As Victoria lifted the mince pie from the centre of the plate revealing a bright yellow daffodil, Penny let out a little gasp. Recovering quickly, she took a pie herself and signaled to Victoria that she needed a word.
Holding a small paper plate under her mince pie, Victoria allowed herself to be led off to one side of the hall.
“What is it?” she said as she took a bite. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“That plate, the one with the daffodil on it. Bethan showed me the list of things that have been stolen from around here recently, and that plate is on the list.”
“Mprgh,” said Victoria through a mouthful of mince pie, which she then swallowed. “Penny, you’ve got to be joking. Do you have any idea how many plates there must be around here with daffodils on them? Everybody’s got one. I’ll bet you anything”-she looked around the room for a familiar face-“I’ll bet you Bronwyn over there’s got one. Or Mrs. Lloyd, she’ll have one for sure. So what are you saying?”
“Well, the plate belongs to someone in our Stretch and Sketch Club,” said Penny, “because we organized the refreshments. So I’m going to stick around and see who that plate belongs to. See who it goes home with. Come on.”
Victoria groaned.
“Do we have to? We’ve just opened the spa and I’m really tired. We’ve had a couple of long, tiring days and another big day coming up tomorrow. Those display windows aren’t going to judge themselves, you know. Mrs. Lloyd loved her manicure, by the way. She was well chuffed to be the first client and was in heaven when she learned her manicure was free. Nice one, there.”
Thinking back to the manicure she had given Dorothy Martin, Penny realized that Mrs. Lloyd hadn’t technically been the first customer, but close enough.
“Well, if you won’t wait with me, that’s fine, you go. But I’m staying here until I find out who owns that plate.”
“Oh, all right,” said Victoria, stifling a yawn. “I guess I can find something to do while I wait.”
“Wait? We’re going to go in the kitchen to help with the washing up so we can keep an eye on that plate.”
“I’ve just thought of something,” said Victoria. “Did you actually touch the plate?”
“No,” said Penny. “I didn’t. Why?”
“Because when I was a girl if my mother was bringing squares or cakes to a church social, say, she always put a piece of tape on the bottom of the plate with her name on it. That way, she’d know which one was hers.”
“Did she have trouble recognizing her own plate?” Penny asked as they walked back toward the refreshment area.
“No, but there was another woman who used to have trouble recognizing that the plates belonged to other people. With the tape on the bottom, my mum could say to her, ‘Oh I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid you’ve mistaken my plate for yours. See here, there’s a little piece of tape on the bottom with my name on it.’ So easy to mix up… one plate looks so much like another.”
Penny laughed. “Oh, right. My plate has violets on it and yours has daffodils. I can barely tell them apart!”
Victoria smiled at her and shrugged. “Well, it’s all about saving face, isn’t it? And there’s no accounting for plate envy.”
As the crowd began to thin out, thanking their hosts for a lovely evening before heading out the door, Penny and Victoria entered the kitchen. Huw Bowen, who had arrived soon after the performance ended, was sipping a glass of sherry while he talked to Brian Kenley. Glynnis Bowen, up to her elbows in the washing-up bowl, had her back to them. She turned around and said to Kenley, with the slightest hint of sharpness, “Have you brought in all the dishes that need washing up, Brian?”
“I’ll go,” volunteered Penny. “No problem, Brian, you’re all right.” With a slight nod at Victoria to keep an eye on things in the kitchen, Penny returned to the refreshment area. A few audience members, apparently working on their second sherry, lingered to talk to neighbours they hadn’t seen for a few days or to make arrangements to get together soon with a friend for cake and coffee. Mrs. Lloyd and Florence, Penny noticed, seemed to have left.
Several half-empty trays and plates remained on the serving table, so she piled the food on three plates and set three empty ones aside. As she handled the daffodil plate, she ran her hand underneath it and felt a sticky little tab. Turning the plate over and pretending to look at the manufacturer’s label, she noticed what looked like a small strip of white adhesive medical tape, and just as Victoria had suggested, there seemed to be some writing on it. She held it up to the light, closer to her eyes, and tried to read it. The letters were blurred, probably from having been washed a few times, but she managed to decipher something that looked like Rhys Hughes. Who’s she when she’s at home, Penny wondered. Or he. I suppose a man can own a plate.
She put the three plates together, carried them into the kitchen, and set them down beside Glynnis Bowen.
“Thank you, Penny,” said Glynnis, as she slid the plates into the sudsy wash water.
Penny gave Victoria a meaningful glance and a slight nod.
“Well done,” she said softly. “You were right. There was a name on the bottom, but I didn’t recognize it. Now we just have to wait and see who collects the plate.”
“And how long’s that going take?” Victoria whispered back. “And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Just stand here?”
“You’re right,” said Penny. “I’ll speed things up.”
She joined Glynnis at the sink and, after picking up a dish towel that was sitting beside the draining rack, selected a plate from the rack, dried it, and then carried it over to the table and set it down carefully. She repeated this with two more plates.
When the daffodil plate arrived in the rack, Penny picked it up and gave it a brief swipe with the drying cloth and then turned toward the table. With a quick glance at Victoria, she let the plate slip from the towel. It crashed to the floor, shattering into several pieces. At the instantly recognizable sound of kitchen breakage, all conversation stopped and everyone turned in surprise toward the source of the sound. As Victoria knelt down and began picking up the broken shards, Penny turned to the others in the kitchen.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. Of course I’ll replace it. Do we know who owns it?”
“It’s mine, but don’t worry about it. These things happen.”
But Brian Kenley’s words did not match his facial expression. He looked almost as shattered as his plate.
Eighteen
The little group stood for a moment in the kitchen and then, as the sound of rain began to rattle the windowpanes, resumed their work. Alwynne arrived in the kitchen carrying plates of leftover food and empty glasses on a tray. She set everything down on the counter near Glynnis.
“Everyone’s left,” she said. “And this is the last of the food. Not sure what to do with the rest of these mince pies,” she said. “Don’t know who brought them. Would someone like to wrap them up and take them home?”
“Why don’t you have them?” Glynnis said. “There’s a box of plastic wrap just over there.”
“Well, if no one else wants them, I’d be glad to have them,” Alwynne said, looking around the room. “Or my husband will be glad to have them, I should say. Have to wrap them up well to get them home in this rain, though.”
The group worked quickly to finish the cleanup to Huw Bowen’s satisfaction and then trooped out, with him bringing up the rear so he could lock up behind them.
A cold, sharp rain assaulted them as they emerged into the dark street. Brief good nights were said as everyone went their separate ways, the Bowens hurrying off toward the car park; Alwynne gratefully accepting a lift from Brian Kenley; and Penny and Victoria, seen as two bobbing umbrellas, setting off at a fast pace to walk to Victoria’s flat in the spa by the river.
The rain bounced off the pavement, finding its way into the small stream that gurgled along the side of the road toward the drains.
“Don’t say anything until we get to yours,” Penny said. “I have to concentrate on keeping my feet dry and I can only think about one thing at a time.”
