Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (9 page)

“I almost married someone, once,” Penny replied.

“I remember,” said Bronwyn. “Tim. But that was a long time ago. How old were you when he died?”

“Thirty-three. He died just a few days after my birthday.”

“And there’s never really been anyone in your life since then, has there? Until Gareth came along, that is. Does Gareth know about Tim, by the way?”

Penny nodded. “I told him, but he might not remember. I told him the very first time we went out.”

Bronwyn gave a small indication that she’d heard and then bowed her head over her book as Penny returned to her sketching. Sunlight filtered onto her page as a bird sang lustily in the budding branches that shifted back and forth above them. Penny set her pencil down and covered her mouth while she yawned.

“I don’t know, Bronwyn, I might think about having a nap,” she said. “It’s been a dreadful day. Just awful.”

“What do you make of it all, Penny?”

“I haven’t a clue. I’ve been wracking my brain to see if there’s anything there that might help.” She leaned forward, her hands clasped between her knees. “Have you ever noticed that when something happens and it becomes important to remember all the details, how difficult that can be?”

Bronwyn turned toward her.

“What do you mean?”

Penny thought for a moment as she tried to come up with an example. “Well, let’s say, for example, that you lose your house keys while you’re walking Robbie.” Bronwyn nodded. “So in your mind you retrace every step you took. Where you stopped. What you did. Were the keys in a bag, in your hand, or in your pocket? Did you pull something out of your pocket? Could the keys have come out then and fallen to the ground? If they landed on the pavement you’d hear a clink. If they fell on grass, you might not hear them. Did you have your keys in your hand when you just popped into a shop to pick something up and could you have set your keys down on the counter while you paid? Were you distracted, not paying attention to what you were doing? And so on.”

Bronwyn nodded. “Yes, I see all that, but I don’t quite see what it has to do with what happened to Minty.”

“Well, I’m trying to remember everything that happened at lunch, but I can’t remember all the details. Details that could be important. Who did she speak to? Where was everybody? Did anyone leave the table? And her handbag. Where was her handbag? That’s the important thing. Did she have it with her at all times? Was it draped over her shoulder or was she carrying it? Or did she, as we all do, set it down somewhere for a few minutes while she, oh, I don’t know, went through the queue with her tray and chose what she was having for lunch. Did she go into the dining room first and leave her handbag at the table so her hands would be free to carry the tray? There are so many small details that later turn out to be important, but at the time we didn’t know they were important, so we took no notice. But if she’d left her handbag unattended, that could be vital to the investigation. Who had access to it today? Or maybe you can recall what happened at the reception last night. Was her handbag left unattended then?”

“Yes, I see what you mean now. Let me think.” Bronwyn leaned back. “I’ll try to visualize it.” She closed her eyes and held her hands loosely over them, her fingertips just touching her hairline. “We were at the opening reception in the Gladstone Room and she went from person to person. She spoke to the bishop, I definitely remember that. Did she also speak to his wife? I don’t remember the wife doing anything much at the reception. There was a problem with Reverend Shipton and his boyfriend. The bishop was very cross that he had brought him. Actually, I’m not sure
cross
is the right word. You could practically see the smoke coming out his ears. Beside himself. Furious. Anyway, I offered to help Minty find the right words to handle the situation, but she went over and spoke to them, Shipton and his boyfriend. What she said to them, I don’t know, but the Nigerian man left the conference soon after, I believe, and Reverend Shipton stayed behind on his own. He didn’t seem very happy, but honestly, what did he expect? Minty said she’d warned him that his friend would not be welcome and he brought him anyway. So no one to blame but himself, really.”

She opened her eyes and touched Penny’s arm.

“Wait. There was one thing, though. We were talking about her allergy to shellfish and she mentioned the EpiPen. She said something like, ‘I always have it with me,’ as she patted her handbag. So she must have had it with her then, and now that I think about it, she believed that it was in her bag today.”

“You’re right,” agreed Penny. “When she realized what was happening to her, she said ‘Epi’ very clearly and pointed under her chair at her bag, like this.” Penny made a little downward stabbing motion. “She thought the pen was in her bag, where she always kept it and where she expected it to be.”

“So someone must have removed the pen.”

“It looks like that, doesn’t it?”

“Come on, let’s go find Gareth.”

“Oh,” said Bronwyn, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Do you think we’ve come up with a clue? How exciting.”

“It might be. I’ve learned that the best thing to do is just tell him everything and let him decide what’s important. It drives him crazy when people know something that actually turns out to be important and didn’t tell the police because they didn’t think it was relevant. But they don’t know what else is going on or what the police are looking for so they have no idea what’s relevant.” She slipped her pencil in her satchel and stood while Bronwyn gathered up her coffee cup and book.

“But I do think this is important,” said Penny.

Fifteen

They found Davies in discussion with Warden Graham Fletcher in the Gladstone Room. Both heads turned toward the door and both men rose from the comfortable brown chairs as the women entered.

“Gareth, Bronwyn’s remembered something that might be important,” Penny said. Davies took a step toward her and then turned to Fletcher.

“Warden, would you excuse us, please?”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “I was just leaving, anyway. Lots to attend to. Let me know if you need anything. All the staff are at your disposal. We’re happy to help in any way we can. Just let us know what you need. You’ve only to ask.”

“Thank you, Warden,” said Davies, as Fletcher closed the door quietly behind him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Penny. “I should have realized you’d need to speak to him.” Davies shook his head slightly and then turned to Bronwyn. He listened while she recounted her conversation with Minty Russell at the previous night’s welcoming drinks party and reception. “So you see, she expected the EpiPen to be in her bag, didn’t she? Does that mean that someone took it, do you think?”

“It might,” said Davies. “I searched her room and didn’t find it.”

“What’s going to happen next?” asked Penny.

“Well, we’re definitely classifying this death as suspicious and we’ve referred it to the coroner but a postmortem is a foregone conclusion. So we’ll await the results of that. And then we’ll wait to see if the coroner calls an inquest, as I suspect he will. In the meantime, we’ll interview everyone who was at lunch and everyone who worked here. And we’ll be looking into Miss Russell’s past.”

Bronwyn tipped her head to one side with a quizzical expression, as Davies continued.

“Because almost every murder—not the random, psycho kind, but the ordinary, everyday kind—is committed for either love or money. We’ll do some digging and see what we can turn up.”

The two women exchanged puzzled glances.

“What’s the matter?” Davies asked.

“Well, it’s just that from what we could tell, Minty didn’t seem to have much of either. Love or money. So why would someone want to kill her?” Bronwyn asked.

“
If
someone killed her,” Davies reminded her, emphasizing the word if. “And I’m not saying she was murdered. Although it’s certainly beginning to look like it. Someone knew about her allergy and then made sure her EpiPen wasn’t there when she needed it.”

Bronwyn shuddered.

“I wonder if someone overheard her saying at the opening night party that she had allergies,” said Bronwyn.

“That’s a possibility,” said Davies. “Can you remember who was standing beside you? Near you? Within earshot?”

Bronwyn shook her head. “If I’d known then that it might be important I’d have taken more notice. Penny and I were just discussing that. At the time, it was just a fairly large group of people socializing over a glass of wine.”

“Did anyone take photos?” Davies asked.

“I don’t think so. I didn’t see anyone taking photos,” Bronwyn replied.

“Well, we’ll see what the investigation turns up.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked Penny.

“Ring Bethan to see what time she’ll be here with Florence. They should be here soon. In the meantime, what are you two going to do?”

Bronwyn and Penny exchanged glances.

“We thought it was time we visited the Library. The Library proper, that is. We haven’t seen it yet. Bronwyn was going to go earlier with Thomas, but they just popped in. Didn’t really do it justice.”

“Well, let’s go, then. I’ll walk with you.”

As they reached the reception area, the door opened and Bethan entered, carrying a small overnight bag and a large suitcase. She was followed by Florence, who looked around her appreciatively. And a moment later Bronwyn gave a small gasp as Mrs. Lloyd entered the reception area.

“Hello!” she said gaily to the little group. “It’s not quite
Downton Abbey,
is it? But it’ll do very well for the likes of us.”

Sixteen

“I’ve made arrangements for you to work in the Gladstone Room, Florence,” said Davies, leading her down the corridor. “The light is very good in there.”

“Oh, my, isn’t this interesting?” Florence smiled, pausing to look at the photographs and Gladstone memorabilia displayed in cases lining the corridor. She stopped in front of the case nearest the wooden door that led to the Gladstone Room and pointed. “Look at that!” She peered at the glass. “Plates and a jug with Gladstone’s image on them. I thought all that was a modern marketing gimmick designed to sell loads of tat at royal weddings and of course, the Jubilee. Biscuit tins, teapots, tea towels, and such. But look, it’s been going on since,” she leaned closer, “well, the late 1800s, anyway, if not before.” She thought for a moment. “You know, when I was young I had an elderly aunt who had so many framed photographs of Winston Churchill all over the place, I grew up thinking he was a relative of ours.”

Davies gave a light laugh. “There’s even more Gladstone stuff inside,” he said, opening the door for her.

She entered the large, beautifully proportioned room slowly, taking in the carefully arranged brown leather sofas and chairs, burgundy carpet, and soft lighting. “It reminds me a little of the old senior common room at the Art College, but much nicer,” observed Florence. “It’s how you would picture an old-fashioned gentlemen’s club. Not that I’ve ever set foot in such a place, being a woman, but you used to see them in the pictures, sometimes.” She pointed to a sturdy oak table on which fresh, folded copies of the better daily newspapers were artfully arranged. “Or maybe it’s just what I would imagine a gentlemen’s club to be.”

“I think you may be right,” said Davies. “Now, would you like to work at this table? It’s big enough so you can spread out.”

Florence looked at him anxiously. “I hope I can provide the level of service you require, Inspector. I know this is important work and my translation must be accurate. I think my skills are still sharp enough, but unfortunately I no longer have my dictionary. I got rid of it when I moved from Liverpool. You can’t keep everything, can you? I seem to get rid of things and later, wish I’d kept them. And then I look at something I’ve had for years and think, ‘Why am I hanging on to that old thing?’”

“Well, don’t worry about the dictionary, Florence. I’ve checked and although this library doesn’t run to one, there’s a public library almost next door and they might have one. And if they don’t, we’ll find a way. There might be such a thing online and if so, we can bring in a laptop for you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Florence replied. “I don’t have much experience with computers. I retired before they really came in, you see, and I just never felt the need to learn how to use one.”

“Of course. Well, as I said, don’t worry about it. If you do need to use a computer we’ll make sure someone is here to help you.”

Davies pulled out a chair. As Florence smiled at him he realized how much that small gesture meant. She was much more used to being the one who did the assisting rather that the one being helped.

Davies sat at a right angle to her rather than across the table.

“The warden has placed a Reserved sign on the door to let people know the room is in use. You won’t be disturbed.” He reached into a large bag and pulled out a new, lined notebook, two pens and finally, Minty Russell’s steno book. At the sight of it, Florence leaned forward. “Haven’t seen one of those for a while,” she remarked as Davies handed it to her.

“I want you to transcribe everything that’s in here. Don’t try to work out if something is important or not. Let me decide that.” He gestured at the notebook. “It’s up to you if you want to write it out or if you want me to get you a laptop so you can type, but from what you just told me I’m guessing you’d want to write it in the notebook. But if you prefer, I could get a police officer here to type as you dictate.”

“Let’s start with the notebook and see how I go,” said Florence. Davies pushed his chair back and stood up. “Right, well, I’ll be on my way. I’m glad you agreed to do this for us and were able to spare the time.”

“I’m glad I can help,” Florence said. “Or try to, any road. But there is something else I wanted to say before you go, Inspector. I’m very sorry about Evelyn coming along. I did try to explain that this was business and she wasn’t really wanted but it seemed hard to do that without being unkind.” She gave a helpless little shrugging gesture. “You know what she’s like. She was that determined to come. Making plans and giving orders, she was, before I’d barely had a chance to put the phone down.”