Bethan and Penny had known each other for several years. When they’d met, Bethan had been an ambitious, dedicated sergeant assisting DCI Gareth Davies. On his recent retirement, Bethan had been promoted to inspector and was now a senior investigating officer with the Major Crimes Unit of the North Wales Police. Penny had supported both police officers through several cases, suggesting leads and passing along insights, information, and observations. Her opinions had always been seen as helpful and had been well received, and, occasionally, even sought out. Until a recent case, the first one Bethan had led on her own, when she had responded coolly when Penny stepped forward with information. Penny had been confused and hurt by Bethan’s dismissiveness and apparent change in attitude toward her, but she had put it down to a young police officer’s determination to succeed on her own, combined with a little overconfident stubbornness. But when the case stalled, Bethan had realized that she needed Penny’s help, and had accepted it, at first grudgingly, and then gratefully.
And Penny had learned to choose her words carefully so Bethan wouldn’t mistake her trying to help for her telling the police officer how to do her job.
“So,” said Bethan running a hand through her dark curls and stretching out her legs. “You mentioned you had something for me. I’m all ears.”
“It may be something you already know, but I thought I should tell you that Victoria and I attended the Women’s Guild meeting today, and it seems they’re missing a special knife. It’s part of a silver set consisting of a cake stand, server, and knife that was presented to the Guild many years ago. The Best in Show cake at the agricultural show is always displayed on the stand, apparently, along with the knife and server. On Saturday, the server was on display beside the cake stand, but there was no knife. When we heard about the missing knife, it occurred to us that the missing Women’s Guild cake knife could be your murder weapon.”
“Why would you think that?” Bethan asked in a measured tone.
Penny realized that she could be sailing into choppy water by revealing operational information, given to her by Gareth Davies, Bethan’s former boss, that Bethan wanted withheld from the public. Penny struggled with how best to respond, then decided that being up-front was the best way forward to keep her relationship with Bethan on an even keel.
“You know I found the body,” Penny said. Bethan nodded. “Well, Gareth texted me Saturday night to tell me that the body had been identified as that of Gaynor Lewis and that the murder weapon was a knife with a long blade.”
Bethan exhaled slowly. “Okay. I just wondered how you knew.”
Penny heaved an inward sigh of relief. “I think it just slipped out. I hope you’re not upset that he told me.”
“No, I’m not upset. He shouldn’t have mentioned it to you, but to be fair, technically, I shouldn’t have allowed him to remain in the tent when the tablecloth was removed and the body was exposed. But since he was there, and with all his years of experience and expertise”—she gave a little shrug—“I figured, Why not let him have a little look? I’ll take all the help I can get.”
You’ve changed your tune! thought Penny, relieved that Bethan’s more open attitude gave her permission to continue helping the police with their inquiries.
“Oh,” said Penny, “about the knife. I almost forgot. There’s something else that might help you.” Bethan leaned forward. “The missing Women’s Guild knife has a mother-of-pearl handle.”
“The Women’s Guild,” Bethan said slowly. She steepled her hands and touched her lips with her fingertips as she weighed that information.
“Yes, and Gaynor Lewis was the president.”
Bethan sat back in her chair and the tension drained out of her face. “Now that is interesting. We’ve been focused on the agricultural show people, but the information you’ve given me opens up another line of inquiry.”
“The thing is, though,” said Penny, “I’ve come to realize that the agricultural show committee and the Women’s Guild are closely linked, both through what they do and the people involved.”
“That’s true,” said Bethan. “We’ve discovered that the members of the Guild are heavily into the competitions, and the members of one family, the Devlins, seem to be running both organizations—Gaynor Lewis as president of the Women’s Guild, and her sister-in-law, Joyce Devlin, as chair of the agricultural show committee.”
Penny nodded.
“Anything else you can tell me?” Bethan asked.
“Yes, there is something. About the Devlins. Victoria and I visited Joyce Devlin’s farm on Sunday. They’ve just had new dog kennels put in. All state-of-the-art. But I noticed some unpaid bills in the Devlins’ kitchen, so I wondered where the money for the kennels came from. With Daffydd Devlin being treasurer of the show committee—”
“Farm financing is always complicated,” said Bethan before Penny could finish her sentence. “There’s probably a really simple explanation where they got the money, but we’ll look into it.” Was there a faint whiff of the old dismissiveness in Bethan’s response? Penny wondered. She mentally shrugged it off. She’d done her bit and passed on the information to Bethan, and what Bethan chose to do with it was entirely up to her.
“Well, thank you for this. We’ll talk again soon, I’m sure.”
Penny opened her front door and stood to one side to allow Bethan to exit first. “I’m going to the agricultural show gala on Saturday night. I’ll keep my ears open, if you like,” Penny said as they walked together to Bethan’s car.
“Please do,” said Bethan. “Gareth will be there, too, I understand.”
“There is something I’d like to know. If you can tell me, that is,” Penny said.
A light smile crossed Bethan’s face as she unlocked her vehicle, then turned to face Penny. “Now what would that be? I ask myself.”
“The murder weapon. Did the knife have a mother-of-pearl handle?”
Bethan teased out the moment before replying. “Yes.”
Fourteen
“Morning, Penny.” Rhian looked up from her receptionist’s desk and smiled a warm greeting as Penny entered the Spa on Saturday morning. “Looks like you’ve got a busy day ahead of you. Everybody’s fully booked today, with the agricultural show gala dinner tonight, but Mrs. Lloyd just called, and apparently she forgot to make an appointment to get her hair done for the event. She asked if we could squeeze her in sometime today. Alberto said to tell her to come in as soon as she could, before he gets too busy, so I did. She should be here any minute.”
Penny touched the ends of her blunt-cut bob and said, “I wonder if Alberto can squeeze me in, too.”
“You’re pushing your luck. He’s only got one pair of hands, Penny.”
“Right. Well, I’d better crack on, then.”
Eirlys, Penny’s assistant, was preparing for the day’s work when Penny entered the manicure studio opposite the hair salon at the end of the corridor. Bright sunshine filtered in through the east-facing window, lighting up the wall display of nail varnishes in graduated colours from pale pinks through robust reds. Shades of brown, purple, and burgundy filled a row, and lively, bright shades of blue, green, and yellow for younger clients completed the selection.
A custom-built wall cabinet with fitted cupboards above a worktop and drawers below it took up the whole of one wall. Beside a small rumpled stack of clean white towels piled on the worktop waiting to be folded, Eirlys had placed the list of that day’s clients. Penny rested her arms on the worktop and, leaning over, read out the first name on the list.
“Andrea Devlin.” She turned to Eirlys. “She must be new. I don’t think she’s been here before.”
“No, she hasn’t,” said a robust voice from the doorway. A tall, sturdy woman stepped into the room, her glossy chestnut brown hair framing a thin face and just reaching her broad shoulders. Her makeup had been expertly applied; the foundation was the perfect match for her skin tone, the eye shadow and mascara defined her eyes, and the effect was finished o
ff with a bright slash of red lipstick. She wore tailored navy blue trousers with a pale blue long-sleeved blouse rolled back at the cuffs. “And it’s pronounced On-dray-ah.”
Penny apologized for mispronouncing her client’s name, then invited her to sit at the manicure table nearest the door. Eirlys set a basin of warm lavender-scented water in front of her. As Andrea tentatively dipped her fingertips in the soaking bowl, a puzzled look flashed across Eirlys’s face, but she said nothing and went about her work, folding the pile of towels.
“Your last name is Devlin,” said Penny to her client as she took the seat opposite her. “I know a Joyce Devlin. Any relation?”
“She’s my sister-in-law.”
Sister-in-law, thought Penny. The relationships in that family are already hard to keep straight, and now here’s another relative.
Eirlys finished folding the towels and stacked them neatly in their basket. “Right, Penny, that’s the towels done, so I’ll be off now to the cash-and-carry to pick up that special order, and then I’m filling in for Rhian on the front desk for an hour. I’ll be back in time for my afternoon appointments.”
“Very good, Eirlys, but be back as soon as you can. We’re going to be busy today, so it’s all hands to the pumps. We may even have to try to fit in a walk-in client or two, like Alberto did.”
“I’m happy to work through lunch today, if you need me to,” said Eirlys. “I shouldn’t be long.” Just as she stepped into the corridor, she bumped into Mrs. Lloyd, who was on her way to the hair salon across the hall.
“Oh, Eirlys, dear, you almost bowled me over! Just wanted to pop my head in and have a quick word with Penny,” said Mrs. Lloyd. At the sound of her voice, and the little flurry of activity in the corridor, Penny and her client turned their faces to the doorway.
Mrs. Lloyd smiled at Penny, and then, as her curious gaze moved to the woman getting her nails done, Mrs. Lloyd frowned slightly and her head tipped forward. Her eyes narrowed and as she gave a little start, her smile melted into a little o of puzzled surprise. She seemed about to say something, but as she struggled to shape the right words, Alberto emerged from the salon and crossed the corridor holding a zebra-striped hairdresser’s cape. He reminded Mrs. Lloyd they were short of time and made an impatient gesture to encourage her to move into the salon. Mrs. Lloyd’s attention snapped back to Penny.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve saved two places for you and Victoria at my table tonight at the agricultural show dinner. The secretary who looks after the seating placed some women from the Women’s Guild at my table, too.” Mrs. Lloyd raised her hand in a brief good-bye gesture and then, after another quick sideways glance at Andrea, hurried across the hall to get her hair done.
Andrea lowered her eyes and exhaled a long, soft breath.
“Are you all right?” Penny asked.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
But Penny didn’t think she was fine. Something had sparked instantly and rapidly between Andrea and Mrs. Lloyd, creating an arc of confused recognition. Perhaps Mrs. Lloyd had seen something in Andrea’s appearance that was slightly different or unexpected, and had realized, as Penny had known when she’d turned around after reading Andrea’s name on the day’s client list, seen her standing in the doorway, and heard her pronounce her name in a practised, modulated tone, that Andrea was a transgender woman.
After a few more minutes of quiet soaking time, Penny lifted one of Andrea’s hands out of the water and dried it gently, as she had done with countless other women. But this hand was different. Bigger, certainly, and the ring finger was slightly longer than the index finger.
As she began shaping the nails, she asked, “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Andrea gave her a sharp look, then settled back into the chair as a small, tired laugh escaped her. “No, not anymore. I grew up here but left as a teenager, and I’ve been gone for years. Been living abroad. Started working in Berlin after the wall came down. I’m a painter and decorator, and there was a lot of work to be had in Germany in the early nineties after reunification.”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” Penny said as she did a quick calculation. That would put Andrea in her mid-forties.
“So I lived there for a few years, and then I moved to Holland, where I’ve been living until recently.” She gave Penny a sly smile. “But going by your accent, you’re not from here, either, are you?”
“No, I’m originally from Canada, but I’ve lived here in Llanelen, gosh, almost thirty years. So this is my home now.”
“No desire to move back?”
Penny shook her head. “I have no close family there, and I’ve been gone so long that there’s nothing for me to go back to.” She was silent for a moment and then decided to risk asking some questions of her own.
“What brings you back here now after all that time away?”
“A family matter.”
That vague answer could mean just about anything, so Penny kept her response just as noncommittal. “Oh, I see. Yes, well, families…”
“Believe me,” said Andrea, “I was really surprised to find myself back here. But then, when I thought about it, I decided I should come, and I discovered I really wanted to.”
Penny had finished applying the base coat and asked Andrea what colour nail varnish she would like.
“Well, she hated brown, so I’d like the brownest brown you’ve got.” She rose from her chair, scanned the display of nail varnish bottles, and selected one. She set it emphatically on the table in front of Penny and took her seat. “That one.” She held out her hands and Penny picked up the bottle and shook it.
Andrea let out a little laugh. “Oh, this is delicious. She hated this colour and I’m wearing it to her funeral!”
Penny blinked, holding the nail varnish applicator suspended above her client’s fingernail. “You’re here for a funeral?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t know yet when it will be. My sister died. You probably heard about it. Gaynor Lewis. She was murdered, actually. It’s too bad about the way she died, of course, but I can’t say I’m sorry she’s dead.” She leaned forward as her body tensed. “She was a vicious, controlling bully and I hated the very bones of her.” Saying those words, Andrea’s previously well-modulated feminine voice lowered and the words dripped with bitterness just as the tiny drop of nail varnish that had formed on the tip of the little brush Penny was holding dropped onto the white towel, staining it the colour of dried blood.
Gaynor was her sister, thought Penny. And then everything fell into place when she remembered the photo Joyce Devlin had shown her in the kitchen. “That’s the three of them,” Joyce had said, “Gaynor and her two brothers. That’s Dev on the left, and Andy on the right, before he…” And now Penny could complete the sentence: “before he transitioned to a woman.”
“Yes, everyone in town knows what happened to Gaynor,” Penny said. “And I’m sorry for your loss. But under the circumstances, are you sure you want this colour?”
“Why? Does my reasoning sound petty to you?”
“Petty’s not the word I was thinking of.” Penny replaced the applicator in the bottle. “It’s you I’m thinking about. Your sister isn’t here to see you wearing brown nail varnish, so this isn’t about making a point with her. It’s about you, and the only person you’re hurting is yourself. Your wearing that colour because she hated it seems self-destructive. It locks you into negative feelings toward your sister. It perpetuates something negative, and that isn’t good for you.” Andrea’s eyes met Penny’s briefly, then flickered away. “Rather than choosing a colour someone else wouldn’t like, why don’t you choose a colour that you would like?” Penny suggested gently. “Something that you would enjoy wearing and would make you happy?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Andrea returned to the display case and, hands behind her back while she swayed gently back and forth, examined the shelves. She selected two bottles of slightly different shades of a brilliant reddish orange hue and re
turned to the table with them.
The manicure completed, Penny walked Andrea down the corridor to the front desk, where she paid. Mrs. Lloyd, seated in the reception area, followed them with intensely watchful eyes, then stood up as Penny said good-bye to Andrea and closed the door behind her.
“If you’ve got a minute, Penny, I’d like a quick word, please,” she said with a glance at Rhian. “Better make it in private,” she added in a hushed tone.
Penny led the way to the quiet room, and when they were seated, Mrs. Lloyd blurted out, “Now you know me, Penny. I speak as I find. I was that shocked to see him here, in Llanelen of all places, looking like that.”
“She’s a transgender woman, Mrs. Lloyd,” said Penny. “We have to respect that, and we must refer to her as ‘she.’”
“But he isn’t a she! He worked here in Llanelen as a painter and decorator. He did up my house after Arthur’s aunt died, for pity’s sake. And then he disappeared and we heard he was working on the Continent.”
“Berlin.”
Mrs. Lloyd let out a little snort of disgust. “Well, that explains it, then. It’ll be all those German nightclubs. Decent folk can’t begin to imagine what goes on there.” She stood up. “His poor family. What they must be going through. First Gaynor, and now Andy’s back, looking like that.”
“No,” replied Penny firmly. “Her name is Andrea.” She pronounced it On-dray-ah.
Mrs. Lloyd repeated the pronunciation a couple of times, as if trying it out.
“Tell me something,” said Penny. “You’ve lived here a long time and know just about everybody.” And their business, she added silently. “Did you not hear that Andy Devlin had become Andrea?”
The Marmalade Murders Page 11