Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (24 page)

Bethan excused herself and went into the kitchen.

“He returned to the office about four o’clock, went to his computer, printed out some documents, and left,” she said when she returned a few minutes later. “He had called her earlier and asked her to reschedule all his appointments for that day. And the next day, he left for Spain.”

“What time did he call her?”

“She couldn’t remember exactly. But the first appointment was at two, and she managed to ring that client in time to let him know the appointment was being rescheduled and not to come in.”

Bethan looked at Davies and nodded. “Right. I’ll start work on the timeline. We need to account for his every minute.”

When the two police officers had gone, Penny sat with Harrison on her lap, thinking. It was all such a jumble of who was where and who said what to whom and who saw who with whom. She’d leave all that to the police to figure out. She had better things to worry about, and worried she was.

After a few minutes she gathered up the tea things and carried them through to the kitchen. It was too early to think about supper. What she really felt like was a walk. A few months ago she had been looking after Trixxi, the dog of the local landowner who had given her Harrison. She missed the lovely long rambles she and Trixxi used to take. Walking just for the sake of walking seemed so pointless, so joyless somehow, without a dog trotting along by your side, sampling all the unfamiliar smells, exploring the hedgerows, and reclaiming familiar territory. With their cheerful, rambling ways, dogs turn an ordinary walk into a happy occasion. It was true what people said, a dog does get you out and about. As she told herself that, a longing for a dog crept over her. On the other hand, they do tie you down and with the coming upheaval at the Spa, when she would no doubt have to work longer hours, she told herself sternly that this was not the right time. Still, a short walk before dinner would do her good. She slipped into a light jacket and, locking the door behind her, stepped outside just as late afternoon turned into early evening.

I can’t go far, she thought, so I’ll walk into town along the river and watch the sun set over the River Conwy.

She loved the river, in all its moods, although it held sad memories for her. For it was here, many years ago, that the young policeman she was in love with had drowned, saving the life of a child who had fallen in and been swept away by the strong current. She gazed at the swirling water, lost in thought, and then walked on.

As she approached the town’s centuries-old three-arched bridge, Bronwyn and Robbie, out for their evening walk, crossed the town’s cobbled square and headed toward her. They waited on the other side of the bridge, close to the Spa, until Penny reached them.

When she did, she bent over, gave Robbie a friendly scratch behind his ears, and then stood up and exchanged greetings with Bronwyn.

“Penny, you’ll never guess who came to see me, today!”

“Ros Stephens?”

“No, that’s a good guess, but no.” She paused for a moment to heighten the suspense. “The bishop’s wife. Yes, Pamela Blaine, herself.”

“Oh, really? And am I allowed to ask what she wanted?”

“Well, I can’t say too much but perhaps, since I did bring this up, after all, it would be all right for me to mention that she is in the midst of a serious marital crisis. She would like to leave the bishop; he, with one eye on keeping up appearances, is desperate to have her back.”

“Then it sounds as if she holds the trump cards.”

“That’s what I told her. I also told her if she is to return they must negotiate a new way to be together so she gets what she wants and needs.” She sighed. “But I think she will go back to him because she is afraid to be on her own. She is a woman who cannot be alone. And I expect for a time it will be different and he’ll be attentive and kind, but he will gradually revert to his cold, controlling ways. But she doesn’t hold all the trump cards.”

“No?”

“No. He holds the guilt card over her.” She lowered her voice. “Pamela had an affair and the bishop knows about it.”

“Oh, I see,” said Penny, not sure how much she should reveal she knew, and decided to say nothing. “That’s really something, isn’t it? Not what you’d expect from the wife of a bishop.”

“Exactly what I thought! Anyway, must get off. It’ll be dark soon and Robbie hasn’t had his dinner.” As the two of them trotted off, Penny walked home through the deepening dusk. Harrison would be wanting his dinner, too.

Forty-one

“Well, Penny,” said Mrs. Lloyd the next day, “here we are again. All that excitement at Gladstone’s Library seems to be dying down, so to speak, although I understand no arrests have been made yet in the death of that Shipton chap.”

“No, not yet.”

“The police did interview us, Florence and me, and we told them everything we knew, but we weren’t much help, I’m afraid. We were in the Gladstone Room when it happened. Florence was reading the paper and I was making sure I had the train tickets. You know how it is before a journey. You check and double check to make sure your tickets are in order. So we were waiting for the taxi to take us to the railway station, and you’d popped back to the Library, and that’s when you found the body.”

Penny thought about that for a moment.

“Is that what you told the police?”

“Yes.”

“But Mrs. Lloyd, that was what you were doing after the murder, while I was discovering the body. What were you doing and where were you just before that? That’s what the police want to know.”

“Well, let me see.” Her gaze wandered to the corner of the manicure room and she pursed her lips. “We talked to you in the hall about the taxi arrangements.” Her brown eyes returned to Penny. “You’ll remember that.”

Penny nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Oh! I remember now. And after that I went back upstairs to my room. I realized I hadn’t checked the en suite and I wanted to make sure I’d packed my special lavender soap that I like so much. Florence gave it to me for Christmas. It’s easy to leave toiletries behind. So I went back upstairs and sure enough, I had forgotten my soap, so I tucked it in my handbag. Then I went through the door near that meeting room and started down the stairs. I was just on the landing and looking over the back garden at that peculiar statue of a half-naked woman when I heard a door slam.”

“You’re right! Penny exclaimed. “I heard a door slam, too. I’d forgotten about that.”

“There you are then, Penny. I’m not the only one who forgets these details.”

“No,” said Penny, “you’re not. And what happened then, Mrs. Lloyd? What happened after you heard the door slam?”

“Well, as I said, there I was on the landing and I turned around and saw someone hurrying out of the warden’s office. From where I was standing I couldn’t quite see properly, and I was at a little distance on the stairs looking up and the light was in my eyes so I couldn’t say for sure who it was.”

“But can you tell me anything about him?” asked Penny. “Let’s start with that. Was it a man? Could you tell if the person was a man?”

“Yes, I think it was,” Mrs. Lloyd said slowly. “And he was walking very fast. ‘Purposefully,’ would be the word. Yes, purposefully.” And a moment later she added, with a small tremor of excitement, “and he was carrying something.” She beamed at Penny. “Isn’t it amazing what you can remember if you try?”

“When you say carrying something, do you mean down at his side, the way you’d carry a briefcase, say?”

“No, I mean carrying like this.” Mrs Lloyd bent the elbow of her left hand and held her forearm close to her body. “Tucked in the crook of his arm, like this.”

“So what would you carry like that?” Penny bent her arm toward her body.

“A stack of books?” asked Mrs. Lloyd. “Or, at least, two or three?”

Yes,” said Penny, “that would make perfect sense. And anyone seen walking the halls in a library carrying a few books would attract absolutely no attention. No one would take any notice, would they?”

“Not unless it was someone who wouldn’t be expected to have any books,” said Mrs. Lloyd.

Penny gave her a puzzled look that cleared a moment later. “Oh, I see what you mean. Someone on the cleaning staff, for example.”

“Or me!” laughed Mrs. Lloyd. “Now, Florence, no surprise there. She’s down the library every week exchanging her books so if you saw her with a few books you wouldn’t think twice about it. But I’m not a book reader, me. I’ll stick to my magazines, thank you very much.”

“But you don’t know for sure that he was carrying books, do you? Could he have been carrying something else?”

Mrs. Lloyd nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose he could have been.” They fell into silence, each with her own thoughts, as Penny applied a base coat to Mrs. Lloyd’s nails.

“Did we choose a colour?” Penny asked a few minutes later.

“No, we didn’t. I’d like something nice and fresh for spring. Not a heavy, wintery colour.”

“How about a nice, rich coral?”

“Why not?”

Penny started applying the nail varnish, while Mrs. Lloyd watched intently.

“Mrs. Lloyd?”

“Mmm?”

“Could that person coming out of the warden’s office have been Hywel Stephens?”

“Well, it looked like him, I suppose, but I don’t see how it could have been him. Because to come out of the warden’s office he would have had to get into the warden’s office and how could Hywel Stephens have got into the warden’s office? Surely the door would have been locked?”

Penny gave a little exclamation of triumph.

“It’s the oldest trick in the book, Mrs. Lloyd, and I’m surprised none of us thought of it before. That door that you and I heard slam … that was Stephens leaving the upper level of the Library through that heavy door that leads from the Library to the warden’s office. It’s almost as good as a secret passage. The warden liked to keep it propped open, you see, so my theory is that the killer stabbed Shipton, then slipped into the warden’s office. From there, he must have gone down the hall, taken the back stairs, and disappeared. He couldn’t have come down the front staircase or he would have had to pass you, and it’s more likely that someone would have spotted him. But he could easily have slipped out the back way unnoticed.”

“Well, I don’t know. Could be, I suppose. You’ll want to discuss it with that nice policeman of yours, I guess.”

“Mrs. Lloyd, really, he’s a very nice policeman and I know how much we all like him, but I’m sorry to have to tell that he’s not my policeman. Not really. Not in the sense you mean. We’re just friends.”

“Really, Penny? And we all had such high hopes there. Well, if it’s all over between you, I guess your sleuthing days are over, too. He’ll not be passing on any more inside information. Still, probably for the best. You’re going to be very busy running this place on your own now that Victoria’s leaving. Where’s she going? France, was it?”

Penny was aghast. “How on earth did you hear about that? As far as I know, no one’s been told. We haven’t even worked out the details. I don’t know myself what’s going to happen.”

“Penny, how long have you lived here in Llanelen? Twenty-five years? You should know by now secrets don’t stay secret for very long. Word gets out and when it does, it gets around very quickly.”

“Italy,” said Penny, grumpily. “She’s going to Italy. But just for six weeks or so. Things may not work out.”

“On the other hand, they very well might work out. You’d better prepare yourself just in case they do.”

“Well, in the meantime, I’ll tell Gareth that you saw something at the Library that could be important and I’ve no doubt they’ll be around to reinterview you.”

“That’ll be fine. I like talking to him.” And then she added: “Even if you don’t.”

Penny groaned. “Oh, Mrs. Lloyd. What are we going to do with you?”

*

“Well, what do you think about what Mrs. Lloyd saw?” Penny asked Davies on the telephone later that evening.

“It’s something,” he replied, “but it’s not much to go on. We don’t know who that person was or what he was carrying. At this point, I have to say the case is stalled. We’ve gone as far as we can.”

“So what happens now?”

“We wait for the break we need to wrap things up.”

Forty-two

One week later, as a full moon lit the way for clouds drifting across the midnight sky above Gladstone’s Library, residents on the first floor were awakened by a loud vibrating noise. They put on dressing gowns and gathered in the hall.

“It seems to be coming from that direction,” said an elderly man, pointing. Like a little flock of sheep, they shuffled toward the source of the noise. “Oh, this doesn’t look good,” the man said, pointing to a widening stain on the green carpet. The source of the stain seemed to be the communal shower room that was shared by two bedrooms that had not yet been retrofitted with their own en suites.

The little group stood outside the door and then a woman standing in front of it pulled the door open. The floor was flooded and a small wave of water lapped at the edge of the hall carpeting.

“I’ll go downstairs and notify the person on night duty,” said one resident. “I wonder if there’s anything we can do to stop the flow?” asked a retired clergyman. “It looks like one for the bucket brigade until we can get the water switched off,” said another.

“First the plumbers, and then the builders,” said another.

An hour later, after an emergency-plumbing service had temporarily sorted out the problem, the worst of the water had been mopped up, the sodden carpet pulled back and order restored, the residents, who had all pitched in to help save their beloved library, went back to their rooms to try to get some sleep in what remained of the night.

In the morning, the builders would begin to repair the damage.

And in the morning, came the break the police were waiting for.

“We pulled the radiator out and behind it we found that,” the head builder said to Davies. He pointed at a soggy clipboard and a wet book, its pages rippled and its cover warped. “Normally we wouldn’t have taken any notice of it, but it’s what was in the book that got our attention. We knew about the killing that happened here a few weeks back, and we thought that might be important, so we called you. It’s not every day you find something like that in a book, so we knew something wasn’t right.”