Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (12 page)

And now, decades later, she nodded at another librarian, this one seated just inside the great oak door. She walked slowly down the length of the magnificent room gazing up at its great ribbed roof, like a giant, overturned rowboat. Turning her attention to the shelves, she ran her fingers along a few of the titles on the spines of the books:
Bird Life of the Bible
,
God: A Biography, The First Book of Samuel, Prophecy and Religion.

She sat in one of the brown leather chairs in the main reading room and after admiring the carved oak columns that supported the upper gallery, her artist’s eye followed the vertical lines of the library to the shelves of colourful books on the next level. You could never duplicate this with a digital collection, she thought. The warmth and richness of this beautiful place was in complete harmony with the priceless knowledge it contained. And the ecclesiastical look and atmosphere complemented perfectly the subject matter of the books. She climbed the stairs to the upper level, making her ascent on the narrow, well lit, spiral staircase holding the stout rope handrail. The upper level was filled with tall bookshelves in a warm, medium brown oak, arranged not in straight lines, but in clusters of niches and alcoves. Interspersed amongst the group of shelves strategically placed beside leaded windows to catch the light, were reading tables, each with a gooseneck brass lamp with an opaque glass shade.

Penny paused in front of a shelf in the history of the church section and moved on. She pulled off the shelf a small volume in dark green leather with raised bands on the spine cover and opened it. Entitled
Baxter’s Works,
volume 8, it displayed a W. E. Gladstone bookplate on the front inside endpaper. This must be one of the original Gladstone books, she thought, admiring the colourful swirling pattern in bright yellow, red, and blue on the endpaper that carried over as marbled edges of the text block. She sighed and replaced it on the shelf.

Lost for a moment in simply examining it as a beautiful object, she realized she didn’t know how long she’d been here. Twenty minutes? Time to think about getting back downstairs to meet up with Mrs. Lloyd and Florence.

She was grateful for these quiet moments to prepare herself for the train journey with Mrs. Lloyd. Florence wouldn’t be a problem, but Mrs. Lloyd, with her comments and questions, was another matter. She sometimes asked the nosiest question imaginable and then ended with, “Or is that none of my business?” And when told that in fact it was none of her business, she accepted the response in good part, with a smile and a “well, I tried” kind of shrug.

Penny hoped they could get through the journey without Mrs. Lloyd making a sly reference to “that policeman of yours.” He’s a policeman, all right, and a lovely one at that, Penny thought. But is he my policeman?

And then the unexpectedly loud clang of a heavy door closing startled her. She frowned and turned her head in the direction she thought the sound had come from, somewhere behind her and over to her left. She could see nothing in all directions but more bookshelves and tables overlooking the ground floor. She peered over the railing and saw only the librarian seated at her desk, gently leafing through a large volume.

She took a step back from the shelf and only then noticed a small, red trickle beginning to pool on the polished oak floor. She peered around the end of the nearest bookcase.

A pale, watery beam of late morning sun filtered through the high window, casting a weak, forlorn shaft of light on the carrel tucked in beside the shelving unit. It bathed the still figure of Reverend Nigel Shipton, slumped over the small oak writing table, his back to the shelf of books below the window behind him. He was facing the gallery railing that overlooked the main floor below.

Swallowing, Penny took a tentative step towards him. She touched his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake, then recoiled in horror as a long hissing breath escaped from his lungs through pale blue lips. Dark blood was seeping from a long slash down the side of his coat. Instinctively she reached out her hand to stop the blood, then pulled it back, curling her fingers into her palm and placing her closed fist on her chest. She took a step back and scrabbled about in her bag for her phone. She then took the bottom of Shipton’s tweedy sports jacket and held it over the gaping hole in his coat.

A few moments later she leaned over the railing and in a normal speaking voice, told the librarian to summon the warden. The librarian looked up at her and placed a finger over her lips and made a shushing sound.

“We need help! Call 999 and then get the warden!” Someone’s badly hurt.

“What happend?”

“Please,” Penny repeated, “just get the warden. Now.”

The librarian reached for her phone and a few moments later Graham Fletcher pushed open the Library’s main door. He exchanged a few whispered words with the librarian at her desk and then following her pointing finger, raised his head toward Penny. She made a little beckoning hand gesture and he hurried up the spiral staircase. She met him at the top and spoke to him in a low voice.

“You’re to close the Library now. No one is to be allowed in.”

“Why?” demanded the warden. “Who says I’m to close the library? Really, this is just not on.”

“DCI Davies says the Library is to be closed. He’s called an ambulance. There’s a body. At least I think it’s a body. I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” She tipped her head slightly. “Over there.”

“Oh, dear Lord, no,” whispered the warden, covering his mouth with his hand. “Not another one. This is a disaster.” He peered in the direction Penny indicated. “Who is it? Do we know?” and then he asked again, “What happened?”

“Well, it’s Reverend Shipton and I’d say he’s been stabbed. There’s no knife, though. At least I didn’t see one.”

“No,” breathed the warden, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand over this forehead “A body in Gladstone’s Library. It’s just not possible. This is just too awful for words.” He thought for a moment. “I expect the place will be overrun with those forensics people and everyone will have to be interviewed all over again.”

“Yes,” replied Penny. “It’s all going to be terribly inconvenient for you, I’m afraid. There’ll be police everywhere you look.”

The warden thought for a moment.

“But what about you? I heard you were just about to leave. A taxi had been called for you. Will you be allowed to go now?” he asked.

“No,” said Penny. “I’ve been asked to stay until DCI Davies gets here. But would you please go to the Gladstone Room and tell the two ladies waiting in there that I’ve been delayed and I’ll make my own way home later. Tell them it’s okay for them to leave. But don’t tell them about this.” She gestured in the direction of her grisly find. The warden nodded. “Perhaps I should just have a look?” he asked. “Just to make sure, that, well, you know.”

“The police want as few people as possible in here. That’s why you have to close the Library. Except for the paramedics and police, of course.”

At that moment the downstairs door opened and Florence crept in. She whispered to the librarian, who pointed up to the gallery. Florence raised a worried face.

“The taxi’s probably here and they’re wondering what’s happened to me,” Penny whispered to the warden. “Please. Go down now and speak to her. Otherwise, they’ll miss their train and believe me, you don’t want Mrs. Lloyd hanging about with all this going on.” The warden clattered down the stairs and a moment later said something to Florence. Her eyes widened and she then left the room, followed a moment later by the librarian and warden, leaving Penny alone in the great, silent expanse.

Twenty-two

“Didn’t go so well, then.”

Penny shook her head and groaned. “Two deaths and a semi-break up.” Penny took a sip of her coffee. “Not really a break up, but I told him I want to continue as we are. For now. After all, we haven’t even been going out for a year, so what’s the rush? I need to sort out how I feel, although I think it’s becoming clear to me. And if things aren’t moving along fast enough to suit some people, that’s their tough luck. Things were a little awkward for a bit, but he said he understands and he’s okay with it. At least, I think he is. Well, I hope he is.”

Victoria Hopkirk passed Penny a plate with two croissants on it. Penny shook her head, and Victoria took one for herself and tore it in half. Flaky crumbs dropped to her plate. She set half down and dabbed some raspberry conserve on the other half. The two friends were having breakfast together in Victoria’s flat the day after Penny returned from Gladstone’s Library.

“He’s more into you than you’re into him right now, that’s all. That can change.”

“You could put it like that, I suppose.” Penny sighed. “I think he’s hoping my feelings will change but I’m not so sure they will. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It was good I didn’t take the train home with Mrs. Lloyd and Florence. I don’t think I could have handled her questions or going on about Gareth or as she likes to call him, ‘that nice policeman of yours.’ Not yours, mine. Well, you know what I mean.”

“Let’s get back to the body. What happened after you found the body in the Library?”

“Gareth asked me to hold the fort until the police arrived, which they did very soon and I gave a statement and came home on a later train.”

“So there were two murders in two days?”

Penny nodded. “Two days. Felt like much longer than that.” She smiled. “Is there any more orange juice?”

Victoria went to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a carton that she set down rather noisily on the table. She then pushed it toward Penny.

“Here. Help yourself. And don’t change the subject. You know I’m desperate to hear all about the murders so off you go, and don’t leave anything out.”

Penny poured herself a second small glass of juice, drained it and then licked her lips.

“Well, let’s see. First there was Minty Russell, the bishop’s secretary. She was deathly allergic to seafood and somehow it seems there was some on her lunch plate, lurking in the chicken korma, and it made her very ill. It was frightening to see an allergic reaction. Even worse than what the symptoms did to her body was the panic and fear in her eyes. She knew what was happening to her, all right. Anyway, Bronwyn and Gareth jumped up and tried to help. They tore through her bag, but the device she needed to inject herself with was missing. It wasn’t in her room, either, so that naturally made Gareth suspicious.”

“Naturally. Go on.”

“Well, she was taken to the hospital in Chester, where she died. We were told about it later that afternoon. Dinner was a pretty somber affair, I can tell you. And I suggested to Gareth that Florence might be able to translate Minty’s shorthand notes—she used to be a secretary at the Liverpool College of Art, remember?—so she arrived in the late afternoon with Mrs. Lloyd in tow. But nothing turned up in the notebook.

“And then the next day, I found Reverend Shipton stabbed to death in the library. I get the feeling that nobody liked him very much, but nevertheless it was really awful seeing him like that.”

“I bet it was. I’ve never understood how somebody could stab another person. You’d have to be so close to your victim and surely you’d feel the knife blade going in, cutting through the person’s body.” Victoria made an overhand stabbing gesture and grimaced.

“And if the attack were particularly vicious the person gets stabbed again and again.” Penny shuddered. “But this was just the one entry wound, apparently. With a knife taken from the kitchen, possibly, but the police are still trying to find out where the knife came from.”

“So who would have access to the kitchen?”

“Well, that’s a good question. The police will be investigating every aspect of it,” said Penny, “including interviewing all the kitchen staff. Again. They had to speak to everyone after Minty died. And, I guess they’ll have to speak to everyone else who works there.”

Victoria thought for a moment. “I’m curious about something. Let’s say you had a thought, or remembered something, would you ring Gareth and tell him? Would you be comfortable doing that?”

“Of course,” said Penny. “Why wouldn’t I? He’d be one hundred percent professional. He’s a policeman first. They always are.”

“And what about that phone call that made you want to attend this conference in the first place?” Victoria asked. “Did you find out anything more about that? Did you tell him about it?”

Penny shook her head. “I never got around to mentioning it to him. In fact, I’d almost forgotten about it until I overheard two people talking.” She thought for a moment. “They were in the Robinson Room and the man said practically the same thing as on the message. He called her darling and said they’d have to be careful. And then the people came out of the room and you’ll never guess who they were.”

“No, I probably won’t, so you’d better tell me.”

“It was the bishop’s wife and the accountant.”

“Pull the other one! Bishop’s wives don’t have affairs and even if she did, who’d have an affair with an accountant?”

Penny stood up. “I know. That’s what I thought. But he’s quite good-looking and well dressed. There’s definitely something about him, but he’s a little too smooth for my taste, if you know what I mean. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him though, so what do I know?”

“What’s his name?”

“Hywel Stephens.”

“Stephens. Stephens. We have a Mrs. Stephens as one of our clients. I wonder it that’s his wife.” She turned to her computer and pulled up a program that listed all the clients of the Llanelen Spa. “Yes, here we are. Ros Stephens. She’s, let me see, thirty-four.” Victoria peered at Penny. Would that be about the right age for his wife?” Penny nodded. “Could be. I’d put him in his late thirties. Good-looking and well dressed, or did I already say that?”

“You did,” said Victoria. “In fact, we almost had him as our accountant.”

“We did?”

“Yes. When we were setting up our business the lawyer recommended a couple of accountants, including Stephens. And then Mrs. Lloyd also recommended him because his father, who started the firm, looked after her husband’s fruit-and-vegetable business for years. And he must have done a good job because Mrs. Lloyd is comfortably well off and the Stephens’s family firm has always done her accounts. They’ve seen her right.”