“It’s just that I came across a plate with that name on the bottom, and I wondered if it had come from your shop, that’s all.”
The two women exchanged glances.
“Well, it wasn’t Rhys, but Rose Hughes. She might have had her Welsh name, Rhosyn, on the plate that you saw, so it could have looked like Rhys. She died recently and her family brought in a few boxes of her things.”
The second woman joined the conversation. “Where exactly did you see the plate? Do you know who owns it?”
Penny smiled at them.
“Unfortunately, the plate got broken. Well, truth be told, I broke it. I’m trying to figure out where it came from so I can replace it. Do you have anything else available that would be similar, I wonder?”
“Actually, you’re in luck,” said the second woman. “That plate had a companion from the ones in the Rhosyn Hughes donation. Not quite the same, mind you, but close enough. It’s on this shelf over here. Let me get it for you.”
“About the owner,” said the first woman, somewhat anxiously, “if you find out who owned the plate, would you mind letting us know? It could be important.”
“Yes, I will,” said Penny, taking out her wallet to pay for the plate that the second woman was wrapping up. “Do you mind putting an extra bit of cushioning on that?” Penny asked her. “I can be a little clumsy at times and we wouldn’t want anything to happen to this one.” She gave each of the women a bright, conspiratorial smile. “Wasn’t it lucky for me that you had a similar plate? Thank you very much.”
The two women waited until she had left the shop, and then the first one asked, “Do you think we should call the police? She knows more about that plate than she’s letting on.”
“Not sure what we’d say to the police, exactly,” the second one replied. “Let’s think about it. I’ll slip out and get a couple of Bakewell slices. You put the kettle on and we’ll discuss what to do over a cup of coffee.”
“See, I told you I wouldn’t be long,” Penny said, popping her head round the door of Victoria’s office. She held up the well-wrapped plate. “Got a replacement.”
“Good.” Victoria looked up from her computer. “I need you to go through those invoices, and Eirlys wants a word in the manicure salon. Oh, and I’ve had an interesting resume come in for the hairdresser’s position. A man, so we need to discuss that. I’m thinking we should get him in for an interview. Goes by one name only, like Madonna or Cher. Calls himself Alberto.”
“Right, I’ve just got some phone calls to make, but I’ll check in with Eirlys and then get on with things.”
Victoria took a closer look at her friend. “You look excited. What’s up? You’re on to something. Tell me.”
“I’m going to ring Brian Kenley and see if I can pop in and see him this morning.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if he’s got anything to do with the theft of my brooch, but you can understand how much I want it back.”
Victoria nodded. “I do understand, but don’t forget Gareth and Bethan will have made it their top priority, so why not just leave it to them? They’ll find it. Gareth told you they would and they will.”
“Well, let’s just say I’m helping them with their inquiries, in a good way. Anyway, I’ll get Brian’s number from the Stretch and Sketch membership list and see what happens.”
She ducked out into the hall and returned in a few minutes, holding a modest but charming spray of pale pink roses that she had picked up at the florist on the way over and set down outside Victoria’s office.
“These are for you for putting me up last night.”
“Just plain putting up with you, more like.” Victoria laughed. “Right, I’ll hold the fort. Off you go.”
Penny left for the second time and then reentered, and this time she sat down in the visitor’s chair that faced Victoria’s desk.
“It’s just a theory, and it might be half-baked, but I think Mrs. Lloyd’s letter opener was stolen, and whoever stole it used it to kill Saunders. I don’t think Florence or Mrs. Lloyd would have had the strength to do it-Saunders might have put up a struggle up there on the parapet-so it had to have been someone else.”
“But Brian Kenley? Surely not. I can’t picture it.” Victoria’s eyes widened. “Are you mad? If you think he killed Saunders, why would you be going over there by yourself to confront him, deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way?”
“Because I can’t picture it myself, either, but I think somehow he’s linked to both the thefts and the murder, through the plate.” She thought for a moment. “It may be that he just doesn’t know it. I’d really like to talk to him. And, of course, look at the photos he took that day at the castle.”
“The police have probably seen those photos.”
“Right, but they don’t know the people in the photographs. I do. I might spot something that they missed because it didn’t mean anything to them. Something that might be significant, but they just didn’t see it.” She thought back to what Dorothy Martin had said to her during her manicure. “Something or someone who should have been there who wasn’t, or just something out of place… not quite right.”
“Well, be careful, and good luck,” Victoria said. “You can tell me later how you got on.” She held up the local newspaper. “Oh, and we’ve got to get on with that window judging. There’s a piece in here about us doing it. Great publicity for the spa.”
Nineteen
Just after eleven Penny walked slowly up the path that led to the front door of Brian Kenley’s pebbledash bungalow a few streets from the town centre. The small garden, filled with dead black roses, had been damaged by the wind and rain of the previous night, and several hydrangea bushes were lying crushed and broken on the dark, damp earth.
Just as she was about to knock, the door opened and Brian Kenley invited her in.
Tall and thin, with an almost gaunt look about him, Kenley gave her a thin, superficial smile. He cleared his throat and gave a wheezy chuckle.
“Hello, Penny. Do come in.”
He tapped his chest. “Sorry, I have a touch of bronchitis and this damp weather isn’t helping.”
He led Penny down a short, narrow passageway that opened into a small sitting room and gestured toward a chair that faced the front door. As she sat down, holding her package on her lap, Penny noticed a small suitcase leaning against the wall.
“Going somewhere nice, Brian?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m leaving on Monday for Yorkshire. Spending the holidays there with family. My brother and his wife and their sons, actually. They’re the only family I have left.”
“Oh, that will be nice.” Penny smiled. “I hope the weather will be good for the journey. Driving, are you?”
Kenley nodded as Penny shifted forward in her seat.
“I wanted to see you, Brian,” she began, “to apologize for the breakage last night. Your daffodil plate. But fortunately I was able to get a pretty good replacement at the St. David’s Charity Shop.” She held the package out to him. “Is that where you got yours?”
Kenley reached out to accept the package. “This was very kind of you, Penny, and much appreciated, but you didn’t need to go to all that bother. The plate wasn’t worth much, I don’t think, and anyway, I hadn’t had it very long. Still, very good of you. Thank you.”
Penny groaned inwardly. He hadn’t answered her question and she couldn’t think how to ask it again.
“The ladies at the charity shop told me that the plates had once belonged to Rhosyn Hughes,” Penny said desperately. “Did you know her?”
“No, I never heard of her.”
A heavy, awkward silence descended. Penny smiled at Kenley, then took in her surroundings. The room was neat and well kept. The surfaces were free of clutter and appeared to have been recently dusted. A built-in set of shelves stood floor to ceiling near an arched opening that led to the kitchen. Realizing that Kenley wasn’t going to offer her a cup of coffee and sensing that he wanted her to leave, Penny tried one last time.
