Frost glittered on the stone fences and added sparkle to the holly bushes in the hedgerows, bursting with red bright berries displayed against their backdrop of glossy, pointed leaves. There had been an abundance of holly berries this year, and the townsfolk who had strolled along the country lanes over the past few days, taking small cuttings off the holly to adorn their Christmas puddings, had made not the slightest dent in their numbers.
Warmly dressed against the cold, Penny and Gwennie walked together through the quiet streets. Smoke from wood and coal fires curled from the chimneys, wafting skyward and drifting up and away, then disappearing into a bright blue sky. They parted company on the steps of the church, as Gwennie left to sit with her sister and brother-in-law and Penny, meeting Victoria, made her way to a pew on the right side of the church. At Penny’s suggestion they chose a pew near the back, Penny turning occasionally to see if Davies and Bethan had arrived. She smiled as Mrs. Lloyd made her entrance, Florence trailing along behind her like a doleful bridesmaid.
She waved to Davies when she spotted him with Bethan and Jimmy at the entrance to the church and then slid along in her seat so they could squeeze in.
Everyone seemed to arrive at once, and soon the church was as full as Penny had ever seen it. Bronwyn Evans took her place in the front row and Reverend Thomas Evans appeared in front of them.
“Bore da, bawb. Nadolig Llawen,” he greeted them in Welsh. “Good morning, everyone. Merry Christmas.”
The service began with voices raised in joyful song as the familiar words of a timeless carol rang through the church.
When the rustling of the congregation settling into their seats had subsided, Reverend Evans began his Christmas sermon.
“I was browsing the Internet the other day,” Reverend Evans began, “and I came across a website that promised to help me write a Christmas sermon in just a few minutes that would sound as if I’d spent a lot of time on it. And that got me thinking about how we do things today. Everything has to be fast. We want a recipe for a five-minute meal made from three ingredients that looks as if it took a Cordon Bleu chef all day to prepare. If we can find the time to read at all, we are looking for a book with well-developed characters and a complicated plot that still promises to be a fast, easy read. We have learned to be multitaskers. We talk on the phone while we draft an e-mail. We eat and text while we drive.
“So I would ask you on this beautiful Christmas morning to consider those three wise men who made that journey to Bethlehem two thousand years ago and…”
Penny’s attention drifted away. She shifted in her seat and gazed slowly around the church. I wonder if this person is here this morning, she thought, this person who killed two people. She spotted a few members of her art group, sitting with their husbands and grown-up children. One reached over to comfort a bored grandchild who struggled to get down out of his father’s tight hold. Her eyes moved on to Huw Bowen, the bank manager, staring stiffly ahead while his wife, Glynnis, stifled a yawn behind a black-gloved hand. I wonder how her manicure’s holding up, Penny thought. Behind the Bowens, her friend Alwynne reached over to pick up a hymnbook and began leafing through it, turning the pages slowly. When she reached the place she was looking for, she stuck a marker between the pages and returned the book to the rack in front of her. She smiled at her husband then turned her face toward the raised lecturn where Reverend Evans was wrapping up his sermon.
“I hope you will all take the time to reflect on the bounty and blessings of the season,” he was saying. “And now, let us pray.”
The light that had been streaming in through the multicoloured stained-glass windows had become muted and dimmed.
As the service drew to a close, the congregation rose for one last carol and then began to make their way slowly out of the church, stopping to exchange a few words with Reverend Evans as he shook everyone’s hand. Friends greeted one another, wishing them all the joys of the season. Penny slipped her arm through Gareth’s as they walked off a few paces to wait for Victoria, who had stayed behind to talk to Bronwyn. A few snowflakes drifted lazily down, and although the sky had clouded over, the snow felt temporary.
The Bowens emerged and stood off to one side turned slightly toward each other. As a few snowflakes settled on Huw’s collar, Glynnis reached up and brushed them off. Something in the gesture startled Penny. It was at once intimate and yet somehow out of place. And then she remembered where she’d seen it before. On that very snowy night when she had spotted the couple in the churchyard. She had thought one of them was married and assumed it was the man. But it wasn’t the man, it was Glynnis. And could the man have been… She struggled to bring the scene into focus, to imagine them as they were in that embrace.
“Penny, are you ready to go?”
“What? Sorry, I was thinking about something else. Sorry.”
“We’re heading back to your cottage now, Penny,” said Victoria, tucking one end of her scarf through its loop as Gareth approached. “Are you ready? Gwennie left a few minutes ago. Said she wanted to get the appetizers in the oven. And Bethan should have arrived with Jimmy by the time we get there.” After exchanging greetings with those around them, the three set off for Penny’s cottage.
Twenty-five
After shaking the hand of the last of his parishoners, Reverend Thomas Evans headed back into the church and, after stopping at one pew to pick up a hymnbook and replace it in the rack, entered the small office beside the vestry where he and his wife, Bronwyn, would count the morning’s collection. Bronwyn, who had slipped over to the comfortable rectory to fetch their cairn terrier, Robbie, while her husband was seeing off the last of his flock, was beginning to sort the contributions placed in the collection plates during morning service. She placed the cash in one pile, and the small, white numbered envelopes preferred by regular members of the congregation in another, then set aside the collection plate. As Reverend Evans slipped off his surplice, Bronwyn removed a brown envelope from the second collection plate. She turned it over and then held it out to her husband.
“What do you suppose this is, Thomas?” she asked.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” he replied good-naturedly. “But first, I have a little something for us before we start the counting.” He reached behind his desk and pulled out a bottle of sherry and two glasses. “What do you say, my dear? Just this once, because it’s Christmas, shall we have a little libation while we count the takings?”
“Oh, go on then,” said Bronwyn, laughing as Robbie wagged his tail enthusiastically. “But just a small one. We don’t want to arrive at Mrs. Lloyd’s stinking of sherry!”
She took a small sip and set down her glass.
As Reverend Evans reached for a pencil and a piece of scrap paper that he would use to help them count the morning offering, Bronwyn opened the envelope and peered inside. Then, turning the envelope upside down, she shook out its contents, revealing a small red box and a piece of ordinary lined notepaper.
She picked up the box as Reverend Evans stopped to watch.
She opened it, shrugged, and then showed it to her husband.
“Empty.” He pointed at the folded piece of paper. “What does the note say?”
Bronwyn opened it slowly, read it to herself, then held it out to the rector.
“‘Penny Brannigan-Feliz Navi-dead!’” he read, then looked at his wife. “What on earth does that mean? And how did that dreadful thing get in our collection plate?”
“Somebody put it there,” said Bronwyn. “And it’s Spanish for Merry Christmas, only it should be Feliz Navidad.”
“Well, yes, but who could have put it there?”
“I don’t know, dear. But we have to figure out what to do about it. It could be some kind of stupid joke, I suppose.”