Slated for Death (23 page)

“How's the rehearsal going so far?” Mrs. Lloyd asked Victoria.

“As you'd expect. A lot of starts and stops and from the top.”

“And Karis Edwards. Did she sing?”

“She did,” said Victoria.

“And?” Mrs. Lloyd prompted. “How did she sound? Are we in for a treat?”

“Well, she seemed a bit, how shall I put this? Out of practice? And I don't think she was giving it her best. Just seemed to be going through the motions. But some performers do that. They hold something back so they can give it their all on the night.” She took a bite of egg salad sandwich. “Or, it may be that what she once had is starting to go. That happens, too.”

“Did you say something to her?” asked Florence, looking over Penny's shoulder. She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Has something happened? She seems to be looking in our direction and judging by her face, she's not a happy bunny.”

Penny shuffled uneasily in her seat. She started to turn her head to look over her shoulder at Karis, thought better of it, and turned her attention to Florence. But as she did so, the memory she had struggled to capture since Doreen's death charged into the forefront of her consciousness. Now she remembered what she'd seen at the nursing home that had seemed significant at the time.

“She just seemed a little off, as I said, but everything's fine, so far as I know.” Victoria glanced at Penny. “Well, there is one thing. For some reason she wants to change one of the pieces from a major key to a minor key.”

“Is that a big deal?”

“It is, rather. Sad songs or serious ones, like hymns, are written in a minor key. Upbeat happy ones are written in major. So if you change from major to minor, you're going to get a different sound. If you want to get technical about it, changing from major key to minor key alters the distance relationship between the degrees of the scale and therefore naturally changes the melody slightly—and I don't think our audience will take very kindly to that. It adds a touch of melancholy to the music. It doesn't seem necessary to me and all of us have now got to make the changes. You just don't do that at the final rehearsal. But she's insistent. So it's made for some heavy going. Ifan is trying to keep her in line, but he can't. Divas just don't like hearing the word ‘No.'” She paused and exchanged a glance with Florence. “Do they, Penny?”

Penny started. “Sorry, what?”

“You were a million miles away, I think,” said Florence. “But that's understandable. You've got a lot on here, and I expect you'll be very relieved when all this is over.”

“Yes,” agreed Penny. “Very relieved.”

Victoria wiped her hands on her serviette, bunched it up, and set it on her plate. “I'm sure I speak for all of us, Florence, when I tell you that really hit the spot,” she said. “Thank you.”

Florence pinched her lips together and nodded in a low-key, satisfied way.

“I expect we'll be another hour, unless the Karis part of the rehearsal drags on, which it very well might do,” Victoria continued. “If you don't mind waiting that long, we'd be happy to drive you home.”

“That should work very nicely,” agreed Florence. “We'll tidy away here, sort ourselves out for tomorrow evening, and be ready to leave when you come up.”

The room was beginning to thin out as performers shuffled toward the door to return to the train and descend to the concert chamber for the second half of the rehearsal. Victoria stood up to join them, looking over her shoulder at Penny.

“I'll give Florence a hand and then be down in about an hour for one last check,” Penny said.

“Right. See you then.”

“I'll give you a hand with the clearing up, Florence,” said Penny, “but I've got to make a quick phone call.”

She stepped out into the area just inside the entrance and stood in front of the locked and darkened gift shop.

“Oh, good, you're there,” she said when Davies answered. “I've just remembered something that happened at the nursing home around the time Doreen died. It wasn't after she died, it was before. I was sitting in the lounge with my back to the door and Doreen looked over my shoulder and saw someone. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost. She brushed it off, but seeing this person, whoever it was, shook her up. She asked me to leave soon after. And within a day or two, she was dead. I think someone she did not want or expect to see again turned up at the nursing home.”

“I'll send Bethan over tomorrow to look into it,” said Davies. “Thanks for this.”

 

Thirty-nine

An hour later, the last of the dishes had been washed, dried, and put away. Florence took off her old-fashioned apron with its cheerful pattern of blue pansies, folded it, and placed it in her bag.

Mrs. Lloyd looked up from her magazine. “Well? Is it time to go?”

“It is,” said Florence. “In fact, I think I hear them. Yes, here they come,” she said as the sound of voices came closer, passed the open-fronted sheds now shuttered for the night, then filed past the windows of the caf
é
. Their voices receded as they continued on their way to the exit. When the last of them had disappeared into the night, the two women turned to each other.

“Well, Penny and Victoria must have stayed behind for a few minutes for some reason,” said Florence, checking her watch. “They probably have some last-minute details to sort out. We'll give them ten more minutes.”

Mrs. Lloyd made an exasperated little sound. “Ten more minutes and then what? It's getting late and I'm tired. Now we've probably missed our chance of a ride home. Everyone else will have left and the buses have long since stopped running. And we're practically in the middle of nowhere.”

“Ten more minutes and then we'll see about getting some help,” said Florence. “We can't just leave them down there all night and ring for a taxi, can we?”

By the time she finished her sentence, just two vehicles remained in the visitors' car park.

*   *   *

A frowning Victoria closed the zipper on her harp case. “I'm not sure the case will keep all the damp out. I hope my beautiful harp will be all right down here overnight with this humidity. To be honest, I'd be happier if I could bring it back to the surface. If the wood swells, even a little, the sound will be completely off and I don't know what kind of permanent damage that might do to it.”

“I can give you a hand carrying it up the stairs, if you like,” said Penny. “Or better yet, maybe he can help us.” She gestured at one of Bevan Jones's assistants covering up the audio equipment with a blue canvas-type material. Victoria had a word with him and then returned to Penny.

“He's got some extra waterproof material that he can spread over my harp, and the keyboard, too. That should keep the damp out, so the instruments should be okay for one night. I hadn't thought about this, but I'm glad he can help.”

“I wonder,” said Penny. “There's something I'd like some help with. Now it's my turn to have a word.” The lights had been turned up and the stage area was fairly well lit, but the sides and back of the cavern were bathed in absolute darkness. “Is Bevan not here?”

“Now that you mention it, I haven't seen him for a while,” said Victoria. “He wasn't in the caf
é
, was he?”

“I'll have a word, then, with your man over there.” Picking her way over cables and moving a couple of chairs out of the way, she reached the assistant who had just finished wrapping the sound equipment in waterproof material.

“No, he's gone home. His missus called. His son was having trouble breathing and she wanted him home.”

“Trouble breathing? Is he…?”

“Yeah, he has that condition where he gets very short of breath and he has to use one of those puffer things. Anyway, what was it you wanted?”

With her thoughts running in all directions, Penny told him.

While she was explaining what she had in mind, Karis approached Victoria and the two discussed last-minute concert arrangements as Rebeccah hovered nearby.

As she got closer to the three women, Penny breathed in a fragrance, heady and strong, as if it had just been applied. Sharp and over-the-top flowery. Overwhelming, even. Oh, what was it? The box. It came in a yellow-and-white striped box. She hadn't smelled that fragrance in many years and now she'd smelled it at least twice within the past few weeks. When? Where?

 

Forty

The night wrapped its cold, silent arms around them. Victoria, who'd reached the stage where she did as little night driving as possible, kept her eyes on the winding road ahead as she switched on the car's heater.

“That feels good,” said Penny. “I didn't realize how cold I was.” She stifled a yawn. “Or how tired.” She turned to the pair in the backseat. “Are you two all right?” Mrs. Lloyd's eyes were closed, her head reclining against the back of the seat. Florence nodded.

A few moments later the ping of an incoming text message broke the silence. Penny checked her phone and then turned slightly in her seat toward Victoria so the backseat passengers could hear what she had to tell them.

“Rhian's grandfather has just died. The family has decided they'd like to come to the concert tomorrow as a way to honour him.”

Mrs. Lloyd and Florence made little murmuring sounds of acknowledgement.

“We should mention the miners in our introduction,” said Victoria.

“Agreed,” said Penny.

“Absolutely,” murmured Mrs. Lloyd, her eyes still closed.

Penny settled back in her seat and closed her eyes, too.

Eventually they came to the familiar few houses at the edge of town that couldn't properly be called the outskirts, but did indicate the separation of town and country. Sensing the car slowing down, Penny opened her eyes and looked out the window until she got a sense of where they were.

After dropping off Mrs. Lloyd and Florence, and waiting until the front door had closed behind them and the hall light switched on, Penny and Victoria drove off.

“It's been a long day,” said Victoria. “If you'd rather not be alone tonight, you're more than welcome to stop at mine.”

“Oh, home I think,” Penny said. “I appreciate the offer, but there's no comfort on earth like your own bed. Especially when it's been a long day.”

“True,” said Victoria as they passed the Spa and turned down the road that led to Penny's cottage. A few moments later they pulled up in front of it.

“We'll talk about everything in the morning,” said Penny. “I've got a lot to think about. Sorry I wasn't very good company on the drive home.”

“A little quiet is a good thing. Everybody was tired and nobody was in the mood to talk. Good night and see you in the morning.” Penny gave a little wave as she walked up the path and then let herself into the dark house. She switched on the hall light and heard Victoria drive off as she hung her keys on the little hook near the door.

“Harrison?” she called.

Her little grey cat padded out from the kitchen. The tip of his tail twitched slightly and he regarded her through narrowed eyes filled with reproach.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Got held up. I'll put some food out for you straight away.” She filled his shallow dish and stood over him as he crouched over the bowl. After a few mouthfuls he looked up at her and then turning his back on her, walked away. She followed him into the sitting room and sat down on the sofa. A few moments later he jumped up, walked the length of the sofa, and then turned around and walked back to her. Finally, knowing he'd made his point, he snuggled up against her thigh and began purring. She reached down and began stroking his silky fur. She'd always thought herself more of a dog person, but loved having him to take care of. She let her head droop against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. As waves of exhaustion washed over her she wondered if she had enough energy left to get herself upstairs to bed. She tucked her hand under Harrison's front leg and stroked his soft underside. She thought back to the woman who'd raised her, a cousin of her mother's. She'd been a hard, humourless woman and because she hated animals, everyone around her had to hate them, too. Except Penny hadn't.

Although she was exhausted, there was one more thing she had to do. She opened her laptop, and googled “perfume yellow and white striped box.”

And there it was. Giorgio. That's the name of it. Giorgio. Hugely popular in the 1980s and so potent that some restaurants banned it. That was what she'd smelled tonight and … she couldn't remember. Leave it, she told herself. It will come to you. Probably someone at the Spa. That place was full of fragrance, which was why she and Victoria had decided that their house-brand skin-care products would be fragrance free.

Oh, so achingly tired. She thought how easy it would be to put her head on the pillow at one end of the sofa, cover herself with the light blanket draped over the armrest at the other end, and just drift off to sleep. How blissful it would be. But then she remembered the times she'd done that and how cold and uncomfortable she'd been, waking up at 3
A.M.
and having to haul herself off to bed in an even worse state than she was now—stiff, groggy, and in a very bad mood. No, she'd be better to push herself for a few more minutes, get upstairs, and fall into her lovely bed. Harrison could take care of himself and sleep wherever he chose. With a sigh she stood up, turned off the lights, and lifted one leaden foot after the other until she reached the top of the stairs.

She switched on the electric blanket to give it a few minutes to warm her bed while she brushed her teeth, wiped her face with a cleansing cloth, undressed, and put on a nightshirt. As she slid into the comfort of sheets that were just beginning to warm, she was glad she'd made the effort to haul her tired bones upstairs to bed. As she stretched out, she remembered that she needed to tell Gareth what the mine worker had told her about Bevan Jones's son and his breathing difficulties in case it was connected to the incident that Peris had described of the angry man at the market shouting at Glenda about the toxic air freshener. But there would be time for that in the morning. It was too late now to ring him; he'd be asleep and anyway, it wasn't urgent. Longing for sleep herself, she turned on her side, closed her eyes, and drifted off.