The Marmalade Murders

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  “Here,” Victoria said to Penny, handing her a tray, “You can set the table whilst I make a salad.”

  Ten minutes later, they sat down to lunch.

  “Looks lovely,” said Penny. “I’m starved.”

  “Me, too.” Victoria offered the salad to Penny, then served herself. “What was Bethan doing here this morning?”

  Penny explained that Florence’s marmalade had been found in Barbara Vickers’s kitchen. “But what’s really got me thinking is something Rhian told me this morning—that Barbara was a bookkeeper and handled the accounts of lots of small businesses around here. Remember she was the treasurer at the Women’s Guild meeting we went to?”

  Victoria nodded. “Are you back to thinking about Joyce? That Barbara might have discovered some discrepancies in the finances related to the kennels?”

  Penny nodded. “Barbara might have discovered discrepancies in the kennel accounts, or she might have wondered, as we did, where the Devlins got the money to pay for them. And maybe she realized that Joyce, and/or Dev, had been stealing from the agricultural show’s account, used the money to finance the kennels, and then she confronted one or both of them about it.”

  “She might have told Joyce that if she paid the money back, the matter would go no further, but Joyce couldn’t do that, because she’s in too much debt,” said Victoria.

  “So poor Barbara had to go.”

  “People have been killed for a lot less. There is one thing, though. Neither Joyce nor her husband were on that trip to Speke Hall, so I don’t know if they had the opportunity. But still, it might be helpful to know about the funding for the kennels.”

  “I agree,” said Penny. “And it would be interesting to know if funds are missing from the agricultural show’s account. I wonder if there’s some way to find out. And I’ve just thought of something. If Barbara was a bookkeeper, why would she be the show secretary and not the treasurer? Why would Joyce’s husband be the treasurer? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t see how you can ask Dev. You’ve got no authority or reason to be poking your nose into the show’s finances, but Bethan could. As part of her investigation, she can ask anybody anything. Why don’t you mention this to her?” said Victoria.

  “I did mention it to her earlier and she just said something like ‘Oh, farm financing is so complicated.’ So before I bring it up with her again, I need to be able to give her more details. Everything just seems so half-baked at this point. We’ve got absolutely nothing to go on, just vague suspicions,” Penny replied.

  “Mrs. Lloyd is on the agricultural show committee, but we agreed earlier that it would be a mistake to involve her in this. Who else do we know?” asked Victoria.

  “Can’t think of anyone off the top of my head. Have you still got your copy of the program? It lists the directors.” Victoria set her fork down and left the room, returning a few minutes later with the familiar blue program booklet. She slid it onto the table. Penny put down her fork, picked up the program, flipped to the back page, and scanned the list of names.

  “Let’s see. Executive committee … Joyce, Barbara, Daffydd; members at large … Evelyn Lloyd … some I’ve never heard of … oh, here’s somebody we know.”

  “Who?” Victoria picked at her salad.

  “Haydn Williams.”

  “Oh, right, our old friend the sheep farmer. He might be a good one to talk to. He’d know all about how complicated farm financing is.”

  “I’ll add him to my list. I’ve got a few people to speak to. First, there’s Delyth Powell. She was the one who rang Florence and told her to bring her entries to the show Saturday morning, and I’m just going to come right out and ask her why she did that. She must have had a reason.”

  “That seems like a reasonable approach.”

  “And of course I’ve got to let Florence know the police found her missing marmalade in Barbara Vickers’s kitchen.”

  “I wonder how it got there.”

  “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? And I suspect once we know the answer to that, a lot of other questions will be answered, too.”

  “Who are you going to speak to first, Haydn or Delyth?”

  “Haydn, I think. He might be easier. He usually comes into town on market day for the sheep auction, and that’s tomorrow, so I’ll stroll around at lunchtime and see if I can spot him.”

  “Good. Now, moving on. Let’s talk about the Spa. Anything you want to say about that? Any problems we should discuss?”

  “Not a problem, but I’ve had an idea. Remember when Michelle said her little girl’s eighth birthday is coming up? I thought that’s something we could do for the business. Birthday party manicures.”

  “For children?”

  “For any age, really.”

  “At the Spa? Wouldn’t that disrupt our Saturday-afternoon trade?”

  “We do wedding hair and makeup services at home, so why not this? And we could do birthday parties on Sunday afternoons, when the Spa is closed anyway, so it wouldn’t interfere with our day-to-day operations. And home-manicure birthday parties might be really popular with senior ladies.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “Why don’t I reach out to Michelle Lewis and see if she’d be interested in having us do one for Macy’s birthday.”

  “Good idea. I’ll give you a pricing estimate as soon as we get back to the office. And now I’d better get us that coffee you were so desperate for.” Victoria disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I left a little something for you on the worktop,” Penny called after her. As she spoke, Victoria let out a little squeal of delight. “Oh, I guess you opened it.”

  Victoria returned with two cupcakes on plates, two mugs, and a French press of freshly brewed coffee.

  “I was thinking,” she said as she set the tray down, “I really like the birthday party idea. It could be a really nice earner for us. Every little girl at Macy’s party would want one for her birthday, and it wouldn’t take long for word to get around, so that could really grow. And I suspect parents are always looking for new, fun things to do at birthday parties. But we want to get it right the first time, so if you don’t have any appointments this afternoon, and if Michelle is available to talk to you, why don’t you go and talk to her? As a mother with birthday party experience, she knows more about kids’ parties than we do, and can probably tell you exactly how it should be run, and what the parents and kids want. And that way, we’d be able to deliver a great party the first time, so the little girls at Macy’s party will want their mothers to book one for them.”

  “Good idea. I’ll ring Michelle as soon as we finish lunch.” She turned her attention to the cupcakes. “Which one’s mine?”

  Twenty-three

  Michelle Lewis’s grey pebble-dash house was located at the end of a row of identical modest properties on a quiet, narrow street tucked in behind the community swimming pool. It was an easy walk from the Spa, and Penny arrived on time.

  Michelle answered the door and invited her into the sitting room.

  “Sorry about the mess,” she said, gesturing at cardboard boxes stacked three and four high, “but there’s still room on the sofa.”

  “Are you moving house?” Penny asked as she sat down.

  “No, not now,” Michelle replied. “We were going to move to Spain, Macy and I and Mum, who had a cousin out there with a pub. It was meant to be a fresh start, but then Mum died, so we’re staying put. All this”—she waved at the boxes—“is for the charity shop. Kids’ stuff. Clothes and toys. They pile up fast.”

  “I can imagine,” said Penny. “There’s a lot. Must be, what, a dozen boxes? If you think it’s too many, I’m sure Bronwyn would welcome some for the church jumble sale.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Michelle replied. “I’m not a churchgoer, so I didn’t think of that. We can see what my dad says. He should be here in a few minutes with Macy, and he was going to take some of it away with him.
”

  “Well, maybe we should have our discussion now, before Macy gets here,” said Penny. For the next fifteen minutes, Michelle explained what she had in mind for her daughter’s party and how many guests there would be, and when she’d finished, Penny showed her the contract Victoria had drawn up.

  Michelle read it over and then remarked, “That looks great. I’m sure Macy and her friends will love it.” She signed the contract, then handed it back to Penny. “I’m just going to stick the kettle on,” said Michelle. “Dad should be here any minute and he’ll want a cup of tea. I’ll make some for everybody.”

  “Can I help?” Penny asked, following her into the kitchen.

  “Well, you could pour a glass of orange juice for Macy.”

  Penny opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of juice. “Michelle, did you happen to see Andrea anywhere that day we went to Speke Hall?”

  Michelle looked startled. “Andrea? No, I didn’t see her there. Was she there?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Penny. “She mentioned to me at the agricultural show banquet that she had some work lined up at Speke Hall, so I just wondered.”

  Michelle shrugged. She carried the tea tray through to the sitting room just as the front door opened and Macy ran into the room, followed by her grandfather, Carwyn Lewis.

  “Had fun, did you, love?” Michelle asked Macy. The little girl nodded and looked at Penny. “You remember Penny from the agricultural show?” Michelle asked.

  “Hi, Macy,” said Penny. “You look different.”

  “It’s my new glasses,” Macy replied.

  “Well, I like them,” said Penny. “Those purple frames really suit you. Make you look even smarter.” While Michelle handed Macy her orange juice and explained the manicure party to her, Penny brought Carwyn Lewis a cup of tea. He was wearing a green puffy vest with a cluster of small enamelled metal pins of the sort worn and traded at conventions. One pin was shaped like a chicken, and others featured logos of Welsh farming organizations. He looked at the boxes piled around the room and sighed. “I’ll just finish my tea and then start loading those up.”

  A little squeal of delight from Macy let Penny know the manicure party had her approval. Macy got up from the table, ran to her grandfather, and sat beside him on the sofa. He put his arm around her and listened carefully while she explained all the arrangements for her birthday party.

  “And I was so upset I couldn’t have a bouncy castle, but you see, Granddad, this is going to be so much more fun. I’m going to get my nails done!”

  “Oh, very good,” said Carwyn. “Now, then, after I’ve had my tea, are you going to help me carry out the boxes to the Land Rover?”

  “I could try,” Macy replied, looking up at him with great sincerity. “I do like to help you when I can, but I’m not sure I can lift those boxes. I’m not even eight yet.”

  Penny laughed and said good-bye.

  “See you at the manicure party. It’s going to be lots of fun.”

  Twenty-four

  The next day, country market day, saw the cobbled town square filled with covered wooden stalls from which traders sold seasonal fruits and vegetables, home baking, artisan cheeses, eggs, preserves, crafts, and plants for indoors and gardens. The atmosphere was almost festive as townsfolk wandered from one display to the next, stopping to chat with a stall holder, or buying a teatime treat.

  Penny stopped at the preserves stall and was reading the label on a jar of chilli jelly when a familiar figure emerged from the bank, leading a black and white Border collie. She handed the stall holder enough coins to cover her purchase, tucked the jar in her bag, and set off in pursuit of the man she wanted to speak to.

  “Hello, Haydn.” Penny smiled at him but gave his dog a bigger smile and leaned over to stroke him. He returned her greeting with a vigorous wagging of his tail.

  As she straightened up, Haydn’s lips parted in an open, generous smile. “Hello, Penny. Kip’s always so glad to see you. How are you?”

  “Very well indeed, thanks. And you?”

  “Oh, you know. Always the same, Kip and me. Aren’t we, old boy?” Kip wagged his tail in agreement.

  “I was wondering if I might have a word. It won’t take long.”

  “I’m in no rush,” Haydn replied. “Meeting a few of the lads in the pub in about half an hour or so, and I’m just heading over there now. Care to join me?”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  Although Haydn was dressed in the rough working garb of a Welsh hill farmer—worn trousers, heavy boots, faded checked shirt, and a quilted vest—Penny had learned a long time ago that in these parts, farmers’ looks could be deceiving. They often dressed like they didn’t have two pennies to rub together, but in fact, many were sitting on large landholdings, ran profitable businesses, lived in comfortable stone houses with stunning views, and were custodians of priceless antique furniture and clocks that had been handed down through generations. And Haydn was one of them.

  They strolled along the High Street to the Leek and Lily, the local pub. Haydn pulled on the brass handle and held the door open for Penny as she stepped into its warm, relaxed atmosphere. Horse brasses and sporting prints hung on its whitewashed walls, and its low-beamed ceiling ensured a lively noise level.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Haydn asked.

  “A white wine, please.” She gestured to a small table in the corner. “That table all right for you?”

  “I’d rather we get a bigger one, so there’s enough room for the lads when they get here.” He gestured to the one he wanted. “I usually come along early to hold the table.”

  The pub was not yet busy, but it would soon fill up with hardworking farmers who had spent the morning at the livestock auction held on the outskirts of the town.

  Penny settled herself on a bench, with Kip seated beside her, and Haydn returned a few minutes later with two full glasses. He placed a white wine in front of her and took a deep draft of his beer, then asked, “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about the agricultural show committee,” Penny began. “I wondered how the finances work.”

  “What do you mean, ‘how the finances work’?”

  “Well, the treasurer, is he responsible for the money?”

  Haydn frowned. “Of course he is. Isn’t that what a treasurer does?”

  Penny sighed. “Well, yes, but, and this is a little difficult, I just wondered if you’ve noticed any discrepancies in the show’s funds.”

  “Discrepancies? What kinds of discrepancies?” The conversation wasn’t going well. Even to her, the questions seemed clumsy and badly worded, and Haydn’s responses were sluggish and defensive. Normally a man with an easygoing, low-maintenance personality, he seemed on edge.

  “Look,” said Penny trying to reassure him, “I’m not suggesting anything, so please don’t take this as criticism, but I just wondered, well, if you, as a committee member, have noticed any money missing.”

  “‘Have I noticed money missing?’ Well, no, I haven’t, and if I had, I would have done something about it. But I wouldn’t know. The committee members don’t have anything to do with the books. We just know what the treasurer tells us.”

  “But does the treasurer manage the books?”

  Haydn laughed. “You mean Dev? He signs cheques, and is the official treasurer, but really, that’s in name only. Barbara Vickers manages the money. Managed, I should say. Still can’t get my head around that. It’s too bad what happened to her.”

  “Yes, it certainly is. But she looked after the books, did she?”

  Haydn took a sip of beer. “For all practical purposes. And then the accounts are professionally audited every year.”

  “Why would Dev be the treasurer, then, if Barbara Vickers was really looking after them?” Penny persisted.

  Haydn sighed. “Look, it’s not really common knowledge, and I don’t want to say too much, but Dev’s not as with it a
s he used to be. He’s getting forgetful, and he comes across as a little confused sometimes. You tell him something, and five minutes later, he can’t remember what you told him. So Joyce, bless her, not wanting to upset Dev, thought it would be a good idea if he continued on as the treasurer, in name only, really, but Barbara did the real work.” He shrugged. “Lots of organizations have what they call a secretary-treasurer, so there’s no harm in it. And yes, most of the committee members are aware of Dev’s condition, but out of respect to him, no one mentions it.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Penny, remembering the unpaid bills piling up on the Welsh dresser in the Devlins’ kitchen. Dev’s forgetfulness suggested that they weren’t being paid because he forgot about them. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Haydn shrugged. “But everything’s on the up-and-up, if that’s what you’re getting at, although I have no idea why you would be. Everything’s shipshape.”

  “Oh, I’m just exploring possibilities, that’s all.”

  “Possibilities?”

  “The deaths of Gaynor Lewis and Barbara Vickers trouble me.”

  “They trouble everyone around here, Penny,” Haydn replied with quiet dignity.

  “Yes, of course.” She took a sip of wine and they sat in silence until Penny said, “Victoria and I visited the Devlin farm the day after the agricultural show and Joyce gave us a tour of the new kennels. They’re really something.”

  “State-of-the-art, from what I hear.”

  “You haven’t seen them yet?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I will, one of these days. All Joyce’s idea, of course, and Dev insisted she should have them exactly the way she wanted them.”

  “They must have cost a pretty penny.”

  “Oh, I know they did.” Haydn took a sip from his almost-empty glass, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “I paid for them.”

  “What! Why would you pay for them?”

  “Because I was looking to expand my acreage last year, and Dev sold me one of his fields. The money from the sale paid for the kennels.”

  “Oh, I see.” Well, there goes that theory, thought Penny. It had seemed plausible enough that Joyce and Dev needed money for the kennels, and had defrauded the agricultural show to get it. And that Gaynor had found out about it and threatened to go to the authorities, so Joyce or Dev, or possibly both, had killed her to silence her.