Murder on the Hour (13 page)

Michael nodded. His face looked a little thinner and his blue eyes seemed a little duller.

“Michael,” Penny began, “there's something I want to ask you, if you feel up to talking about it. How did you get to be an
Antiques Cymru
appraiser?”

“Not sure really, I think you just establish yourself as an expert in a certain field, maybe through publishing papers, or by reputation, and they ask you. They source their experts locally, as local people would be more likely to be familiar with the items people are bringing.”

“If I wanted to get hold of a certain appraiser, how would I do that?”

“You could start by asking me. Maybe I know him. Who do you want to speak to?”

“It's a her.”

“Ah,” said Michael. “And would she be an expert on fabrics and textiles? Quilts perhaps?”

Penny smiled. “She would.”

“That would be Julia Ormerod. I don't have her number, but I'm sure I can get it. I'll call someone from the show who'll know. Hand me my phone.” He pressed the button but nothing happened. “Of course. The battery needs charging.”

“I wonder if anyone at the nurses' station has the same type of phone and a charger we could use,” said Penny. “Shall I see?”

“Is it that urgent?” asked Michael. “I can get the number for you tomorrow. Of course I can't give out her number without getting her approval first.”

“Oh, that's fine,” said Penny. “About tomorrow, when you go home. Would you like me to come here and go home with you and help you get settled in?”

“I've been thinking about that,” said Michael, “and I'll tell you what I'd like. As I've not got much food in, and no car, and I won't be able to drive for a few days, I wondered if you'd be kind enough to come round to mine later in the day, and bring an evening meal for us. I hope that isn't asking too much, but really, there's no one I'd rather ask. And it doesn't have to be fancy. Something simple like scrambled eggs would do nicely.”

“Oh, that's no problem at all,” said Penny. “I'd be happy to do that.” She learned forward. “Have the police been round to talk to you? I gave them a sketch of the face of the biker that hit you, as best as I could remember it. I hope it will help catch him, although I've no idea what he could be charged with.”

Michael nodded briefly, then closed his eyes.

“Well,” said Penny, “you're tired and I'd better get off to work. I'll see you tomorrow for dinner. I'm glad you're feeling a little better.”

He smiled his thanks.

*   *   *

Bronwyn Evans liked to keep lunch light and simple. She set a plate of salad and a small piece of cold salmon in front of her husband, Thomas, the rector. He leaned forward slightly, peered at it, and then looked at his wife.

“Is this meant to be my lunch?” he asked mildly.

“It is,” she replied. “We need to eat a healthier diet. I get some exercise every day walking Robbie, but you, well, not so much. I noticed on Sunday when you were greeting the parishioners that seen from the side you aren't as flat as you used to be.”

“No, I guess I'm not,” he said, picking up his fork. “Well, thank you, my dear, for preparing this delicious looking lunch with my best interests in mind.”

Bronwyn laughed. “Oh, Thomas, was there ever a more diplomatic man than you?” They ate for a few moments in silence, and then Thomas set down his fork. His wife raised a questioning eyebrow. “Not hungry?” she asked.

“No, not really,” he replied.

“I know you, Thomas Evans, and when you're not hungry, you're troubled. Can you tell me what is worrying you?” Bronwyn asked.

“It's the funeral for Catrin Bellis. No one has contacted me yet to make arrangements. I'm not sure what kind of funeral she would have wished, but I do know her parents would have wanted her to have one. I'll ring Haydn this afternoon and ask if he's heard anything. And if he hasn't, I'll suggest that he speak to Evan Hughes and ask him to get in touch with me,” Thomas said. He mulled that over for a moment, then picked up his fork and resumed eating.

“Do you suppose I could have a piece of bread and butter with this?” he asked.

*   *   *

Haydn Williams put the phone down and returned to the large oak table in the middle of his farmhouse kitchen. Kip gazed lovingly at him from his basket, and went back to sleep. The rector was asking if he'd heard anything about funeral plans for Catrin Bellis and he'd had to reply that, no, he hadn't. But he might see Evan Hughes in the pub later and if so, he'd have a word.

 

Nineteen

Michael Quinn lived in a well-kept, three-storey pebble-dashed house within the shadow of Bangor University. The house was painted a light cream, with Wedgwood blue window frames and door and a slate house sign that said
RHOS-GOCH
. Red roses clung to trellises on each side of the door.

Penny knocked and a moment later Michael, leaning on a cane, opened the door and stood to one side so she could enter.

“Good to see you,” he said as he closed the door.

“How are you?” Penny asked. “Better today?”

“A little,” he said, “but not really, if you know what I mean. The bruising on my leg is really coming up today, and it's not a pretty sight, let me tell you.”

She made a little noise of concerned commiseration and he gestured toward an open doorway.

“Please, go through.”

The sitting room was bright, comfortable, and tastefully furnished. A sage green sofa with lemon yellow and white patterned decorative pillows sat against the wall facing the window that overlooked the street, behind a coffee table with several expensive-looking art books. Bookcases on either side of the fireplace displayed ornamental objects. Prints and original paintings, that Penny longed to take a closer look at, hung on pale green walls. The overall impression was one of a carefully chosen, magazine-perfect look that was decidedly feminine.

As if reading her thoughts, Michael remarked, “This was all done by my late wife and I haven't had the inclination to change it. Just used to it, I guess. Easier to live with it.”

“If you like it, then why change it?” said Penny.

“It's just that sometimes I think I could move on better if there weren't so many reminders of her everywhere,” Michael said.

“Do you have any children?”

“A son. Lives in Dublin.”

“Well, it looks very nice,” said Penny. “Tasteful.”

“I'm sorry. I should have offered you something to drink. What can I get you?”

Penny gestured at the bags she'd brought. “There's a bottle of Chardonnay in there. I'd love a glass of that but why don't I get it?” She picked up the bags. “Shall we take these through to the kitchen?” Michael limped ahead of her, and pulled a corkscrew out of a self-closing drawer. He opened the bottle and pointed to a cupboard. “Glasses in there,” he said.

Penny removed two glasses and set them on the worktop. When they were filled, Penny and Michael clinked glasses and she took a sip. “Now,” she said, “I've brought some smoked salmon and lovely brown bread from the bakery, and you mentioned scrambled eggs, so let's get started.”

He sat at the little table and they chatted while she prepared the meal. About fifteen minutes later she snipped fresh dill over the creamy scrambled eggs and set a lemon quarter beside each serving of smoked salmon. Michael sliced the bread and put out fresh butter.

“Looks delicious,” he said. “I thought we could eat in the conservatory.” He led the way to a glass-enclosed room at the back of the house, filled with flowering plants. French doors led to the garden beyond.

Penny set the plates of scrambled eggs on the table and returned to the kitchen for the wine glasses and cutlery while Michael lowered himself gingerly into a chair.

“Cheers,” he said. “Thank you so much for this.”

“It's the least I can do,” said Penny. “You wouldn't have been injured if we hadn't gone after Dilys.”

Michael nodded. “I might think twice before doing that again.”

He reached into his pocket. “I got the number you wanted. Julia Ormerod. The woman who evaluated the quilt. She said she'd be happy to talk to you.”

Penny took the piece of paper he offered her and glanced at it. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

She took a sip of wine. “You know I'm surprised our paths haven't crossed before. I thought I knew everyone around here who was involved in the art world.”

“I confine myself pretty much to the university,” said Michael. “To be honest, I was surprised when the show's producer contacted me, but apparently the person they'd lined up had to drop out, and because I was local, they asked me to step in. Which, of course, I was happy to do. Saturday was my first day with that particular show, actually, although I've done similar ones.”

“You seemed very comfortable in the role,” said Penny.

“That comes from teaching university students,” said Michael. “If you can hold your own in front of them, you can talk to anyone. And I was comfortable with the process and with what people were bringing me. And they have lots of behind-the-scenes resources, if you're not sure about something—you can look it up yourself or a researcher is available to help.”

“You must have been stunned when you saw Florence's John Lennon drawings.”

“Stunned! It was beyond belief. It's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me. Artistically speaking, of course.”

“I suggested to Florence that since they've been stowed away in her cupboard all these years, she should choose one Stuart Sutcliffe and one John Lennon, get them framed, and enjoy them. And send the rest to auction.”

“That's a good idea. They'll sell for more and attract more buyers if they're sold as a lot. Sometimes people hang on to things like that and release them one at a time. The right collector will pay many times over the odds to acquire all of them at one time.”

“Tell me about Julia Ormerod,” said Penny.

“I just met her on the day, but apparently she's an expert in quilts, fabrics, tapestries, costumes, wall hangings, silk wall papers, that sort of thing,” said Michael. He smiled at her. “You're dying to ring her, aren't you? Well, let's try to speak to her after dinner.”

“While she was evaluating the quilt she said something to Catrin that I don't think was meant for others to hear. I'm very curious to know what that was.”

“Then I'm curious to hear what she has to say, too.”

Penny threw him a grateful smile.

Over dinner, Penny told Michael about the Stretch and Sketch Club.

“So it's drawing, with ramble benefits,” said Michael.

Penny's little ripple of laughter made him smile.

“Now, I don't know if you'll feel up to this,” said Penny, “but the opening of the new exhibit at the Llanelen Museum is tomorrow night. Would you be interested in coming?”

Michael winced as he shifted in his chair to take the weight off his left hip. “I think it's a bit early for me to be undertaking social engagements,” he said. “But believe me, there's nothing I like more than an opening.”

Easy conversation, punctuated by smiles and laughter, accompanied their meal. After a light dessert of lemon mousse, Michael made coffee and set out cups and spoons on a tray.

“I'm still a little unsteady, so probably best if you carry it through to the sitting room,” he said.

When they were seated and coffee poured, Michael smiled at her. “Go on, then.”

Penny dialed Julia Ormerod, asked a few questions, and listened intently.

“Well?” said Michael when the call was over.

“Julia said while she was examining the quilt she felt something inside, something that wasn't part of the batting. She checked the seam and it looked original, so she thinks whatever was in the quilt was sewn in when the quilt was made, not put in later. But when we got hold of the quilt the side seam had been ripped open. There wasn't anything there, was there?”

Michael shook his head. “No, definitely not.”

“So it would be interesting to know if the quilt was intact when Dilys got hold of it, or had whatever was inside already been taken out.”

“Did Julia have any idea what this thing might be?”

“She said it was small, about two inches by two inches, and a little stiff. It didn't feel like jewellery, or some kind of keepsake like that.”

Michael thought for a moment. “I'd like to know what it was,” he said.

“And I'd like to know who else knew it was there,” said Penny.

 

Twenty

The Llanelen Museum is a long, low, whitewashed building situated across from the rectory and adjacent to the churchyard. In the seventeenth century it was designated as an almshouse, providing simple meals and basic shelter to elderly ex-servicemen. When the last of the servicemen died in the 1930s, the building was repurposed as a museum. The tiny bedrooms upstairs, sparsely furnished with a narrow bed, wooden chair and table, could still be viewed as part of the museum experience.

The large space downstairs, formerly the almshouse dining room, kitchen, and sitting room, was used for displays, organized by Alwynne Gwilt, president of the Llanelen Historical Society and museum curator. She was also a good friend of Penny from the Stretch and Sketch Club and had asked Penny to help out at the opening of the newest exhibit.

Like many communities across Britain, Llanelen was remembering its role in World War I.

Throughout 2014, the centenary of the start of the war, the exhibit entitled The Run Up to War had featured photographs taken during the spring and summer of 1914 in the town and on neighbouring farms. Several of the horses shown in the black and white photographs had been sent to join the war effort.