She read the message on the Post-it note.
Told him about brooch, he was upset
Bethan
Penny smiled at the underlined for you. She hadn’t thought for a moment that Gareth would be angry at her, but he must be disappointed.
She peeled off the Post-it note and sat on the sofa to read the report. Written in official police language, the gist of it was that various items had been reported missing from several Llanelen stores, including a charity shop and two or three private residences.
She looked at the list of missing items: a plate with a daffodil pattern; a biography of John Lennon; a small Royal Doulton figurine in the shape of a shepherdess in a blue dress; one candlestick, part of a pair; a small framed print of Lloyd George’s cottage…
The list went on for about eight more items.
These are all things that people have lying about in their sitting rooms, Penny thought. Ordinary household things without much real value. My brooch doesn’t fit this list.
She left the papers on a side table and went through to the kitchen. She looked in the fridge to see what she had, and after realizing there was not much there except an elderly tomato, some cheese with a bit of mold on the rind, and a few other sad items, she checked the freezer, hoping for a ready meal.
In luck, she found a chicken breast with a side of vegetables, so she put that in the microwave and set the timer.
While she waited for it to heat up, she returned to the sitting room and looked at the list again.
I’m sure the police have thought of this, she thought, but one item that might belong on this list is Mrs. Lloyd’s letter opener.
She looked at her watch, and as it had just gone nine, she decided it would not be too late to ring.
A few moments later Florence picked up the telephone, answering in the old-fashioned way of giving the number.
“Florence, it’s Penny, here. Yes, sorry to bother you so late, but I’ve just had a thought. Could you and Mrs. Lloyd put your heads together and try to figure out exactly when your letter opener went missing?”
After Florence reassured her they would have another go at trying to remember the last time they’d seen it, Penny rang off, and just as the bell on the microwave signaled her meal was cooked, the telephone rang.
It was Gareth, hoping she was all right and telling her not to worry about the snowflake brooch. We will get it back, he said confidently. Just a matter of time. In reply to her question about the Conwy Castle case, he told her he was going to issue an appeal to the public to see if anyone would come forward with information that could help confirm the identity of Harry Saunders or provide information on his movements on the day he died.
“What do you think he was doing at the castle?” Penny had asked.
“I think he had arranged to meet someone. To me, that’s the only thing that makes sense.”
They talked for a few more minutes, and then Penny raised the subject that was never far from her thoughts.
“I’ve been thinking about the skeleton of the woman’s body that was found in our spa,” she said. “Anything new there?”
And then she answered her own question.
“Of course not. If there had been, you would have told me.”
Seventeen
Every year the Stretch and Sketch Club put on an event to raise funds. The money might be used to pay an honorarium to a special guest speaker, provide group entry fees to a local exhibit, or take out an advertisement in the local paper announcing an exhibit of their own work.
For this year’s fund-raiser, the group had teamed up with the Llanelen Players, the local amateur dramatics society, to give a reading of Dylan Thomas’s much-loved A Child’s Christmas in Wales. The Stretch and Sketch Club had agreed to handle the logistics of the performance, including booking the community centre, ticket sales, and refreshments while the actors took care of the performance, and both groups would share the profits.
At seven fifteen the community centre doors opened and a small but steady queue offered five-pound notes to the ticket sellers, Penny Brannigan and Alwynne Gwilt, seated at a small table.
“Looks like a very good turnout despite the weather,” Alwynne said to Reverend Thomas Evans as she accepted the ten-pound note he handed her. “Indeed,” he said, “Bronwyn and I prefer staying home with Robbie on rainy nights, but we wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”
“So glad you could come.” Penny smiled at them.
“Well, we’re here to support you, Penny, you know that,” Bronwyn said, giving her a warm, affectionate look. “And it’s been some time since we’ve been out to see the Players, so it’s high time we did.”
“I think there are still some good seats over there on the left,” Penny said, pointing down the hall. “Enjoy the performance.”
By eight o’clock, when the performance was scheduled to begin, all but one or two seats had been filled and eager chatter and laughter filled the room. Chairs had been placed to one side for Stretch and Sketch volunteers, although Penny and Alwynne remained seated at the ticket table in case any latecomers arrived. The community centre did not have a formal stage with curtains, but a raised platform at one end served the purpose.
The crowd rustled as it settled, obscuring the opening sentences of the piece and then there was stillness as the actor’s clear voice emerged:
“I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.”
The audience members looked at one another and smiled at the beauty of the words and all the rest to come, so familiar and dear to them.
As the prose poem neared its end, Penny slipped out of her seat and crept into the kitchen where Stretch and Sketch Club newcomers, Glynnis Bowen and photographer Brian Kenley were setting out food and drink. There were bowls of walnuts and glasses of sherry, just as in the poem, and plates of mince pies and slices of rich, dark, brandy-soaked Christmas cake with marzipan icing, a traditional Welsh cake known as Bara Brith, and fancy cheeses and oat cakes and cream crackers.
“The refreshments look wonderful,” Penny said to Glynnis, who had organized them. “The play’s almost finished, so they’ll be here any minute.” Glynnis handed Brian a large stack of napkins and a tray. “Well, we’re ready”-she smiled-“aren’t we, Brian?”
“We are indeed.”
“Huw not here with you tonight?” Penny asked.
“He said he had a few things to attend to and that he’d be along in time to close up,” Glynnis said. “I’m expecting him any minute.”
“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it,” said Penny, who then slid into her seat beside Alwynne just as the play came to its conclusion.
“Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.”
After a moment’s silence the room filled with wild, enthusiastic applause as Mrs. Lloyd got to her feet to lead a standing ovation.
“Wasn’t that wonderful!” she exclaimed to Florence. “Now you’ll not be getting entertainment like that in Liverpool.”
“Certainly not,” agreed Florence, “nothing like it.”
If Mrs. Lloyd was not shy about leading the ovation, she was also not shy about leading the audience to the space around the kitchen’s serving hatch where the refreshment tables had been set up. The audience was encouraged to help themselves to refreshments while Brian Kenley circulated in a gentlemanly way, holding a half-full plate of mince pies in one hand and a half-full plate of Christmas cake in the other. He approached Penny, who was talking to Victoria. “I’m just going to set these down for a minute, Penny,” he said, “and put everything on one plate. They’ll look better that way.”