an e-mail. We eat and text while we drive.
“So I would ask you on this beautiful Christmas morning to consider those three wise men who made that journey to Bethlehem two thousand years ago and…”
Penny’s attention drifted away. She shifted in her seat and gazed slowly around the church. I wonder if this person is here this morning, she thought, this person who killed two people. She spotted a few members of her art group, sitting with their husbands and grown-up children. One reached over to comfort a bored grandchild who struggled to get down out of his father’s tight hold. Her eyes moved on to Huw Bowen, the bank manager, staring stiffly ahead while his wife, Glynnis, stifled a yawn behind a black-gloved hand. I wonder how her manicure’s holding up, Penny thought. Behind the Bowens, her friend Alwynne reached over to pick up a hymnbook and began leafing through it, turning the pages slowly. When she reached the place she was looking for, she stuck a marker between the pages and returned the book to the rack in front of her. She smiled at her husband then turned her face toward the raised lecturn where Reverend Evans was wrapping up his sermon.
“I hope you will all take the time to reflect on the bounty and blessings of the season,” he was saying. “And now, let us pray.”
The light that had been streaming in through the multicoloured stained-glass windows had become muted and dimmed.
As the service drew to a close, the congregation rose for one last carol and then began to make their way slowly out of the church, stopping to exchange a few words with Reverend Evans as he shook everyone’s hand. Friends greeted one another, wishing them all the joys of the season. Penny slipped her arm through Gareth’s as they walked off a few paces to wait for Victoria, who had stayed behind to talk to Bronwyn. A few snowflakes drifted lazily down, and although the sky had clouded over, the snow felt temporary.
The Bowens emerged and stood off to one side turned slightly toward each other. As a few snowflakes settled on Huw’s collar, Glynnis reached up and brushed them off. Something in the gesture startled Penny. It was at once intimate and yet somehow out of place. And then she remembered where she’d seen it before. On that very snowy night when she had spotted the couple in the churchyard. She had thought one of them was married and assumed it was the man. But it wasn’t the man, it was Glynnis. And could the man have been… She struggled to bring the scene into focus, to imagine them as they were in that embrace.
“Penny, are you ready to go?”
“What? Sorry, I was thinking about something else. Sorry.”
“We’re heading back to your cottage now, Penny,” said Victoria, tucking one end of her scarf through its loop as Gareth approached. “Are you ready? Gwennie left a few minutes ago. Said she wanted to get the appetizers in the oven. And Bethan should have arrived with Jimmy by the time we get there.” After exchanging greetings with those around them, the three set off for Penny’s cottage.
Twenty-five
After shaking the hand of the last of his parishoners, Reverend Thomas Evans headed back into the church and, after stopping at one pew to pick up a hymnbook and replace it in the rack, entered the small office beside the vestry where he and his wife, Bronwyn, would count the morning’s collection. Bronwyn, who had slipped over to the comfortable rectory to fetch their cairn terrier, Robbie, while her husband was seeing off the last of his flock, was beginning to sort the contributions placed in the collection plates during morning service. She placed the cash in one pile, and the small, white numbered envelopes preferred by regular members of the congregation in another, then set aside the collection plate. As Reverend Evans slipped off his surplice, Bronwyn removed a brown envelope from the second collection plate. She turned it over and then held it out to her husband.
“What do you suppose this is, Thomas?” she asked.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” he replied good-naturedly. “But first, I have a little something for us before we start the counting.” He reached behind his desk and pulled out a bottle of sherry and two glasses. “What do you say, my dear? Just this once, because it’s Christmas, shall we have a little libation while we count the takings?”
“Oh, go on then,” said Bronwyn, laughing as Robbie wagged his tail enthusiastically. “But just a small one. We don’t want to arrive at Mrs. Lloyd’s stinking of sherry!”
She took a small sip and set down her glass.
As Reverend Evans reached for a pencil and a piece of scrap paper that he would use to help them count the morning offering, Bronwyn opened the envelope and peered inside. Then, turning the envelope upside down, she shook out its contents, revealing a small red box and a piece of ordinary lined notepaper.
She picked up the box as Reverend Evans stopped to watch.
She opened it, shrugged, and then showed it to her husband.
“Empty.” He pointed at the folded piece of paper. “What does the note say?”
Bronwyn opened it slowly, read it to herself, then held it out to the rector.
“‘Penny Brannigan-Feliz Navi-dead!’” he read, then looked at his wife. “What on earth does that mean? And how did that dreadful thing get in our collection plate?”
“Somebody put it there,” said Bronwyn. “And it’s Spanish for Merry Christmas, only it should be
“Well, yes, but who could have put it there?”
“I don’t know, dear. But we have to figure out what to do about it. It could be some kind of stupid joke, I suppose.”
The rector drained the last of his sherry and looked longingly at the bottle on his desk.
“Thomas,” his wife said sharply, “listen to me. If this is a threat, and it sounds like it to me, then there’s only one thing we can do. We need to call the police.”
“Yes, but it’s Christmas Day. We wouldn’t want to waste their time. Especially not today. Do you think this is important enough to warrant their attention? It might just be a sick joke of some kind.”
“I think we should let them be the judge of that. From what I’ve heard, if Penny’s in danger, that police inspector friend of hers, Gareth Davies, would want to be the first to know about it.”
The rector reached for the telephone on his cluttered desk.
“Right you are as usual, Bronwyn dear.”
“Everything looks beautiful, Gwennie!” exclaimed Penny as everyone admired the table setting before taking their seats. Victoria had arranged a small bouquet of red roses, their stems trimmed, in a setting of holly and tied it all together with a plaid ribbon. Penny and Gareth sat at the ends of the table, with Jimmy on one side and Victoria and Bethan across from him.
Jimmy beamed at everyone around the table and chuckled.
“If anyone had told me that one day I’d be having Christmas dinner with not one but two coppers, I would have said they were mad,” he said.
Penny laughed. “I would have thought the same thing myself not so long ago.”
All eyes turned toward Gwennie, who emerged from the kitchen with a beautiful golden brown turkey on a large platter, which she set down in front of Davies. “Here you are, sir,” she said. “It’s been resting and ready for carving. I’ll bring the vegetables through now.”
She stopped, startled, as Bethan’s phone rang. With an apologetic shrug at Penny, Bethan pulled the phone out of her pocket and glanced at the caller ID. “I’d better take this,” she said, getting to her feet. “Excuse me.” She walked a few steps away from the table and put the phone to her ear.
The conversation at the table continued as Davies picked up the carving knife and fork. He sliced off a piece of breast meat and set it down carefully, held between the sharp knife and large fork, onto a smaller platter.
“Is there any news of the identity of that body found in your spa?” Jimmy asked Penny.
“We know a little more than we did. We know who she was but not what happened to her.” She provided a few more details and, with an anxious glance at Davies, finished up, “But of course, after all this time we may never
