The arrival of Victoria, accompanied by her friend Heather Hughes, the ar
ea’s most celebrated gardener, interrupted her thoughts. Before Gareth could prevent them from approaching the display tables, Heather and Victoria scooped up all Heather’s award-winning floral entries and carried them to the table where Penny and her companions were seated.

  “I wondered if you’d like to take these home with you,” Heather said to Mrs. Lloyd. “They’re a little past their best, having sat in the tent all day, but there might be a day or two left in them.”

  “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, but—” Mrs. Lloyd began.

  “Lovely. We’d be delighted to have them. Thank you,” Florence interjected, reaching for the flowers.

  “Well, good,” said Heather. She paused, taking in their serious, unsmiling faces before adding awkwardly, “I’ll be off, then. See you all at the dinner next week, I hope.” The group at the table murmured polite good-byes as Heather walked away. She stopped for a moment about halfway to the exit and looked back at them.

  “What’s happened?” Victoria asked with a puzzled look. “You’re all looking very glum.” She fixed her eyes on Penny, who shook her head slightly, then settled them on Gareth. “Something’s happened. I can tell. And we noticed a couple of police cars driving up the road, so please tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’ll leave Penny to tell you,” he replied. “If the police are here, I’d better go and meet them.” He stood up, then said to the group, “Best if you go home now. The pathologist is probably on his way, and the marquee’s going to be cordoned off. The police will need to take statements from everybody, but that can wait. They know where to find you. And anyway, they’ll want to talk to you separately.”

  “What happened?” Victoria repeated, her voice rising with impatience. “What is it?”

  “Come on,” said Penny. “We’ll tell you all about it on the way home.” She picked up a single white rose in its simple bud vase and handed it to Florence. Mrs. Lloyd cradled a large bouquet of mixed flowers in her arms, Victoria grabbed a couple of potted plants, and Penny took a spray of red and pink roses. As the four of them walked to the exit, their arms filled with flowers, a uniformed police officer entered the tent and held the flap open for a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a smart navy blue pantsuit.

  “Hello, Penny,” said Inspector Bethan Morgan, adding with an air of mild resignation tempered by affection, “Now why do you suppose I just knew I’d find you here?”

  “Sorry. I guess I just have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Oh no,” gasped Victoria. “You haven’t! You’ve only gone and found a body.”

  Eight

  “And so you see, it was actually Joyce Devlin’s Labrador, Billie, who found the body,” Penny concluded as Victoria slowed her car to a stop in front of Mrs. Lloyd’s house on Rosemary Lane. “I just happened to be there.”

  “And not only that, but Billie found Florence’s missing carrot cake,” added Mrs. Lloyd.

  Victoria switched off the car’s engine, and before anyone could move, Florence spoke. “It’s been a long, eventful day, and I know we’re all tired, but it would mean a lot to us if both of you would join us for a drink or a cup of tea. You don’t have to stay long, but when something awful happens, you just feel you need to talk it over, don’t you? We’d rather not be on our own at the minute.”

  Not keen on the idea of being on her own, either, with no one but Harrison, her handsome grey cat, for company, Penny readily agreed, and Victoria did, too. They all piled out of the car and, arms once again laden with Heather’s flower arrangements, made their way up the path. Florence unlocked the door and led the way inside.

  “Go through,” Florence instructed, gesturing toward the sitting room. “I’ll just take the flowers to the kitchen and see to them. Won’t be a minute.”

  As Penny and Victoria sank into the comfortable sofa, Mrs. Lloyd adjusted the curtains, then asked Penny and Victoria what they’d like to drink. “Florence will no doubt prepare tea, but if you’d like a glass of wine or sherry, you may certainly have one.”

  “Tea will suit me just fine, thanks,” said Victoria. “I’m trying not to have any alcohol at all in my system now when I drive.”

  “What about you, Penny?” asked Mrs. Lloyd.

  “I’d love a glass of white wine, please.”

  Mrs. Lloyd left the room, then returned with a glass of chilled white wine, which she handed to Penny. She lifted the lid off the glass sherry decanter, poured herself a drink, and everyone sat down. By unspoken agreement, no one said anything while Florence remained out of the room. Penny took a sip of wine while Mrs. Lloyd sat poised on her chair, holding her sherry glass by the stem. Every few minutes her eyes wandered in the direction of the doorway, where Florence finally appeared, carrying a tea tray.

  “As we haven’t had supper yet, I cut a few sandwiches, and there’re scones I made yesterday,” she said, setting the tray on the table. Florence poured a cup of tea, handed it to Victoria, and then held out the plate of sandwiches.

  When everyone had helped themselves to a salmon-and-cucumber sandwich, expertly cut into neat quarters, Mrs. Lloyd took an appreciative sip of her sherry. She licked her top lip, leaned forward, and said, “Now then, Penny, what about this body? You think it might be Gaynor Lewis?”

  “Yes, I think it very well could be,” said Penny. “We know Gaynor wasn’t at the show, which you said wasn’t like her. And if it does turn out to be her, what do you know about her, Mrs. Lloyd?”

  “She’s the president of the Women’s Guild, as I think I mentioned earlier, and she likes all the homemaking arts, like sewing and baking and cooking. She used to live with her husband, Carwyn, on a farm not too far from Haydn Williams’s. He still lives there, Carwyn does, and raises fancy chickens. Hens. Every now and then, we get eggs from him.”

  “Lovely, those eggs are,” added Florence.

  “Yes, I met him and his chickens this morning,” said Penny. “He seemed rather charming.”

  “Anyway, they separated years ago, Gaynor and Carwyn. I don’t know if they ever got properly divorced. The breakup wasn’t amicable, by all accounts. There were rumours that he was seeing someone else, and sure enough, it wasn’t long after Gaynor moved out that his new lady friend moved in.”

  Ah, thought Penny. The other woman. So there is someone.

  “And is he still with this woman?” Penny asked.

  “As far as I know.” And then, anticipating Penny’s next question, Mrs. Lloyd added, “Elin Spears is her name.”

  “Elin Spears,” repeated Victoria. “I just heard that name somewhere recently, but I can’t place it.”

  “She won the grand prize at the show for her cake,” Florence reminded everyone.

  “Oh, right,” said Victoria.

  “The thing is,” continued Mrs. Lloyd, “I don’t really know much more than what I’ve just told you about Gaynor. Our paths rarely crossed, so I just know what I heard through the grapevine. Of course people talked about the marriage breakup at the time, but I haven’t heard that much about her since.”

  Penny smiled. The grapevine, she thought. Well, that’s one way to describe it. Mrs. Lloyd had an insatiable appetite for what many people would call gossip. “If you want to know more about Gaynor Lewis, the person you should be speaking to is her sister-in-law, Joyce Devlin. Although, you might take what she says with a grain of salt. The two positively loathe each other, or so I’ve been told, so whatever she tells you is bound to be biased.”

  “Yes,” said Penny, “I remember you mentioned that last night. Sister-in-law. So Gaynor is married to…”

  “No, it’s the other way around. Joyce is married to Gaynor’s older brother, Daffydd Devlin. Are you with me?”

  “I think so. Joyce Devlin is married to Gaynor Lewis’s older brother.”

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Lloyd.

  “And why don’t they like each other?” Victoria asked.

  “I’m not sure. If I ever did know the reason,
I’ve forgotten it. As long as I’ve known them, they’ve been on poor terms. Barely on speaking terms, really. Avoid each other as much as they can, but of course living fairly close, they can’t help running into each other now and then.”

  “Christmas must be a barrel of laughs in that family,” remarked Victoria.

  “Quite often whatever it is that starts off a row in a family is something small and trivial,” mused Florence. “I know of two sisters who didn’t speak for years because of an argument over a Bath bun. One sister grabbed the last one, the other wanted it, and all hell broke loose. It ended with one sister throwing the bun at the other, and neither got to eat it. Of course it wasn’t the bun they were fighting over; the bun just represented some long-standing issue that had never been resolved. And sometimes these rows go on for so long that nobody can even remember what started it.”

  Mrs. Lloyd gave her a sharp look. “My, Florence, listen to you. Aren’t you the family counsellor.”

  Florence shrugged off the comment and calmly sipped her tea, while Penny and Victoria exchanged amused looks.

  “But Mrs. Lloyd, when you say Joyce and Gaynor avoid each other, they must have to work together on the agricultural show, if Joyce is the president of the show committee and Gaynor is president of the Women’s Guild. I know the Guild isn’t directly involved in the running of the show, but there seems to be a fairly heavy WG involvement in it.”

  “Not really. Certainly not officially. A lot of WG members enter their baking and jams in the home-craft classes, because there’s no other real competition around here for that sort of thing, but that’s it. They enter the competitions and that’s all.”

  Penny contemplated Florence, who was buttering half of a light, flaky scone before slathering it with some of her homemade raspberry jam.

  “Are you a member of the WG, Florence?” Penny asked.

  Florence looked up from her task, knife poised. “Me? Good heavens, no.”