Sergeant Bethan Morgan showed her warrant card to the woman behind the counter in the charity shop.
“Oh, you’ll have come about that brooch, I expect,” she said. “I’ll just get it for you.” She opened the cash register, lifted out the change drawer, and removed a small bundle of pale pink silk.
“Here it is,” she said, handing it over. “Valuable, is it?”
“Very.”
“Now, who would do such a thing, I wonder. Pin something like that to the top of our little Christmas tree.”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” said Bethan. “Can you think of anyone who might have done it?”
The woman shook her head. “But before you go, Officer, there’s something else.” She beckoned to Carwyn. “Carwyn, fetch that box that came in today from the bank.”
Carwyn brought out the plastic box and set it down on the counter.
“Mr. Bowen himself from the bank brought this in earlier,” she said. “We were sorting through it and noticed a camera at the bottom of the box. It looked expensive. We didn’t know what to do, and as you were coming in anyway, we thought we’d ask you. Run it by you, like.” Bethan leaned forward to look in the box just as the woman reached into it to pull out the camera.
“Don’t touch it,” Bethan said. “Have you handled it at all?”
“Well, just a little, so we could look at it, like, and then we put it right back.”
Bethan flipped through her notebook and then pulled a plastic bag from her pocket and wrapped it around the camera.
“You did right to let me know about this. This camera was in the box brought in today by Mr. Bowen from the bank, you say. What time was that?”
“Oh, around noon, I think, wasn’t it, Carwyn? At any rate, that Penny Brannigan was still here, and she left around one or a bit before, I think it was, so it was before that.”
“Penny Brannigan was in here this morning, was she?” said Bethan.
“Oh, yes,” said Carwyn. “Volunteering. Got quite a bit of dusting done, actually.”
“Volunteering, is it now.” Bethan smiled.
“Is there something the matter?” asked the woman behind the counter. “I thought there was something odd about her.”
“No,” said Bethan, “she’s all right is Penny. You’ve no worries there.”
She picked up the camera and silk-wrapped brooch, which she also placed in a small bag and prepared to leave. “One more thing,” she said to the women. “You didn’t happen to see the box for the brooch, did you? Red, with midnight-blue silk lining.”
The women looked at each other and shook their heads.
“No, it was just the brooch. No box.”
“Well, if it turns up somewhere, give me a call,” said Bethan. “Here’s my card.”
The two women watched her go and then turned toward each other.
“There’s something very wrong going on here, and we seem to be involved,” said Carwyn.
“Yes,” agreed her companion. “We’d better look sharp.”
Twenty-four
As the midafternoon sun bathed the town in a gentle golden light, Penny and Victoria set off from the spa to inspect the window displays of the half dozen or so shops that had entered the competition. Some of the shop windows they passed had been hastily hung with a bit of tinsel or paper chains, but the ones they were to judge had been carefully and creatively dressed with lavish attention to detail.
Victoria checked the list on her clipboard.
“Here we are,” she said, stopping in front of a pale blue shopfront and giving her clipboard a quick glance. “Angharad Roberts, dressmaker and seamstress.”
They leaned forward to study the display, which showed a tableau of a mouse family enjoying a quiet Christmas Eve. Three mouse children were tucked up in a bed, while their parents worked in front of a paper fireplace, the mother sewing a little skirt for her mouse daughter while the father assembled a small red fire engine.
Each character was made of satin, the coats a shiny grey and their large ears lined in pink. The expressions on their faces had been painstakingly embroidered to reflect the calm repose of the children, the quiet pride the mother took in her little family, and the father’s apparent struggle to piece together the toy.
“Oh, look!” said Penny, pointing at the children. “The one in the middle… his eyes are slightly open. He’s watching his dad try to put the toy together. There’ll be questions about Father Christmas in the morning!”
Victoria smiled and jotted down a few notes. “Seen enough?” she asked Penny.
Penny nodded, and as they turned to go, the shop door opened and Mrs. Lloyd emerged, looking decidedly downcast.
“Hello,” said Penny. “All right?”
“Oh, hello, Penny. Victoria.” Mrs. Lloyd shifted her handbag to her other arm. “Yes, fine, thanks. How are you?”
“You don’t look fine,” said Penny, ignoring the question and gently touching Mrs. Lloyd’s arm. “What is it?”
Mrs. Lloyd glanced across the street. “It’s getting me down, all this. Everyone knows about Harry’s death, and they think that I had something to do with it. People are avoiding me. I’ve tried to carry on as normal, but it’s difficult when I know they’re all whispering about me behind my back.”
“Oh, surely not, Mrs. Lloyd,” said Victoria. “Folk round here have been your friends for years. They know you couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it.”
Mrs. Lloyd shook her head. “No, you should see them at the Over Sixties Club. Hardly anyone speaks to me, and if they do, they’re only being polite. Then they move away as quickly as they can.” She sighed. “About the only friend I have left is Florence.” She shook her head. “That’s what it’s come to, I’m afraid.”
Before Penny or Victoria could respond, Mrs. Lloyd pointed to a woman walking toward them. “Look,” she said, “there’s Ruth from the Over Sixties Club.” As Mrs. Lloyd started to wave to her, the woman caught sight of the little group and quickly crossed the street.
“See what I mean?” said Mrs. Lloyd. “It’s like that everywhere I go. I can hardly hold my head up anymore in this town.” A sob caught in her throat and she turned to go.
“See,” said Penny. “She’s just gone into the bakery. She wasn’t avoiding you.”
Mrs. Lloyd gave her a sorrowful, pained look. “What are you two doing here anyway? Getting some alterations done?”
“No,” said Victoria, “we’re doing the window judging you volunteered us for.”
“Oh, that,” said Mrs. Lloyd, her voice dull and lifeless. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
Victoria and Penny watched her walk slowly away, her well-wrapped figure growing smaller, until she turned down the little street that led to the town square.
“She looks older, somehow,” said Victoria. “This is really taking a toll on her. We’ve got to do something.”
Penny nodded. “Yes, we need to get this sorted so she can get on with her life.” She tapped Victoria’s clipboard. “How many windows left on the list?”
“Let me see. There’s the bakery and then the shoe store. The bakery has a distinct advantage, I’d say.”
“Right, but we’re not going in. And we don’t have to spend much time looking at the display. I walk past that window every day and I’ve had my eye on every biscuit, pie, and cake.”
Victoria laughed. “Isn’t that the best thing about Christmas? We can give ourselves permission to be really naughty.”
Half an hour later, as the afternoon sun began to cast long, slanting shadows, they stood on the pavement gazing through a window at the last entrant in the competition.
“I think we agree that it’s down to this one and the dressmaker’s mouse family,” said Victoria.
Penny nodded. “They’re both so charming.” The window display of the shoe store, which also mended the townsfolk’s shoes and boots, featured Santa Claus repairing the sole of an elf’s pointy shoe. As Santa worked away, tiny hammer raised to strike the upturned shoe, the elf, seated on a small stool, used the time to check off items on the list he held on his lap.