The Cold Light of Mourning (9 page)

Ten

P
enny was surprised when her telephone rang at eight on Sunday morning. She was even more surprised that her early morning caller was a police officer asking if she and another officer could come around immediately to ask her a few questions.

Although most people would have asked what it was about, Penny just agreed to meet with them and said she would wait for them downstairs in the shop.

A few minutes later Morgan and Davies were on her doorstep.

It was a lovely morning, the start of a perfect June day, with a fresh, light breeze gently stirring the treetops under a cloudless blue sky.

“Would you like to talk in the shop or do you want to go up to the flat?” Penny asked. “I must tell you I’m a little nervous. Should I offer you a cup of tea or coffee? I don’t often get visits from the police, so it’s a bit … well, you know.”

Davies smiled reassuringly at her, taking in her red hair and trim figure.

“Actually, I do know. Well, first things first, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Gareth Davies and this is Detective Sergeant Bethan Morgan, and thank you, no, we’ll not trouble you for a drink. We’re fine.”

Morgan smiled encouragingly at Penny.

“And let me begin by apologizing for troubling you at this hour, but we need to get an early start today. If you’re planning to get to church, we’ll try not to keep you,” he added.

Penny led the way into the shop.

“This will do nicely,” Davies said, as he and Morgan sat in the two clients’ chairs and Penny pulled up a seat to face them. “I expect you know why we’re here.”

Penny looked blankly at him, her face clouded and troubled. “No,” she said, “absolutely not. I’ve not got the faintest idea why you’re here.”

The two officers looked at each another and Davies took the lead.

“Well, we’re investigating a missing persons report. Meg Wynne Thompson has gone missing.”

“But she can’t be,” Penny exclaimed. “She just got married yesterday. What on earth could have happened to her?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Morgan, “and as far as our investigation goes, you’re ground zero.”

“Sorry, I’m not taking this in,” Penny said, looking from one to the other. “I’m not following you.”

“We’re not doing a very good job of explaining this,” Davies said. “Let’s go back to the beginning.

“According to the information we have, Meg Wynne Thompson came to your shop yesterday morning for a manicure.”

“That’s right,” Penny said. “She did. It was nine o’clock, the first appointment of the day. She was right on time, which I liked.”

“Good,” said Davies. “Right, well, she came here for a manicure, and so far, we haven’t been able to trace her movements after that, so you’ll understand now why we’re here. At this point, we believe you were the last person to have seen her.”

Penny struggled to make sense of what she was hearing.

“I’m staggered. Are you saying that after she left my shop she just disappeared?” She sat back as Davies gave her a bit more time to think about what she had just been told.

“And she didn’t show up for her wedding?” Penny asked.

“That is correct.”

“Oh, poor Emyr. That’s terrible, just terrible.”

“So now, Miss Brannigan, is it? I need to know everything that happened here yesterday. Start at the beginning if you don’t mind, and walk me through it. Don’t leave anything out. The sergeant here will take notes.”

Penny walked over to the small work desk against the far wall, and picked up a burgundy appointment book and small metal box.

She returned to Davies and opened the book to show him the page for Saturday.

“Here she is,” Penny said, pointing to an entry. “She was here at nine for a manicure. It was uneventful, ordinary.”

Morgan was writing frantically while Davies, paying close attention, leaned slightly forward, maintaining eye contact.

“What was she wearing?”

“Hmm. Let me think.” Penny paused for a moment and looked away.

“She had on a kind of pink plaid boxy jacket with fringe, just along here,” Penny said, running her hands down an imaginary lapel. “Blue jeans, I think, and some kind of strappy sandals. Fancy shoes like the other two girls were wearing when they were here on Friday. People were saying how totally inappropriate those shoes were for the country. Just silly, really.”

“What did you talk about?” Morgan asked.

“Not much, actually. The usual client chitchat. She didn’t seem to want to talk. She did say, though, that she had chosen peonies for her flowers and it wouldn’t be long before everyone would want them. She said she’d even designed a special peony fragrance for herself. She seemed very sure of herself, very confident with her choices.”

“Did she seem troubled, or upset, or anything like that?”

“No, she didn’t. But come to think of it, she didn’t seem very nervous or excited, either, the way most brides are on their wedding day. Not that I see that many of them.”

“Really? I would have thought wedding parties would be a natural for a business like yours,” Davies said.

“Oh they are. I just don’t get to see them on their wedding day. Bridal parties are usually done the day before. There’s too much to do on the day, and the manicure takes up too much time, and then your nails are a bit tacky and you can’t get on with things. So I was rather surprised when Meg Wynne made the appointment for yesterday, not Friday. The other girls came in on Friday. Anne and the other one.”

“Jennifer.”

“That’s it. They seemed like nice girls. Very supportive of their friend. So that was all there was to the manicure. Wait a minute! Yes, right, one of the bridesmaids, I can’t remember which one it was, came by yesterday, around lunchtime, asking if Meg Wynne had been here and did I know where she went afterwards. I did wonder about that at the time and then I thought no more about it.”

She thumped her forehead lightly with the heel of her hand.

“Of course. I should have realized then that there was a problem, but I never would have dreamed that she wouldn’t turn up for her wedding. That’s the last thing you’d expect.”

Davies continued to look at Penny, while Morgan stole a glance at her watch.

“Right, well, you’ve been very helpful and we appreciate that,” he said. “Just a couple more questions. How long did the manicure take and did she say where she was going after she left you?”

“It took about forty-five minutes, a bit longer, maybe. And no, she didn’t say where she was going. I just assumed she would be going back to the hotel or somewhere for hair and makeup and all the rest of it.”

Morgan folded up her notebook and looked expectantly at her boss.

“One more thing. I wonder if you can tell us what you were doing yesterday.”

Penny gave him a puzzled look.

“Me? I had a full morning in the shop until about lunchtime, and then I walked up to Ffridd Uchaf to go sketching. I like to work with the afternoon light, see. When I got back, I tidied everything up. I have to do the accounts on Saturday, if I’m to have any hope of staying on top of them. Then I had an early supper and read a chapter or two of the new Maeve Binchy. I watched a bit of television, and then went to bed. I don’t lead a very exciting life, I’m afraid. Very dull and predictable it is, to be honest.” A moment later she added, “Why would you even ask that? You surely don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you? I didn’t even know the woman, for goodness sake.”

“I was wondering why you hadn’t heard about the wedding, that’s all, and obviously it was because you were away from the town.”

After a few moments of silence, Penny followed up with something that had just occurred to her.

“I guess it will be on the news,” she said.

“Oh, it’s got all the ingredients,” Morgan agreed. “This story’ll be all over the news today. You may get some calls from reporters, once they figure out you were one of the last people to see Meg Wynne Thompson.”

“I hope not,” Penny said, looking from one to the other. “I don’t like the sound of that. What should I say if a reporter calls?”

“Just confirm she was here,” Morgan said. “They shouldn’t bother you for any more than a day or two. Everything blows over quickly, and they move on to the next thing.”

The two police officers stood up.

“What’s in the box?” Davies asked, looking at the box Penny had brought over with the appointment book.

“It’s the box I keep client cards in,” Penny said. “I write down the date of each client visit, and what colour of polish she chose.”

“Is that really necessary?” Davies asked.

“It is,” Penny said. “I used to get customers coming in and they’d say, ‘I didn’t like the last polish as much as the one I had the time before that,’ and they’d expect me to remember what that was, so I started keeping notes on what polish they have, and then it’s all very simple. So I have a note here that tells me what Meg Wynne had. I could also tell you what the bridesmaids had, if you need to know that.”

“I think that’s one detail too many,” smiled Davies, “but you never know. Here’s my card,” he added, handing one to Penny. “Call me if you remember anything else you think we should know, even if you think it’s not important. Don’t hesitate to call.”

A few minutes later the officers were setting off to walk the short distance to the Red Dragon Hotel where the manager was expecting them.

“What did you think, sir?”

“I thought she was genuine and uncomplicated. She told us what she knew and that’s it and all about it.”

For now, thought Morgan.

When the police officers were gone, Penny went upstairs to her flat and put the kettle on. Maybe they didn’t want a coffee, she thought, but I certainly do. While she waited for the water to boil she wandered into her bedroom and riffled through her closet. Although she hadn’t planned on going to church that morning, the police visit had got her thinking and she didn’t want to be on her own. Anyway, there might be news. She reached into the closet and pulled out a navy blue shirtwaist dress with hunting scenes on it that she had bought at a charity shop in Llandudno. That’ll do, she thought.

At Ty Brith, Rhys Gruffydd’s condition had worsened overnight and the doctor had been called. After spending a few minutes with her patient, she talked quietly with Emyr outside his father’s room.

“He is in decline, I’m sorry to say, and I don’t think the end will be too long in coming. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. He will likely be comatose at the end, so my advice would be that if you have anything left unsaid, or if there’s anything you want to ask him, now’s the time. We’ll continue to keep him comfortable, but that’s really all that’s left for us to do. Is there anything you want to ask me?”

Emyr shook his head.

“You go back in,” the doctor told him. “I’ll show myself out.”

Emyr quietly opened the door to his father’s room and made his way to the bedside chair. He sat down and took his father’s hand.

“Dad, it’s me,” he said gently. Rhys turned his head toward the sound of his son’s voice, opened his eyes, and gazed lovingly at his only child in the peaceful glow of the muted sunshine that filtered through the beige blinds.

“Ah, Emyr,” he said softly. “I can guess what she told you and I have come to accept it. Don’t worry about me. I am just so sorry to have to be adding to your troubles with everything else you have to worry about.”

“Dad, you mustn’t think that,” Emyr said.

“Emyr, there’s something I wanted to say to you about Meg Wynne. I know some people don’t like her, they think she’s arrogant and above herself, but she reminded me in a lot of ways of your mother.”

“Oh, Dad, please don’t”

“I have to, Emyr. I need to say these things, and I want you to hear me out.”

Rhys paused for a few moments.

“Water, please.”

Emyr held the glass to his father’s lips. Rhys took a delicate sip through the bent straw and nodded. Emyr replaced the glass on the bedside table and then sat down.

“I’m not stupid,” Rhys continued. “I know exactly what kind of woman Meg Wynne is. I understood her because I’d seen it all before. And what’s more, I believe I know what she would have become, once she realized that no one was going to hurt her anymore, and that she was safe with you. She needs you. And you need her. She’s a very smart, strong woman.

“In the end, once she’d learned to trust, she would have come to love you, truly love you, and I think you two would have had a wonderful life together. Like your mother and I did.”

The effort of speaking had tired him, and Rhys sank deeper into his bed and himself. He picked at the duvet covering his sunken chest.

“I’m going to rest now. I don’t think I’ll be getting up again. Not today, anyway.”

The day before, the area outside the church doors had been crowded with wedding guests in their finery, but today it was the usual Sunday morning crowd, and then some. Morning service had attracted quite a few lapsed churchgoers, all hoping to hear the latest news on the missing bride. They filed into the cool interior of the church, took their seats, and as the rustling stopped and whispered chatter died down, the rector took his place in front of them and morning service began.

“Bore da,”
he said. “Good morning. Let us pray.”

At the nearby Red Dragon Hotel, Davies and Morgan were in hotel manager John Burton’s office, watching him open the safe.

“Yes,” he said. “Here we are,” as he looked at the entries in an old-fashioned leather-bound book and then peered into the depths of an equally old-fashioned wall-mounted safe. “Everything’s in order. She, that is Meg Wynne Thompson, left two items with me and here they are.”

“One small box, green, embossed CYM in a gold oval with gold dragon,” he read.

“One wooden presentation box with a small gold-coloured pentagon with a ‘CG’ on the top.”

The manager set them down on his desk, within easy reach of the police officers, stepped back, and folding his hands together, chuckled nervously and waited.

Morgan picked up the first box, and opened it.

Inside was a plain gold man’s wedding band.