Murder on the Hour (5 page)

“Good. I knew when I asked you to take this on that I could count on you.”

“The logistics are fine,” said Penny. “It's the weather I'm worried about.”

“I expect they've dealt with a bit of rain before,” said Emyr. “But let's hope for a sunny day.”

 

Seven

Catrin had been pleasantly surprised to discover that letting go of a long friendship was easier than she'd thought it would be. When she hadn't heard from Tegwen for over a month, she picked up the phone several times to call her, then each time set the phone down again, the call unmade. Calling Tegwen wasn't something she wanted to do; it felt like a duty or obligation. And the longer she put off doing it, the less she wanted to do it.

Her life had moved on in another important way, too, and one that she couldn't have imagined just a few weeks earlier. She couldn't believe her luck when the local chemist offered her a part-time job behind the makeup counter.

“My wife suggested we offer you the job,” the chemist said when he hired her. “She thought that since you spend so much time in front of our makeup counter, you'd do very well behind it. She wants to spend more time at home, so we'll see how things work out. If you get on well, this could become full time.”

Catrin always arrived a few minutes early for work, eager to slip on her crisp, white smock. The anticipation and excitement of cutting open the small brown boxes and pulling out a dozen lipsticks or packets of eye shadow in the newest shades felt better than Christmas. She enjoyed arranging the products on the shelves in appealing, artistic displays. But most of all, she loved helping customers find the product that was perfect for their colouring, lifestyle, and budget. It wasn't long until women began heading straight to the makeup counter for a consultation before dropping off their prescription.

Within a couple of weeks the chemist had told Catrin sales were up considerably and he was very pleased with her work.

“Keep that up Catrin,” he'd said, “and my wife will find herself out of a job.”

“Can't come soon enough,” laughed his wife with a warm smile at her protégée. Catrin blushed and went back to her task of preparing their order of summer products.

“Coral will be the next big lipstick colour,” she said to the chemist's wife. “Should I order in an extra half dozen?”

“Good idea. I'm sure you'll be able to sell them. And when you've finished that, you can go for lunch,” she said. A few minutes later Catrin hung up her smock on the little hook behind the dispensary door, smoothed the flirty skirt of her red and white polka dot dress, and left the shop.

*   *   *

With her newfound extra income she could have bought her lunch, but preferred to bring her own and, if the weather was fine, eat it picnic style sitting on a bench in the churchyard overlooking the river watching the swans drift lazily with the current. She enjoyed a cup of freshly brewed coffee with her lunch, and stopped into the little café on the town square.

“Hello, Catrin,” said a male voice behind her just as she was about to place her order. “You're looking very summery today.”

She turned and smiled. “Oh, hello, Brad.” She turned to the barista and asked for an Americano. “Make it two,” said Brad to the woman at the counter, holding out a five-pound note, “and take them both out of that.”

“It's very kind of you, but I'd really rather pay for my own,” protested Catrin.

“It's just a cup of coffee, Catrin,” he said. “No big deal.”

The woman handed them their coffees and a few moments later they stood on the cobblestones of the town square.

“Well, thank you for this,” Catrin said, raising her cup slightly. “I don't have long for lunch, so I'd best get on.”

“Going back to the shop, are you?” asked Brad. “I'll walk back with you.”

“Actually, I was going to…” She caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of a woman with grey hair leaving the post office. Mrs. Lloyd's head turned toward them and she walked briskly in their direction. “Yes,” Catrin said, “I'm just going back to work.” She tipped her head in Mrs. Lloyd's direction. “I don't know what people have been saying, but I don't want to give anyone reason to talk, and I don't want anyone getting the wrong end of the stick. It's probably best if we aren't seen together.”

Before Brad could reply, Mrs. Lloyd was upon them. She smiled at each one in turn, said hello, and then continued on her way to the Llanelen Spa.

Her appetite gone, Catrin set off at a fast pace to the shop. She replaced her lunch in the little fridge and tipped the untouched coffee down the sink. Honestly, what was the world coming to when you can't even stop to say hello to a man in the street without rumours starting up that there's something going on between you. She didn't even fancy Brad. She'd been that surprised when Tegwen had asked if they'd been seeing each other. She hadn't known how to tell her, in a tactful way, that she wouldn't fancy Brad if he was the last man on earth. So full of himself. He reminded her of her father, in the worst possible ways. And Mrs. Lloyd coming along just when she did was really bad luck. Catrin shuddered.

It wasn't until she had slipped on her smock that she felt calmer and back in control. As she approached the makeup counter, the chemist's wife threw her a grateful look.

“Oh, look,” she said. “Here's Catrin back early from lunch. Catrin, this lady would like to know how to create a smoky eye, whatever that is. Can you help her?”

Catrin put on her best professional smile. “Of course.” She made a mental note to suggest to the chemist that a proper makeup chair and large mirror would pay for themselves in no time.

*   *   *

Mrs. Lloyd pushed open the door to the Llanelen Spa. Tegwen Driscoll stood at the reception desk, tucking her credit card in her purse. A mischievous smile played at the corners of Mrs. Lloyd's lips.

“Hello, Tegwen. Just saw your husband getting a coffee in the square.”

“Oh, yes. He likes to get out of the office for a few minutes every now and then. Stretch his legs.”

Mrs. Lloyd laughed. “Oh, is that what you call it, now. Well, it certainly seemed to be doing him good. He looked very happy.”

Tegwen gave her a puzzled look. “Your hair looks very nice,” Mrs. Lloyd said as Tegwen brushed past her on the way out.

Mrs. Lloyd walked down the hall to the manicure room. Penny gave her a welcoming smile as she entered and waited for her to settle herself in the client's chair.

Since Penny had been so dismissive of her suggestion a few weeks ago that Catrin had an admirer, who just happened to be married, Mrs. Lloyd decided not to mention what she'd just seen in the town square. And more importantly, what she'd just heard.

 

Eight

The day of the
Antiques Cymru
show dawned cloudy but with a forecast of bright sunshine and unseasonable warmth.

Twenty-four hours earlier, as lorries filled with recording equipment, cables, and sets had rumbled through the town's narrow streets, townsfolk turned over their attics, spare bedrooms, and storage spaces under the stairs in search of the perfect items to bring along for evaluation.

While one or two items might turn out to be of immense value, usually unbeknownst to the owner, most would be worthless, or even worse, fakes.

Mrs. Lloyd, who had searched her home on Rosemary Lane from top to bottom looking for that rare treasure, hoped her items would fall into the former category.

“Now, come along Florence,” she said picking up her cardboard box and opening their front door. “We want to get to the Hall early so we don't have to queue for hours. I've heard people sometimes have to wait up to four hours to be seen by an appraiser!”

Florence locked the door behind them and the two women set off for the town square where a shuttle bus service had been organized to ferry the Antiques attendees back and forth to Ty Brith Hall.

“What's that you've got there, Florence?” Mrs. Lloyd asked as they turned the corner into the square and joined the small queue waiting in front of the post office. She tipped her head at the large plastic bag from the local supermarket Florence carried.

“Oh, just a few pieces of paper I thought might be worth a bob or two,” Florence replied.

“We live in hope, don't we?” said Mrs. Lloyd. She sighed. “Oh, dear, I do hope I made the right decision to bring this silver tea set. I'm thinking now I should have stuck with my original plan to bring the Carlton Ware that belonged to Arthur's aunt.”

“Well, the teapot is a very pretty piece,” said Florence. “And Arthur's aunt would be happy to know you've had so much pleasure out of her things all these years.”

“Yes, but that's not really the point today, is it?” grumbled Mrs. Lloyd. “It's not about how much we use or like these things; it's all about how much they're worth.”

At that moment the bus arrived and they climbed on board and found seats just in front of the local rector, Thomas Evans, and his wife, Bronwyn. Sitting on Bronwyn's lap and looking around cheerfully was her cairn terrier, Robbie, who went everywhere with her. If Robbie wasn't welcome, Bronwyn stayed home.

Mrs. Lloyd turned around in her seat. “And, what are you bringing, Bronwyn?” asked Mrs. Lloyd. “Besides your Robbie, that is.” Her husband laughed as Bronwyn replied, “We've got some rather nice jewellery that belonged to Thomas's grandmother,” she said. “It might be art deco; I've always thought it much too nice to wear or at least, I don't go to the kinds of places or events that call for this kind of jewellery. How about you?”

“I've brought a silver tea set,” said Mrs. Lloyd.

“It's interesting that many of the objects now considered antiques don't really fit into today's lifestyle,” observed Florence. “Fancy jewellery, tea sets … things that relatively ordinary people would have used a generation or two ago seem so out of place today. I doubt many young women getting married today want a silver tea set.” Bronwyn looked thoughtful and Thomas seemed about to say something, when Mrs. Lloyd spoke.

“Now I'm wondering if it would have been better to bring the set of Carlton Ware dishes. Or maybe I should have brought both.” She sighed. “I wonder if they let you bring more than one item.”

“I think so,” said Thomas, “but you'd have to queue twice to get a second ticket. Apparently when we get there we go to the reception desk and someone gives us a ticket and tells us which appraiser we're meant to see. The appraiser will tell you about your item and give you a valuation. But,” and he exchanged a smile with Bronwyn, “here's the exciting part. If the appraiser thinks the item is interesting enough for you to appear on camera, he'll hold off on the appraisal and ask you to come back so he can tell you all about your item on camera. That way, they get a more natural reaction.”

Bronwyn rubbed Robbie's chest and then addressed a question to Florence.

“And you, Florence? Did you bring anything or are you just along for support?”

“Oh, she's brought some old bits of paper she got from somewhere,” replied Mrs. Lloyd before Florence could reply.

“Sketches,” said Florence, making a mental note to remind Mrs. Lloyd once again when they were alone that she was perfectly capable of answering for herself and in future to not speak for her. She'd told her this several times, for all the good it did.

They settled back in their seats for the rest of the short ride and the bus soon turned off onto the winding road that led up to Ty Brith Hall.

Situated above the market town of Llanelen, with stunning views over the whole valley, Ty Brith Hall had been in the Gruffydd family since the 1950s. On the death of his father a couple of years ago, Emyr Gruffydd had inherited the property, along with a sizeable estate in Cornwall. With all the comforts and features of a well-loved country house, Ty Brith Hall had hosted many special events, but nothing quite on this scale. An
Antiques Cymru
day could attract up to five hundred participants; Penny and Emyr hoped about half that many people would turn up but the show's organizers were prepared for a big crowd.

Penny and Emyr watched the arrival of the first busload of hopeful attendees from the elegant front steps of the Hall. The gates had opened at nine thirty and a steady stream of people, many clutching boxes or toting carrier bags, poured in, checking in at the registration desk and being directed to the appointed appraiser.

Penny looked up at the sky that had deepened to a brighter, more reassuring shade of blue with white clouds drifting in over the hilltops. “At least we've got a beautiful day for it,” she said.

Emyr smiled and discreetly raised a finger in a gesture that wasn't quite pointing. “Look, there's Mrs. Lloyd, just approaching the desk. She's brought a box of something.” Mrs. Lloyd took her ticket and headed off to the appraiser who looked after silver. Florence approached the desk and was given a ticket and directed to the art appraiser.

“I think I'll wander over and join Florence,” said Penny. “I'd like to see what she's up to. She keeps everything close to her chest, that one, but whatever she's brought, I've got a feeling it'll be interesting. I'll catch up with you up later, but just send me a text if you need me.”

On the way to the art appraisal, Penny passed a table where a woman was evaluating a quilt. Peering from behind a row of spectators she recognized Catrin Bellis as the quilt's owner. The quilt hung from a large metal frame, keeping it well off the ground, and displaying it so everyone could see its bright, beautiful pattern.

“What can you tell me about this quilt?” the appraiser asked.

“I don't know how old it is,” Catrin replied, “but it's been in my family for a long time. The initials embroidered on the underside of it are JB, so I think that stands for my great-grandmother, Jane Bellis, who might have made it.”