Murder on the Hour (10 page)

“I was just saying that to someone,” said Penny, “and yes, I am rather tired. It's a nice bath and then bed for me, I think.”

“Oh, that reminds me. Bed. What you said earlier. I'll have to check with Bethan. I didn't go upstairs in Catrin's house so Bethan might have seen the quilt, but I didn't see it downstairs.” He pressed a number on his phone, spoke for a few minutes, then ended the call.

“Interesting. She said there was no quilt upstairs. We'll have to go back to the house tomorrow and have a look for it.”

“Is it important, do you think?”

He stood up. “I don't know. But it's important that we find out what happened to it.”

He pressed a button on his phone. “I'm sorry to be making these calls,” he held up the phone in an apologetic gesture, “but you know we have to do these things sometimes as a matter of urgency.” He waited a moment, and then spoke. “Yes, it's DCI Davies here. I want all the rubbish bins searched between Ty Brith Hall and Thyme Close, just off Rosemary Lane. You're looking for a handmade quilt. It's a turquoise pattern on a white background.” He looked at Penny for confirmation and she nodded. “Need it done tonight. I don't want anyone to have a chance to pick through the bins and I don't want the bins cleared. Right. Thanks.”

“There was a little shuttle bus between Ty Brith and the town square,” said Penny. “She probably took that so I doubt anything would turn up between the Hall and the town square.”

“Well, there won't be that many bins,” said Davies, “so we'll get them all checked just in case. You never know.”

“No, I guess you don't.”

After a gentle good-bye, which Penny found was getting easier and less awkward, Davies was on his way.

Exhausted, Penny made her way upstairs and ran herself a bath. She usually showered in the morning, but there were times, like tonight, when a soothing lemon-verbena scented soak was the only thing she wanted. And then she'd go downstairs and fix herself something to eat. A poached egg on toast, maybe. Something light and unfussy.

She stretched out in the bath, her head resting on a soft towel placed on the back of the tub. She closed her eyes and let the warm water work its magic. When the water started to feel just a little too cool, she stirred, gave herself a quick wash and rinse, and climbed out. She toweled herself off, slipped on a terry cloth dressing gown, and went downstairs. She scooped up her phone on the way through to the kitchen. One text message: Michael. He hoped she was having a good evening and could he take her sketching tomorrow? She smiled to herself. Yes, he certainly could.

 

Fourteen

Is there anything lovelier than a Sunday morning in May, Penny asked herself, as she opened the back door to let Harrison out. She stood for a moment breathing in the warm, softly scented air as he scampered onto his favourite spot on the stone wall. Leaving him there to enjoy the sun's warmth, she went upstairs to get dressed. She took her time choosing what to wear, sliding clothes hangers along the rail, dissatisfied with just about everything available to her. I must do a clear out for the charity shop and get some decent clothes, she thought, after finally selecting a pair of comfortable jeans and a blue and white striped Breton top that she would pair with a bright turquoise jacket and a hot pink scarf. A trim woman in her early fifties, with red hair worn in a chic, blunt-cut bob, Penny studied her stylish silhouette in the full-length mirror and decided she looked appropriate for what the day was likely to bring. Michael had suggested an afternoon walk with time to sketch, then dinner in a country pub. She went downstairs and caught up with the local news on her laptop while she munched her way through a bowl of cereal and sipped a coffee.

*   *   *

Haydn Williams had returned home from church that Sunday morning in a troubled frame of mind. The murder of Catrin Bellis had shocked and saddened the townsfolk, and those attending church had been unusually attentive during the service. Haydn, who was filling in that morning for his cousin who usually played the church organ, had chosen solemn, peaceful music for the congregation's exit. He played for a few more minutes to a nearly empty church, stopping only when Bronwyn Evans, the rector's wife, began walking up and down between the rows of pews, replacing hymn books in their little wooden racks and gathering up abandoned church notices. When the rector returned from the outside step where he had been wishing departing parishioners a good morning, he and Haydn had had a few words about the funeral service for Catrin.

“I believe there's a relative somewhere,” the rector said.

“Yes, there is,” replied Haydn. “You didn't know?”

The rector looked puzzled. “No. What didn't I know?”

“Evan Hughes is her cousin. He's a mate of mine. I can talk to him about the funeral if you like.”

“Oh, I'd forgotten that. Well, if you would speak to him that would be very helpful,” replied the relieved rector. “I guess we can't really set the date until we know when the coroner is likely to release the body.” He shook his head. “Murder is always such an inconvenience with all that legal formality and red tape. You just never know where you are.”

When he got home, Haydn changed out of the suit he wore to church into his working clothes, gathered up Kip, and headed out to check on the ewes. As they strode across the fields his thoughts returned to Catrin. She'd been a lovely lass. His cheeks began to burn as he remembered the one time he'd walked her home from school and her mother had sent him away, pulling Catrin into the house and closing the door gently but firmly in his face.

*   *   *

Michael picked Penny up just before one o'clock and after loading her sketching gear into his car, they set off for Gwydyr Forest, a centuries-old, beautifully preserved landscape of rivers and lakes, trees and mountains that ranges across the eastern flank of Snowdonia National Park. Wooded hillsides rise steeply from the valley floor, providing a dramatic backdrop to the town of Llanelen.

He parked the car by Llyn Sarnau, a reedy, shallow lake, and lifted out the sketching stool. Penny gathered up her satchel filled with art tools and they began the trek along a forestry path, gradually climbing higher until they were looking over a peaceful scene of an open field dotted with ewes and lambs, with direct views to Moel Siabod, a mountain in the Snowdon range with an impressive, pointy profile. A sprinkle of patchy snow still capped the highest mountaintops and in the afternoon light the ancient peaks shimmered a rich, dark purple. A light, steady breeze blew fluffy white cloud formations through a bright blue sky.

Penny surveyed the landscape, breathing in the beauty of it. “This looks perfect. The light's just right,” she said. “I'll just find a flat piece of ground and get started.” Michael set the stool down for her, then stretched out beside her on the grass, leaning back on his hands with this legs crossed. He remained still for a few minutes, his face upturned to the sun. After a while he got to his feet, brushing bits of grass off his trousers. “Just going to wander a little farther on down the path and stretch my legs,” he said. “If we're anywhere near a mast, I might try to make a couple of phone calls.”

Penny glanced at him, gave him a brief, preoccupied smile, and returned to her work. She kept her head down, focused on the easel in front of her, and looked up just as he returned to her side, letting out a little exclamation of surprise. “What's that?” he said, pointing across the valley. “Definitely not a sheep. It looks like a ghost.”

A white dot moved slowly across the landscape. Penny picked up the small pair of binoculars that she sometimes wore around her neck when sketching. She got to her feet, raised the binoculars to her eyes, and adjusted the focus. Her body moved slowly to the right as she scanned the slow moving figure below. She lowered the binoculars and handed them to Michael.

“I'm pretty sure that's Dilys, of all people, and if I'm not mistaken, she's somehow got hold of the missing quilt that the police are looking for. Let's see if we can catch her up.” Michael sized up the situation, then slung the folding stool over his shoulder and picked up Penny's satchel.

“You can tell me all about her on the way,” he said as they charged off. “We'll drop this lot off in the car, then try to catch her on the other side of the lake. She's walking pretty slowly and if we head in that direction,” he pointed to the east, “our trajectories should just about cross.”

After a quick stop at his car, they headed down the path that led round the lake.

“Who is she?” Michael asked.

“She's a local character. She comes and goes, scouring the hedgerows and fields for plants. She's a bit of a naturalist, you might say. Knows everything there is to know about roots, berries, leaves, and twigs and what have you.

“I haven't seen her for ages and thought she'd left the area for good, but apparently not. She has these recipes and formulas for botanicals, and in fact, the hand cream that's so popular at our Spa is made from one of her formulas. My partner and I bought the licensing rights from her and it's a big seller. And a little while ago she somehow knew I wasn't sleeping very well and gave me something for it. And surprisingly, it worked.”

“Is she a little, er, how shall I put this, eccentric?”

Penny laughed. “More than a little, I'd say, and that's probably the least of it.” They were getting closer to her now and Dilys looked in their direction. Penny was afraid she'd try to run if she thought they were chasing her, so waved in what she hoped was a friendly gesture. Dilys stopped and stared, allowing Michael and Penny to get closer to her.

Her long grey hair was tied back with a piece of raffia and draped over her overcoat was a white quilt with a turquoise pattern that she wore around her shoulders like a bulky shawl. She carried an old-fashioned trug basket filled with small plants.

When they reached her, Dilys squinted at Penny.

“It's you, is it? The woman who likes my hand cream.”

“Yes, Dilys, it's me, Penny.” She lifted a hand in the direction of her companion. “And this is my friend Michael. We were out walking and sketching and saw you.”

“You come from up there.” She pointed to the spot where Penny and Michael had been. “Why are you come down here to talk to me?”

“Well, Dilys, I want to ask you about that quilt you've got round your shoulders.”

“It's mine. I found it. I didn't steal it.”

“No one's saying you did. Tell me, where did you find it?”

Dilys's lips thinned and her eyes narrowed as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She bent over slowly and set down the basket.

“It's a beautiful day,” said Penny. “Aren't you hot with that quilt around your shoulders? Would you like me to hold it for you?”

“No, I would not,” said Dilys, taking a step back and clutching the quilt closer to her with dark green fingerless gloves flecked with mud and bits of dried leaves. “I'm all right just as I am. You won't take this off Dilys. I told you. I found it and it's mine. Now you let me be.”

Penny took a deep breath. “All right, Dilys. I'm going to be honest with you. The thing is, you see, the lady that owned that quilt has been killed and the police want to examine that quilt because it belonged to her. It could be an important clue. They'd like to know where you got it. They want to talk to you. Will you help them find out what happened to the lady? Where are you staying now? Maybe they could come round for a little chat. It would really help them if you told them what you know.”

“Where I'm staying is for me to know and them to find out, then, isn't it, if they want to talk to me all that bad?”

She gave Penny a defiant nod, then narrowed her eyes slightly as she subjected Michael to an all-encompassing once over. He took a step back and raised an eyebrow at Penny who shot him back an imploring look.

“Dilys, can we give you a drive anywhere? We were thinking about going somewhere for tea. If you need something to eat, we can get you a sandwich.”

“No, I thank you, just the same. I'm not hungry and I prefer to walk.” She retrieved her basket, hooked it over her arm, and took several steps in the direction of the lake before turning back to give them one last curdling look. She was just close enough for them to make out the wisp of a taunting smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Short of ripping the thing off her back, I don't think there's much else we can do,” said Michael in a low voice.

“I'd better call the police right now, while we still know where she is,” said Penny.

They headed away from Dilys in the direction of Michael's car as Penny fiddled with her phone. “No luck,” she said. “It's often difficult to get a signal out here. I don't know if it's because of the mountains or there just aren't enough masts around, but I'll have to try later. Damn. By the time I get in touch with the police, she could be anywhere. She covers miles every day with her foraging.”

They plodded on in silence until Michael spoke. “She's a very strange creature, when you see her up close. She seems more than eccentric. Do you think she's a little, er…?”

“Doolally? Away with the fairies?”

Michael smiled. “Yes, if you want to put it like that.”

“We've never been able to work that out,” admitted Penny. “She certainly comes across like that. And yet there's also something about her that strikes me as sly and cunning. What the Scottish call canny. She's probably a bit of all of it. They often go together, don't they?” He didn't reply and they trudged on in silence.

“I think we should find that tea you mentioned,” he said a few minutes later. “Or even better, a pub. I don't know about you, but I could do with a drink.”

Penny slowed down, her mind exploding with fireworks of conflicting thoughts and ideas shooting off in all directions. She glanced after Dilys's steadily diminishing figure and reached a decision. I can't let this man I barely know get between me and the right thing to do, she thought.