Murder on the Hour (18 page)

“I need forensics back at the Catrin Bellis house on Thyme Close,” she said. “Yes. Right now.”

 

Twenty-four

“Bethan was beside herself,” Penny said to Victoria Hopkirk, her friend and business partner, later that day. “She realized that the gate had been mentioned in the initial report by one of the first officers on the scene and she'd skimmed over it. She just didn't make the connection.”

“Oh, poor her,” said Victoria. “I can understand how that can happen, though. I'm sure she's overwhelmed trying to run her first case and impress everyone.”

She handed Penny a telephone message.

“Heather Hughes rang about the arrangements for her daughter's wedding. She wants you to drop by the house for a consultation.” She pointed at the slip of paper. “And did I mention you're to bring bottles of bridal nail polish so she can choose?”

“Wait,” said Penny. “So who can choose?”

Victoria shrugged. “Heather?”

“Oh, here we go,” said Penny. “It's not so much bridezilla as mother of the bridezilla. Honestly, the grief the mothers give us. They had their day. Why can't they just let their daughters have theirs?” She sighed. “And when am I supposed to do this?”

“Today, of course,” said Victoria. “I'll drive you. We'll leave in about an hour.”

“This is not something we normally do,” protested Penny. “If we made a house call for every bride, we'd be doing nothing else.”

“I know,” said Victoria, soothingly. “But Heather Hughes is a good customer, she has influence, and with the wedding season getting underway, we need to keep her happy. So I agreed to do an in-house consultation to work out the details of how we'll take care of the wedding party. Besides, she's hurt her hand and can't drive. And let me do the talking. I'll work out what we need to charge.”

“Let's try to get the manicures and pedicures done the day before.”

“Of course. And you'll have Eirlys to help you.”

Eirlys, Penny's capable, trustworthy young assistant, had joined the Spa right out of school and Penny didn't know what she would do without her.

“So there's no way I can get out of this, I guess?” said Penny. “I'm tired and I was rather hoping to see Michael tonight although we don't have any special plans.”

Victoria shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

“Well, I'd better gather up the samples, then.”

“And you will try to be pleasant, won't you?” said Victoria.

*   *   *

“Do you know what's the best thing about this time of year?” Penny asked Victoria as she lowered the window on her side of the car, letting in a light breeze.

“What's that?” Victoria replied as she checked her rearview mirror and signaled a right turn.

“It's the return of colour. Everything is brighter, somehow.” Penny gazed out the car window as the lush Welsh countryside sped past. The green fields were filled with lambs and their mothers; the oldest lambs were just starting to lose their newborn adorableness of a month or two ago. The trees still retained some of their spring vibrancy before settling into the darker, more mature greens of summer.

They turned off onto the road that led to the Hughes's farmhouse. A few minutes later Victoria slowed the car down as a young woman riding a horse approached them at a posting trot. She wore a black velvet riding hat, breeches, boots, and a neat hacking jacket. The women all waved at one another.

“I love that sound,” said Penny. “Horses' hooves. It's so rhythmic and unmistakable. Has a lovely rural sound to it. Puts me in a better mood just hearing it. I must remember to put more horses in my paintings.”

They drove along the country road flanked by hedgerows on each side until they came to the gate of the Hughes's farm. The drive up to the house was bordered on one side by a low stone wall; the other side featured a broad expanse of lawn shaded by oak trees. The driveway led to a small parking area in front of a graciously proportioned two-storey stone house.

Carrying their bags, they walked across the graveled forecourt to the glossy black front door. A flower bed graced by only white flowers spread out on both sides of the door. Pyracantha, looking like a bridal bouquet of pearls and petals, climbed on trellises, bell-shaped columbines nodded a graceful welcome to the visitors, and two white lilacs, one on each side of the door, gave off a heavenly fragrance. But soon they would all have to step aside to make way for the quiet beauty of white roses.

“Do you think we should knock on the front door or go round to the back?” Victoria asked.

“What, you mean use the tradesmen's entrance?”

But before Victoria could reply, the door was opened by a tall, slim woman. Her dark hair was scraped back in a tight ponytail, giving her face a stretched, unnatural look. The corners of her thin lips tipped downward.

“Hello, Heather,” said Victoria.

“Oh, hello,” she said, in a pleasant voice that contrasted with her appearance. “Please, come in.” She stood to one side as Penny and Victoria entered.

“Straight down the hall to the end,” she said. “The kitchen.”

They entered a kitchen about the size of the entire ground floor of Penny's cottage. A comfortable sitting area for four at one end of the room featured large windows with views over grassy fields to the hills beyond.

“We've just had it done up,” said Heather Hughes. “This part of the house was a building site all winter. You could barely make a cup of tea. I wondered what we'd got ourselves into, but I think it turned out all right.”

“It's right off the cover of a home and garden magazine,” said Victoria. “Did you get your interior designer from Chester?”

“No, I did it all myself,” Heather said in a tone that seemed casually dismissive but resonated with pride in her accomplishment.

“It's beautiful,” said Victoria. Pot lights in the ceiling reflected off gleaming stainless steel appliances and endless granite worktops. The walls were painted a sophisticated taupe that contrasted with the bright yellow and purple fabric of the upholstered chairs in the sitting area.

“Please have a seat. May I get you a tea or coffee?”

“I'd love a coffee, please,” said Victoria.

“I'll have one, too,” said Penny.

“Americano, latte, or mocha?” Heather gestured at the selection of coffees with her bandaged hand.

“Are you all right to make it with your hand?” asked Victoria. “Need any help?”

“No, it's fine, thanks,” she said. “I cut my hand gardening, caught it on some thorns, I think, and it got infected. The antibiotics are helping but I did have to get a tetanus jab. It doesn't hurt; it's just a nuisance really. But the machine makes the coffee, so not a problem, but if you wouldn't mind helping me get them to the table.”

The coffee machine, like something in an upmarket Italian restaurant, hissed and spurted steam like a medieval dragon. Victoria carried the finished drinks to the table and the women got down to business.

“You're probably wondering why I'm the one fussing about the girls' makeup and manicures,” Heather said, “but Jessica has no interest whatsoever in that sort of thing. If it doesn't have four legs and a mane she takes no notice. She spends all her time on that horse of hers. In fact, you probably passed her in the road on your way.”

“I think we did,” said Victoria.

They discussed the wedding arrangements while they sipped their coffees. Penny glanced at her watch, thinking her cat, Harrison, would be getting hungry and hoping the meeting would wrap up soon. And sure enough, it wasn't long before the details were agreed, how many manicures, how many pedicures, and how many makeup applications for bride, bridesmaids, and mothers. Alberto, the Spa hairdresser, would take care of hair cuts and colours the day before, and do whatever was needed on the morning of the wedding. Victoria negotiated what she and Penny felt was a fair price, and Victoria filled in a contract that she and Heather signed.

“Just so there is a clear understanding on both sides,” explained Victoria. “We want to make sure that we meet all your expectations.”

Heather set the used cups in the sink before accompanying Penny and Victoria out of the kitchen.

As they entered the hallway, she smiled shyly at Penny. “Before you go, there's something I'd like you to see,” she said. “It's in what we call the library.” She led the way past a spacious, understated reception room of grand proportions and then turned down another hallway.

“In here,” she said.

Light flooded into the room from a set of French doors that led to a terraced garden at the rear of the house and two walls were taken up with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The centre of the room featured two burgundy leather love seats and a comfortable chair casually arranged on a burgundy carpet that was becoming a little threadbare in the centre set on a patterned oak floor. The room was masculine but welcoming. Penny glanced at the bookshelves; almost all the books in one section were about gardening.

Several paintings hung on chains from a picture rail and Heather gestured at a watercolour in a plain but expensive-looking frame.

Instead of showing the entire span of the three-arched Llanelen bridge, the painting showed only one arch, up close, with two swans paddling lazily beneath it down the River Conwy.

Penny's face broke into a delighted grin at the sight of one of her own paintings.

“I love your work,” said Heather, almost shyly. “I thought you might like to know that this painting has found a good home. Evan bought it for me. It was the most romantic gesture he's ever done. He proposed to me on that bridge.”

Penny smiled and turned away. A bouquet of pale lavender and cream roses in a crystal vase caught her eye and she paused to admire them. The stems had been trimmed so the flower heads formed an almost perfect circle.

“I can tell by your hands you're a very busy gardener,” Penny said. “The flower beds at the front are lovely.”

“They'll be even lovelier when the roses come into full bloom,” said Heather. “The climbers put on a very good show all summer long. And the fragrance!” She breathed in heavily, and smiled as if remembering.

“I love this room,” said Penny. She took a few steps in the direction of the window when a display of photographs in silver frames on a small desk caught her eye. She recognized the now familiar photograph instantly and picked it up. She held it toward Heather.

“Alwynne at the historical society is trying to identify the men in this photo,” she said. “Can you tell me what you know about it?”

Heather took the photo from her. “Oh, that one,” she said. “That's my great-grandfather with a couple of his fellow soldiers in World War I.”

“Which one is your great-grandfather?”

“That's him, on the left. His name was Sydney and he was very fortunate in that he survived the war. He made it home.”

“What was his last name?” Penny asked.

“Wynne. Didn't you know? We're the Llanelen branch of the Wynne family.”

*   *   *

“I didn't know Heather was a Wynne. Did you?”

“No,” said Victoria, “I didn't. The family may not be as prominent now as it once was, but the name still carries a lot of weight around here.”

The Wynnes had maintained a powerful presence in the valley since Tudor and Stuart times. Well-educated, prosperous, and with close friends in high places throughout England and Wales, the family had prospered over centuries, building the town's church and hospital, endowing a school, and funding the very almshouses that now housed the town museum.

In the sixteenth century John Wynne built a grand manor house just outside the town and a hundred years later, another Wynne had had a lavish Renaissance garden laid out with raised walks, yew hedges, Cyprus trees, fountains, and graceful stone steps leading from one level to another.

In Victorian times, the house, built mainly of wood, had almost been destroyed by fire and by the mid-twentieth century the house had fallen into a heart-wrenching state of disrepair. But a young entrepreneurial couple with energy, commitment, and resources, had bought it and were gradually restoring it to its former glory.

And the replanted garden, after hundreds of hours of backbreaking work, was now considered one of the finest examples of a Renaissance layout in all of Wales. Watched over by its own imperious peacock, it was now open to the public and featured prominently on garden coach tours.

The Hughes's farmhouse, where a daughter of this once-great family lived, was not on the scale of the original manor, but nevertheless it was a fine country house with lovely, well-cared for gardens.

“It's rather nice that Heather is so into gardening,” said Penny. “Her ancestors certainly had a gift for it.”

“Of course her ancestors wouldn't have done the actual work,” said Victoria. “There would have been a team of gardeners.”

“Maybe so,” said Penny, “but still they must have had a great love of horticulture to create that beautiful garden. Have you ever seen it? So tranquil and the peacock's delightful. I wonder if Michael's ever been there. He might like it.”

Victoria focused on the road ahead and didn't reply. Dusk was closing in and she switched on the car's headlights.

Penny took out her phone. “Just going to send Michael a text,” she said.

“Oh, yes?” said Victoria.

“We're having lunch out tomorrow. His hip is much better and we want to make up for the last time when everything went so horribly wrong. But we won't be doing a lot of walking. At least, I don't think we will.”

“So have you been seeing much of him?”

“He isn't out and about much yet, but we're doing a lot of texting and phone calls.”

“But you do like him?”