Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (7 page)

A few minutes after noon the bishop looked at his watch and decided it was time to wrap up the second session of the morning that had focused on the controversial issue of the ordination of women bishops. While the Church of England had recently voted against it, he saw this as an opportunity for the Church in Wales to demonstrate how in tune it was with contemporary thinking and the wishes of a modern Western society. Minty laughed to herself at the irony of it as she took shorthand notes during the lively discussion. This progressive thinking from the man who treated his own wife with such cold disdain and didn’t seem to think her capable of doing very much of anything.

As the session ended, the bishop reminded the group that they were to meet in the dining room for lunch at one, and suggested they could use the time to check their e-mails or read the better daily newspapers so carefully laid out in the Gladstone Room.

As soon as they were out the door, one or two of them thought they might be able to manage a snooze and wasted no time heading upstairs to their rooms.

At one o’clock, the conference delegates reassembled in the dining room queue and eagerly surveyed the lunch offerings: macaroni cheese, chicken korma, and tuna casserole. As at dinner the previous evening, square tables had been pushed together to form one long table so a group of ten could easily sit together. The bishop took his place at one end of the table and his wife at the other, gesturing to the others to sit where they liked. Penny found herself sitting on the right of the bishop’s wife, across from Minty Russell. Davies was seated further along, on the same side of the table, on the bishop’s left.

Ten minutes later, when everyone had arrived at the table with their lunch choices, the bishop said grace.

“Before we begin eating,” said Minty, “I wonder if I might just get a photograph of everyone. We’ll want some photos for the parish magazine.”

After Minty had taken a few photos up and down the table, Penny took out her phone and snapped photos of the bishop and Davies. The bishop, who feigned a smile, was a fearsome sight.

“Right, well, don’t let it get cold,” said Pamela Blaine, smiling down the table. “Please, everyone, begin.”

“This is the first time we’ve held this kind of conference,” the bishop was saying to Davies. “I think it helps with the teamwork to get everyone together every now and then to discuss issues that affect us all and to share solutions. Make sure we’re all singing-from-the-same-hymn-sheet sort of thing. Minty did a brilliant job organizing everything, and we were so pleased that you were able to join us. I found your point about the theft of the copper wiring from the substations most alarming. In fact…”

He broke off and looked down the table at the sound of a strange wheezing noise that sounded like a large, desperate intake of breath.

Penny looked across the table and met Minty’s eyes. They were opened round and wide and a look of fearful surprise flashed across them. She touched her fingers to her tingling lips and whispered something.

“Epi…”

Bronwyn, who was seated beside Davies, turned her head to look down the table and across at Minty.

“Epi…” Minty repeated, this time making a clear and emphatic stabbing motion with her finger in the direction of the floor.

“Minty, are you all right? What’s the matter?” Bronwyn asked. Minty shook her head.

“Epi…” she croaked.

Bronwyn jumped up, pushing back her chair. Her sudden movement startled Davies, who leapt up as well. Bronwyn rushed round the end of the table, behind the startled bishop. “Do you need your EpiPen?” she asked Minty, who nodded vigorously. “Where’s your bag?” Minty pointed under her chair. Bronwyn picked it up, opened it, and poked around inside.

“No time for that,” said Davies, taking the bag from Bronwyn and dumping its contents on the parquet floor. The two fell to their knees and scrabbled about amongst the items that had tumbled out of the handbag and skittered across the floor. Bronwyn opened a small make-up bag and picked through it, holding up a lipstick and a mascara while Davies opened a wallet, examined pens, riffled the pages of a paperback novel, and turned over various pieces of paper searching frantically for the lifesaving device.

“Call 999 and then tell me what they say,” Davies said to Penny as he sat back on his heels. He shook his head and looked at Bronwyn. “There’s no EpiPen here.” Minty had sunk back in her chair. Her eyes were closed and her face was beginning to swell around the lips and eyes.

“But there’s got to be,” Bronwyn said. “She always carries one. She told me so herself.”

“The ambulance is on its way,” Penny said a moment later.

“Are they still on the line? Tell them it’s a suspected allergic reaction. Probably food. Tell them she’s going into anaphylactic shock. Ask them to hurry.”

“Allergic reaction? But how can that be?” Bronwyn asked. “That’s not possible. She told me she was allergic to shellfish. Seafood.” She gestured at the barely touched plate of chicken korma and rice. “There’s no seafood in that. Minty would never have chosen a seafood option and if there had been any seafood, she wouldn’t have touched it.”

Davies stood up. “Now if everyone would please stay in their seats,” he said to the silent, stunned dining room. “Except you, Thomas,” he said to Reverend Evans. “I need you to go outside and wait for the paramedics and when they arrive, show them in here. Quick as you like. Stop off at the reception desk and tell them what’s happening.” As Thomas hurried from the room Davies directed his next remark to the others at the table. “Stay in your seats, please. Nobody move. The paramedics will be here in a moment and we want to give them room to work.”

Minty’s struggle to breathe became more desperate. She placed a hand over her chest as she gasped for breath and her wheezing grew louder and deeper. Small angry red lesions were starting to appear on her skin.

As the minutes ticked by and the silent tension broken only by Minty’s laboured breathing became unbearable, Thomas Evans rushed into the room, pointing to the bishop’s table, followed by paramedics pushing a stretcher with several large cases on it.

They bent over Minty and fitted an oxygen mask over her face, then took her vital signs. One of them reached for his case, opened it, removed a syringe, and injected her with its contents. Her eyelids fluttered open, then closed again. She moaned softly. The paramedics worked on her for a few more minutes, then gently lifted her onto the stretcher and covered her with a light blanket.

As she was about to be wheeled out of the dining room, the bishop rose and everyone else in the room followed his lead. “I think a silent prayer is in order,” he said when the paramedics had left. All heads bowed obediently. Penny raised her eyes and looked around the table. Bronwyn’s honest, decent face was deeply etched with fear and concern.

Hywel Stephens, the accountant, who had arrived sometime that morning and joined the other members of the party at the table for lunch, looked worried, and Shipton had a disengaged look that gave off a vague hint of bored unconcern. Mrs. Blaine, one hand over her mouth, looked curiously angry.

“If anyone feels they’d like to finish their lunch, please do,” said the bishop. Shipton immediately raised his knife and fork and began slicing his chicken. Mrs. Blaine pushed her plate away, and the bishop nodded at a hovering member of the kitchen staff to remove it.

When she reached out to take Minty’s plate, Davies raised his hand. “Leave it, please,” he said. “And don’t touch it. But please bring some cling film from the kitchen before you do anything else.”

At that moment a loud noise erupted from the direction of the kitchen and the chef, dressed in a professional white jacket, burst into the dining room. His white hair was standing on end and he looked around wildly and then made his way to the clergy table. “What’s happened?” he asked. “I heard that someone was taken ill after eating our food. That can’t be. Nothing like that has ever happened here. We are very careful with our food handling. Our ingredients are fresh and cooked to highest standard. All our suppliers are local and we observe all the rules. Everything is prepared on site with great care. I don’t see how this could have happened.”

Davies tried to calm him.

“Sir, we don’t know what’s happened yet, but someone with a food allergy may have eaten the wrong thing. Nobody is blaming you or accusing you of improper food handling. Now if you wouldn’t mind, please, just go back to the kitchen.” He gently turned the agitated chef around and watched him return to the kitchen.

Davies then addressed everyone in the room. “Something very serious has happened here and until we know exactly what, we’re treating this situation as suspicious. I have to ask that no one leaves the Library unless and until I give permission.”

“We had a full program planned for this afternoon,” the bishop said. “Break-out groups, financial discussions, that sort of thing. Would it be all right if we carried on?”

Davies nodded. “Indeed, I think that might be for the best, but remember, no one is to leave the building.”

“Very well.” said the bishop. “But now that we’ve lost poor Minty, I wonder if we have anyone who could take minutes for us?” He looked hopefully at Stephens, the accountant, who shook his head. “No use asking me and anyway, I’m giving a presentation, remember. I can’t do both, can I?”

“Right,” said the bishop, looking around with false heartiness. “Well, we’ll just have to manage the best we can.”

Thomas exchanged a quick glance with Bronwyn. “I could try,” he volunteered, “as long as you don’t expect too much and don’t talk too fast.”

“That’s the spirit.”

The bishop turned to Davies. “You’ll keep me informed, won’t you?” Davies nodded. The bishop then turned back to the accountant and with his hand on his chin, studied him. “On second thought, Mr. Stephens, I think in light of what’s happened here, this afternoon may not be the best time to discuss the financial situation. Absorbing all the information in your presentation will require careful concentration and I don’t think we’re really up to it.” He turned to look at others along the table. “I think we will use the afternoon for reading and quiet contemplation. That’s what this Library is for. And if you would be so kind as to speak to us tomorrow, Mr. Stephens, that would be much appreciated. You’ll have to stop over I expect as the police don’t want anyone to leave.”

“Oh,” said Stephens. “I’ll need to speak to my wife, of course, in case she has something planned, but it should be all right with her if I stay. I’m away from home a fair bit on business anyway, so she’s quite used to it.”

“Right. Well, just let them know at reception and I’m sure they’ll sort you out.” The bishop turned to go.

“Before you go, Bishop, just one more thing,” said Davies. “About Miss Russell. Is there someone we can notify? Do you know who her next of kin would be? I gather she’s not married, unless of course she prefers to use her maiden name.”

“You are correct. She’s not married, or at least not to my knowledge. She does have a married sister who lives nearby, I think. She went to visit her recently, just before the conference, in fact. But I’m afraid I don’t know anything about her or how you would get in touch. You’d…” He gave a helpless shrug. “I almost said you’d have to ask Miss Russell. She looks after all our records—we depend on her totally, my wife and I, to keep us organized.”

“Right, well, thank you. Perhaps your wife will know how we can get in touch with the sister. You mentioned she’s married. You don’t happen to know her married name, do you?”

The bishop shook his head and with a small, tight apology took several steps toward the door. He then stopped and looked back at Davies. “Oh wait. I think I’ve just remembered something. I seem to recall she mentioned that her brother-in-law works in a pub somewhere around here, if that helps.”

A moment later the team of clerics shuffled out of the dining room leaving Penny, Bronwyn, Davies, and Pamela Blaine scattered along the length of the table. Without touching the contents, Davies covered Minty Russell’s lunch plate with the cling film the server had delivered while the bishop was speaking. He then reached into his pocket for his phone, stood up, walked to the window, and looking out over the garden while he shuffled back and forth, placed a call. He returned to the table and pulled out the empty chair beside Penny.

“Bethan’s on her way to collect the secretary’s lunch plate and get it to the lab. We’ll have to sit here and keep an eye on it until she arrives to ensure the chain of custody.”

“Chain of custody?” asked Bronwyn.

“We have to ensure that the plate we send for forensic testing is this plate,” he said, gesturing at it. “The same one Miss Russell ate from. We can’t leave it unattended or out of sight so someone has the opportunity to switch it for another.”

“But why would someone want to do that?”

“If this plate was tampered with, if someone deliberately added something knowing it could harm Miss Russell, then we want to be able to test for it. And we have to know with one hundred percent certainty that this is the plate that Miss Russell ate from. There can be no doubt about it.”

“Do you really think someone deliberately tried to harm her?” asked the bishop’s wife.

“I don’t know,” admitted Davies. “But the fact that there was no EpiPen in her handbag is troubling.”

Penny got up from the table and knelt in front of the small pile of contents from Minty’s handbag, which were still strewn about the floor. She picked up the shabby leather bag and, one by one, began replacing the contents.

“You did check the side pockets?” she said, looking up at Davies. “Women often keep really important things in the side pockets so they can get at them easily.”

“I checked the side pockets, Penny,” said Bronwyn. “There was a little book, but I didn’t see an EpiPen. Oh dear, I do hope I didn’t miss it.” She held her hand over her mouth and her eyes were dark with dread.

Penny reached into the last of the side pockets and pulled out a small notebook. She flipped it open and then looked at Davies. “I can’t read it.”

Page after page was filled with a cacophony of squiggles, lines of varying thickness, circles, loops, and dashes. She held the book up and turned it around so the people at the table could see it.