Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (25 page)

Davies nodded. “Glad you did.”

Bethan Morgan bent over and scooped up a chef’s knife, which she placed in an evidence bag, and then did the same with the book and clipboard.

“I doubt we’ll find any fingerprints, but get them off to forensics, will you Bethan? Hopefully, if there’s any blood from the knife on the pages of the book we’ll learn something.”

“Right.”

“I’ll have a word with the librarian. She’s probably missing a book. What’s the full name of it, again?”

Bethan turned the bag over so Davies could see the front of the book, with its yellow print on a blue background.

“
The Gospel According to Harry Potter. Spirituality in the stories of the world’s most famous seeker.”

“Oh, I know that book,” said the librarian a few minutes later. “But I didn’t realize it was missing. Well, I’m sorry to hear about the condition it’s in, but I’m glad to know what happened to it so we can see about getting it replaced.”

She turned to her computer and typed in an entry. “Here are its call letters.” She stood up. “Follow me.” They made their way carefully up to the second level and along a few rows of shelves. “Here we are,” said the librarian checking the call numbers on the books and pointing to the edges of two books. “This is where the Harry Potter book used to live. Let’s see if.…” She pushed the two books apart, reached in between the back cover of one and the front cover of its neighbour and pulled out a small piece of paper. “What’s that?” asked Davies. “It’s the borrower’s slip. This should tell us the name of the person who signed out the Harry Potter book.”

Scarcely able to believe his luck, Davies read the name: Hywel Stephens.

“May I keep this?” he asked the librarian.

“Is it a clue?” she replied with a question of her own.

“It’s evidence.”

Forty-three

“But why on earth would he sign out a book that he was going to use to cover up a crime?” Penny asked Davies that evening.

“I wondered that, too, and the librarian said almost everyone who takes a book from the library signs for it. Even the warden. Those are the rules, and the people who are attracted to Gladstone’s Library are the older, mature type who respect rules and follow them.”

He took a sip of coffee. “I don’t think he planned to hide the knife in the book. I think he went to the library to return the book before he left, saw Shipton, they had an argument, and he stabbed him. But we’ll know more about that when we interview him.”

“And when will that be?”

“Shouldn’t be too long. Spain’s always been a popular destination for UK criminals on the run. Remember the good old days of the Costa del Crime? Malaga and Torremolinos were packed with British thugs and gangsters enjoying the good life under a friendly Spanish sun. But now we’ve got a good extradition agreement in place, and Mr. Stephens will be back with us before he knows it. In fact, I might be going there myself to fetch him back. Don’t suppose you fancy a couple of days in the Marbella sunshine?”

Penny laughed and shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get away again. We’ll have to see how things go, but I’m sure Rhian will do fine as the new manager. Victoria says she’s just going for six weeks or so but who knows? She might decide to trade everything here for a Tuscany farm house.”

“When does she leave?”

“Saturday.”

For the next minute or so, neither spoke. Then, Penny asked about the knife that had been used to kill Shipton.

“But why was he walking around with a chef’s knife? Where did he get it? From the kitchen?”

“No. But coincidentally, the kitchen was missing a knife at that time so we thought we were looking for a kitchen knife. But it turned out the weekend chef had put the knife in the wrong drawer and it turned up. But they forgot to let us know. We checked all the details of the kitchen operations and it would be difficult for someone to just wander into that kitchen and take a knife. Despite what happened to Minty Russell—her allergy poisoning was an insider job, if you will—it’s a safe, professional, well-run kitchen.”

“So where did the knife come from?”

“Stephens bought it at the Tesco down the road that morning. We’ll find out for sure, but it may be that one of his wives asked him to pick one up.” He shrugged. “As I said, we’ll know more after we’ve interviewed him, including why he killed Shipton.” He stood up. “But I suspect the motive will come down to money.”

“Money?”

“He’s an accountant. His whole world is money.”

*

Minty’s sister Constance had lost weight and her face was now gaunt and hollow. She spent most days in the bed that had been set up for her in the sitting room and her husband, Elwy, had arranged for a neighbour to look in on her in the afternoons when he was at work. He had explained to the pub manager that he could no longer work evenings or nights because of his wife’s illness.

She stirred as the front door opened and came fully awake at the sound of a banging, thumping noise. “Hello, love, only me,” her husband called as he entered the room. He bent over and kissed her forehead.

“What was all that banging about?” his wife asked.

“Oh, that,” her husband said. “The funeral director called to apologize. Apparently there was some mix up with the police and they’ve only now just got round to releasing Minty’s possessions. I had to go and pick them up.” He pointed to the sad little black case standing in the hall. “Shall I bring it in? Do you feel up to going through it?”

“Never mind that now, Elwy. I want to talk to you. It’s important.”

“What is it, love?” he said pulling a chair closer to his bed side. “Are you feeling poorly?’

“You could say that, you bloody great lummox. Yes, I’m feeling poorly. In fact, Elwy, I’m preparing to die.”

“Oh, don’t talk so. You’ll outlive us all, see if you don’t.”

“Elwy, please, I need you to listen to me. When you deny what I’m saying like that, it’s to make you feel better because you don’t want to acknowledge the truth. But you need to hear me. You need to listen.”

He did not reply.

“I want you to ask the rector from St. Deiniol’s next door to the Library to come and see me. I want to talk to him. Will you do that?” He nodded. “And I’ve got to make a will. I always thought I’d go first, not Minty. So you need to ask the lawyer to come and see me, too. There are things that need to be taken care of. It’s time for me to put my affairs in order.” She held up a thin hand to silence Elwy’s protest.

“Now, I know mother and Minty had no use for you, and there have been times when I wasn’t so sure myself, but I’ve got no one else, except you, Elwy. And you’ve been so good to me these past few weeks, I’m starting to wonder if they were wrong about you. So I’m going to leave everything, well, what there is, to you.”

She stopped and closed her eyes. “Do you want a drink of water, love?” he asked.

She nodded and sat up slightly. He poured some water into a glass and inserted a bendy straw and held it to her lips. “Take your time, love. No hurry.”

“Well, I guess you might as well open Minty’s suitcase now so we can see what’s in it,” she said.

He turned the case on its side and using both hands yanked the two zipper pulls away from each other, then flipped the lid open. He picked through a few items of clothing, Minty’s eyeglasses, some toiletry items, and then pulled out a blue velvet box with a silver clasp. He opened it with a smile and tipped it so Constance could see the contents. “Here you go, dear. Your mother’s pearls. Would you like me to help you put them on?”

“They were granny’s pearls, actually,” said Constance, leaning forward so he could slip them behind her neck and fasten the clasp. When he finished, she sat back, and lovingly held the triple strand of pale cream pearls, rolling them gently between her fingers and thumb. “From Granny, to mother, to Minty, to me. It’s too bad I’ll never have the chance to wear them properly. Somewhere nice.” She gave him a weak smile, sighed, and closed her eyes. “I’d love to wear them to a tea dance, if they still held such things. Such a lovely idea, don’t you think? A tea dance.” Her husband sat in silence, waiting and watching.

A few moments later her eyelids fluttered open and she seemed to gather strength.

“So, Elwy, as I said, I’m going to leave everything to you. Except for one thing. The pearls.”

“Well, I don’t have much use for them, do I?”

“No, and I don’t want some fancy woman you take up with after I’m gone getting her hands on them.” He seemed about to say something and then thought better of it. “Just listen to me, Elwy. I wish I had a daughter or even a niece to leave the pearls to, but I don’t. I’ve given this a lot of thought and this is what I’d like to do with them. I want to leave them to the church. That way, any bride being married there could borrow them to wear on her wedding day. They would be known as St. Deiniol’s pearls. They would be the ‘something borrowed.’ What do you think of that idea?”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, love. They’ll look as beautiful on the St. Deiniol’s brides as they do on you.”

Elwy gave the blue box a little shake. The pearls had sat on a false bottom. He lifted it up and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and showed it to his wife. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

“It’s just a bunch of numbers,” she shrugged “with that one number highlighted at the bottom, see? I have no idea what it means. Just something Minty was working on when she died, I guess. Means nothing to us, and it can’t have been that important or the police would have found it when they went through her things. Put it in the recycling, and then put the kettle on. But first, tell me what you did at work today. Did anyone interesting come into the pub?”

“A Canadian woman. Red hair. Said she’d been doing some sketching and drawing at the Library.”

“Oh. A tourist, I guess. Bit early for them, but it’s May, so they do start to arrive about now, tourists.”

“Maybe she was a tourist, but I don’t think so. She seemed to know her way around. Said she’d stopped at the Library several times now and how much she loved it.”

“Oh. I guess it would be too much of a coincidence if she’d been at the Library in April when Minty was there. If she’d been there when all that awful business happened.”

“Yes, that would be too much of a coincidence. Things like that might happen in books, but they don’t happen in real life, do they, pet?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Well, love, you just sit back and relax and I’ll put the kettle on.”

*

After a cold, wet April, the flowers of May were especially welcome. Penny packed a picnic lunch for two, her sketching supplies, and with Davies beside her, they set off for Parc Mawr. Loping along at their side was Trixxi, the black lab she adored who had been left in her care for a few days while her owner was away.

They’d had a couple of honest, intense talks over the past few days and reached a quiet understanding. Penny had opened up and explained that she liked her life the way it was and felt she had lived on her own for too long to create a new, intimate life with someone else.

Davies had said he respected her all the more for her candour.

But if she had told him what the relationship would not be, they had yet to define what it would be. And that, they’d both agreed, might take some time.

Penny smiled to herself. Even though their future was still uncertain, she felt more at ease with him than she had for a while.

At the Woodland Trust area, the forest floor was carpeted as far as the eye could see with a shimmering drift of bluebells. Grateful for the cloudy day that allowed the flowers to be seen at their purest blue, Penny took out her notepad and with rapid, sure strokes began to capture the bluebells’ bright beauty.

She took a few photographs to use later, to remind her of the depth of the colour, when she turned her sketches into watercolour paintings. And then, because Trixxi was anxious for the walk to continue, the three moved on. The days were warm now, with summer just around the corner.

They talked about Victoria, who was happy in Italy. Penny was starting to accept that she might not be back, and to think about what that would mean for her. The Spa was doing well under Rhian’s management, and its reputation was growing.

They stopped for lunch by a small stream that gave a spectacular view over the valley to the ancient hills beyond. Davies had returned yesterday from Spain, where he’d interviewed Hywel Stephens, who had confessed to the murder of Nigel Shipton but showed very little remorse, just as he’d showed very little remorse for the hurt he’d caused his family. “He’s not sorry for what he did,” Davies said. “He’s sorry he got caught.”

“Why did he do it?” Penny asked. “Was it about the money?”

“Yes and no,” Davies replied. “He did need the money from his partnership with Shipton to maintain his two families, but the murder wasn’t just about money. It was about protecting his secret.”

“His secret? You mean the family in Spain?” asked Penny.

“No. He was having an affair with another woman, closer to home. Shipton found out and threatened to tell the woman’s husband.”

“Really.”

“Hmm.”

He picked up a piece of sliced apple and bit the end off it.

“By the way, did you know Pamela Blaine’s mobile phone number was almost identical to your landline?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the one she was using until a few weeks ago. Just one digit difference. Her phone number ended in a six. Yours ends in a nine. I recognized the similarity right away when we were sorting through her calls.”

Penny started to laugh.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking what a huge difference that one number made. And it was an accountant, of all people, who got his numbers mixed up and dialed nine for murder.”

He threw her a quizzical look.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I came home from work one day and there was a voice-mail message … a wrong number, obviously … about a conference at a library.…”

ALSO BY ELIZABETH J. DUNCAN

A Small Hill to Die On