“All right, all right,” said Joyce with a flash of temper, interrupting Penny. “You’ve made your point. I’ll ask around and see what I can find out, although it does seem a bit petty to me. I can’t think of any reason why someone would not want Florence’s ruddy marmalade in the competition. Let’s put things in perspective here. It’s just a rural agricultural show, and not a very large or important one at that. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal.”
“Well, apparently it was a big deal to somebody,” said Penny. “Somebody, perhaps, who thought Florence was a threat to them? Somebody who wanted to win very badly? You see, Florence received a telephone call telling her that she should bring her entries to the tent for judging in the morning. Saturday morning, that is, long past the deadline. So when the entry deadline approached on Friday night and we hadn’t received her entries, I called her, and Florence and Mrs. Lloyd hurried over with Florence’s preserves and cake, and made it just in time.”
“But perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered too much if they’d been a few minutes late,” said Victoria, “as apparently there’s some flexibility. If you know the right people, that is.”
Joyce shot her a thunderous look.
“Look, I’ve already said I’ll see what I can find out.” She tapped her fingers lightly on the table. “And to be fair, that phone call does put a different slant on things. That almost makes it look like sabotage. And now that I think about it, I did hear that there was talk at the Women’s Guild about Florence being a threat. Some of the long-standing members, who were used to coming in first or second every year, felt threatened by her. Word had got round that she was just that good.”
“Are you a member of the WG?” Penny asked.
“Oh God, no. Gaynor was the president of the WG, in case you didn’t know, so there’s no way I’d be going to those meetings. Not with her there, lording it over everybody. But I know women who are members, like Barbara, and I heard the talk about Florence and her baking and cooking skills.”
She drained the last of her coffee and adjusted her position in her chair as a signal that she was getting ready for the conversation to come to an end.
“And you’re right about the perception about the integrity and impartiality of our show. We do have high standards, and we must be seen by everybody as being fair and impartial. I’ll ask Barbara if she heard anything.”
“Who’s Barbara when she’s at home?” Victoria asked. “We saw her with you, and wondered about her.”
“The woman who was with you in the tent on the Friday evening and again on Saturday,” Penny said. “Small, timid-looking. Holding on to the files and things?”
Joyce nodded. “Barbara Vickers. She’s the show secretary. Keeps all the paperwork in order. Deals with suppliers. Makes everything run smoothly. Honestly, I don’t know what we’d do without her.”
She stood up. “I must say, it feels rather good to get all that Gaynor business off my chest. I’ve probably been waiting years to unburden myself. I know what they say about not speaking ill of the dead, but I feel a lot better for it.” Her tone softened. “And now I expect you’re ready to see some puppies?”
“Yes, we certainly are!” and “Yes, please!” Penny and Victoria said at the same time.
“Right, well, just give me a minute or two to get changed, and then we’ll have a quick tour of the kennels. But don’t go getting any ideas about the puppies. They’re all spoken for, and there’s a waiting list, besides. You mustn’t get your hopes up.”
“Before you go, Joyce, have you got a photo of Gaynor?” asked Penny. “I’m curious to see what she looked like when she was alive.”
Joyce walked over to a substantial Welsh dresser that took up almost half of one wall. A beautifully crafted, solid piece of oak furniture, with cupboards and drawers similar to a sideboard making up the lower part, and utilitarian shelves with plate racks on top, the Devlins’ dresser had the well-worn, polished patina of an heirloom that had been lovingly cared for down through generations. Commemorative plates, souvenirs of events in the life of the nation—like the late Queen Mother’s hundredth birthday—and decorative plates with patterns of songbirds, Christmas scenes, autumn landscapes, and black Labrador retrievers filled the display shelves. Two dusty brown-and-white ironstone platters, one large and one small, were interspersed among the plates. Joyce combed through a pile of papers on the flat surface of the sideboard part of the dresser and pulled out a framed photograph. “It was taken quite a few years ago,” Joyce said as she handed the photo to Penny. “That’s the three of them. Gaynor and her brothers. That’s Dev on the left, and Andy on the right, before he…” She then shuffled out of the room, her tattered brown sheepskin slippers making light scuffing noises on the slate floor. Billie followed her.
Before he what? thought Penny. Died? Committed suicide? Moved to Australia?
Victoria picked up the used mugs and took them to the sink. As she tipped the untouched coffee out of hers and rinsed all three, Penny took the photograph to the window and, angling it to catch the light, examined the subjects. Two men stood on each side of a woman wearing a flowered dress and a bright blue fascinator over curly brown hair swept back from her face. Penny recognized the Llanelen church behind them. Probably taken at a summer wedding, she thought. The woman squinted slightly into the sun, and her smile seemed forced and insincere. The men posed as if unwillingly, looking awkward and stiff in their suits and ties, and the distance between all three seemed uncomfortable and strained.
The photographer had not been close enough to capture details of the woman’s face, but in this image she looked unremarkable and ordinary. Penny thought she could have bumped into her in a shop or passed her on the street without noticing her, and in all likelihood, she probably had. She showed the photograph to Victoria, who glanced at it, gave a dismissive little shrug, and said nothing.
Penny took one last look at the photograph, then walked over to the dresser to put it back. The flat surface of the dresser had become a catchall for paper clutter. As Penny’s eyes flicked across farm equipment catalogues, church newsletters, programs from the agricultural show, and magazine cuttings, several unopened envelopes with FINAL NOTICE printed on them in red letters caught her attention. At that moment, the clicking of Billie’s toenails on the slate floor announced she and Joyce were on their way, and Penny scuttled across the kitchen to join Victoria beside the sink just as Billie and Joyce, now wearing a shapeless pair of grey worsted trousers and a black cardigan, entered the kitchen. Penny handed her the photograph.
“Right. Boots on, and we’ll be off,” Joyce ordered as she lightly dropped the photo on the kitchen table.
Ten
Billie led the way down a rutted path to a weathered wooden farm outbuilding. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but when Joyce opened the door, they stepped into a clean, warm space with the distinctive smell of a new building emanating from fresh paint and recently installed flooring.
Spacious individual dog kennels flanked each side of an aisle that ran down the centre of the building. Some were fenced off to about waist height; others were self-contained, with high walls and a door. “These are quiet spaces reserved for nervous, anxious dogs who might be upset by the barking of other dogs,” explained Joyce.
Each kennel was furnished with a soft bed raised off the floor. Several dogs, including a beagle and a boxer, were already in residence and barked friendly hellos. “Those are our guest boarders,” said Joyce. “We take care of them whilst their owners are away. The humans can go on holiday knowing their dogs are perfectly safe and well cared for with us. We used to do that for no charge, if you can believe it, but now we’ve turned dog boarding into a proper business. We charge, and people are more than willing to pay.”
They continued on to the end of the building and Joyce indicated a door. “That leads to a safe, fenced-in area where they can have a proper run.” She opened another door. “And here’s the kitchen.” It was
a small but well-equipped area with a sink, storage space, refrigerator, and microwave. Her husband, Dev, stood at the worktop with his back to them and did not turn around. “This is where we store and prepare all the food, including any kind of special diet. We also keep medications and supplements in here.
“And best of all,” she announced, unable to hide her enthusiasm, “next door is the nursery.” She joyfully threw back the door to reveal six roly-poly black Lab puppies, safely enclosed in a large, well-padded play area, tussling and climbing over one another under their proud mother’s watchful eye.
“Oh!” exclaimed Penny and Victoria at the same time.
“I suppose you’d like to give them a cuddle,” said Joyce, scooping up a couple of sturdy pups. “That’s fine. It does them good to be handled and played with. Helps with the socializing.” Supporting the puppies under their bottoms with one arm and wrapping the other arm around them, Victoria and Penny hugged the puppies to their chests, gently nuzzling the tops of their soft heads with their chins and cheeks. “Oooh.” They breathed in the warm, sweet puppy smell and grinned as the squirming puppies licked their faces, their tongues pretty splashes of pink against their round black faces. Penny and Victoria admired the tiny paws with their pink pads and tried to avoid the puppies’ playful nips with their sharp milk teeth. They stroked and snuggled the delightful little creatures, laughing as they passed them back and forth and took photos of each other holding them.
“I don’t want to give her back!” Penny exclaimed when Joyce reached out for the puppy, indicating visiting hours were over. After returning the pups to their mother and littermates, they left the nursery, passing Joyce’s husband, who was still working in the kitchen, as they made their way out of the building.
“Since you got me thinking about our family history,” said Joyce as she walked with them across the front of the farmyard to Victoria’s car, “something occurred to me when I went upstairs to change.”
“What’s that?” replied Penny.
“Well, Gaynor had been separated from her husband, Carwyn, for quite a few years, and he’s been living with Elin Spears for almost as long. So I wondered if now, with Gaynor out of the way, those two will finally get married. Elin’s been after him to marry her for years, or so Gaynor always said. And why shouldn’t Elin have him? Now that Gaynor’s gone, Elin will be taking over as president of the Women’s Guild, so she might as well have it all.”
“What!” Penny’s eyes widened.
“Oh, yes,” said Joyce, slowing down as they approached Victoria’s car. “Gaynor was president of the WG, and Elin was vice president. They didn’t like it, but that’s what the membership voted. How the two of them managed to work together, I have no idea, but Elin will take over the role of president now. They’ve got a meeting coming up this week, and it should be interesting.”
“Will you go?” Penny asked.
“No, it’s not for me. And anyway, the meeting’s on Wednesday, and Dev and I’ve got an appointment.”
“Well, you’ve certainly given us a lot to think about,” said Penny as she opened the car’s passenger door and Victoria walked around to the driver’s side. “I’m sorry that we took up much more of your time than we intended. And thank you for the kennel tour. The puppies are wonderful, and the dogs who get to stay there are very lucky indeed.”
Joyce nodded good-bye and took a step back as Penny closed the car door and rolled down the window. Leaning out a little, she said to Joyce, “But you will have a word with Barbara about that phone call Florence received, asking her to bring her entries Saturday morning, won’t you?”
“Yes, I said I would, and I will. As soon as I get around to it. We’ve got two dogs booked in tomorrow, and the gala dinner coming up on Saturday, so it’s going to be a busy week.”
Penny rolled up the window, and as Victoria’s car pulled out of the farmyard, she looked back and waved at Joyce, who was standing there with Billie at her side.
When the car had disappeared through the gate, Joyce started for the house, then, changing her mind, returned to the kennels, where her husband was washing the floor. The swirling cotton fibres made a light swishing noise as he moved the mop rhythmically back and forth. He did not look up from his work.
“Dev!” she said. “Finish that up quick as you like and then come to the house. I’ve got to ring Barbara, and then you and I need to talk about your doctor’s appointment.”
Eleven
“The puppies are adorable, aren’t they?” Victoria commented as they drove down the lane that led from the Devlin farmhouse. “I wish I could have one.”
“I bet you do. They’re not puppies for long, though. Pretty soon you’ve got a big dog that needs a lot of training and exercise, and your time is no longer your own. And it won’t be for the next ten years or longer.”
“Thanks for the reality check. I needed that. No puppy for me, then.” She turned onto the narrow road that would take them into Llanelen. “I wasn’t sure what Joyce was going to be like, but she was much nicer, really, than I thought she would be. I guess we got the wrong impression of her at the show.”
“Yes, she was,” agreed Penny. “She seemed so curt at the agricultural show, but that was probably because she had a lot on her mind and so many things to see to.”
“Probably. It’s a lot of responsibility running a big show like that, with so many moving parts and so many people depending on you. And she’s a completely different person when she’s with her dogs. She’s probably one of those people who prefers dogs to people.”
“True.” Penny gazed out the window at the fleeting scenery. Patches of purple heather mingled with streaks of yellow gorse blanketed the hillsides, alive and shimmering in the golden light of midafternoon.
“I wonder about those dog kennels,” Penny said. “State-of-the-art.”
“Yes, they are,” agreed Victoria.
“Must have cost a bundle. I wonder where they got the money to build them.”
“Bank loan?”
“Maybe. Could have used the farm property as collateral, I suppose,” Penny mused.
“What’s up with you? Why would you be thinking about the Devlins’ sources of income? I thought you’d want to talk about the puppies all the way home.”
“Because the dresser is covered in bills marked ‘Reminder’ and ‘Final Notice.’ If they can’t afford to pay their electric and gas bills, how could they afford to build a new kennel? And one as elaborate as that?” She glanced at Victoria’s profile as her friend concentrated on the road ahead.
“Maybe they can afford to pay the bills but are just careless or slow,” said Victoria. “Some people, when a bill arrives, instead of paying it right away, they toss it aside, telling themselves they’ll pay it later. And then they forget about it, and payment notices start arriving.”
“Hmm, maybe,” said Penny, “but in this case, I don’t think so. It seems unlikely that Joyce could manage to pull off a big project like the agricultural show if she can’t even manage to pay her own bills on time.”
“She could pull off an event like that,” replied Victoria, “if Barbara took care of all the little details, as she seemed to do, and Joyce just had to tell her what to do.”
“Maybe,” said Penny again, “but something about those unpaid bills doesn’t feel right.” A few minutes later, they arrived at Penny’s cottage. “Are you coming in?” Penny asked. “I hope so. Joyce gave us lots of things to talk about.”
“I’m coming in only if you promise to make me a proper cup of coffee. Joyce’s was pretty bad.”
Penny laughed. “I can do that. And what about something to eat? Are you hungry? I could probably find some cheese and crackers.”
“No, you’re all right, but I wouldn’t say no to a biscuit or something sweet. I won’t stay long, and I’ll have supper when I get home.”
Penny unlocked the front door of her cottage. It had been built in the nineteenth century as accommodation for successive f
amilies of local slate-quarry workers, but as the slate mines closed in the twentieth century, the cottages had been sold off. This one had been bought by a schoolteacher who had befriended Penny when she first arrived in Llanelen. The teacher had died a few years ago, leaving the cottage to Penny, who had modernized and decorated it to suit her tastes, while retaining much of the building’s original charm, including a working fireplace, slate floors, low ceilings with beams, woodwork, and a Rayburn cooker. It was the first property Penny had owned, and she loved it, as well as the security and independence it represented. She acknowledged that the cottage was one of the reasons her relationship with Gareth Davies had not progressed. Penny simply could not bear to leave her snug, comfortable home to move in with anyone else, and she didn’t want someone moving in with her. The cottage was just right for one person but too small for two. Penny recognized the irony of her thinking, knowing that the cottage’s previous inhabitants would have included large families with several children.
“Why don’t you put the kettle on while I look for…” Her voice trailed off as she looked around the tidy sitting room with its wing chairs and sofa in a bright floral pattern set against the palest yellow of the walls. “Where did I put it?” she muttered.
“Put what? What are you looking for?” Victoria called from the kitchen over the sound of running water.
“The program from the agricultural show. I just want to check…” Penny entered the kitchen and pulled a drawer open. “Joyce had a stack of them on her Welsh dresser. I can’t think what I did with mine.”
“Did you look at the program Friday evening after you got home?” Victoria asked. “Did you take it to the show with you on Saturday? If not, look in the handbag you had with you on Friday night.” Penny closed the drawer and handed Victoria a beige canister marked Coffi.
“Yes, I did look at it Friday night. Thanks. I know where it is now.” Penny left the kitchen and ran lightly upstairs. A few minutes later she skipped back down the stairs waving the blue program guide as Victoria entered the sitting room carrying a coffee tray.
The Marmalade Murders Page 8