Murder on the Hour (2 page)

She leaned forward to see what Penny was doing.

“All rather sad when you think about it, really,” she said, settling back in her chair. “Still, I'll definitely be at the Antiques show. I haven't decided yet what I'm going to bring. I was thinking about Arthur's aunt's Carlton Ware dinner service but Florence said there might be something else and she'd have a good look round.”

“I wonder if Florence will bring anything,” Penny said.

“Florence?” Mrs. Lloyd scoffed. “What on earth could she possibly have that would be of value?”

“Well, that's the beauty of it,” said Penny. “You never know.”

“That's right,” agreed Mrs. Lloyd in a friendly fashion, “you don't. Well, getting back to Catrin Bellis, I don't think I've ever seen such a transformation in a woman. She used to be so, well, what we used to call plain, and now, she's all glammed up. Even had her teeth done, I believe. Who has white, even teeth like that around here? No one. And the men are really starting to take notice. And when I say ‘men,' that includes men who should know better.”

Penny raised an eyebrow and Mrs. Lloyd mouthed, “Married.”

“Or so I've heard,” Mrs. Lloyd went on, “and I saw her myself walking down the street with a,” she lowered her voice again, “married man.”

“Oh, but that doesn't mean anything,” said Penny. “You know how easy it is to bump into someone you know, you realize you're going in the same direction, so you walk off together.”

“Well, that's true,” acknowledged Mrs. Lloyd, “but there's walking down the street together and then there's ‘walking down the street together' if you see what I mean.”

“No,” said Penny, trying not to laugh. “I don't see what you mean. Unless you mean there's walking down the street together at seven in the morning, which some might well find suspicious, and then there's just your regular walking down the street together at any old time of day.”

“That's exactly what I mean!” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Well, sort of, I guess.”

“Anyway, I saw Catrin in the bank this morning,” said Penny. “She puts the rest of us to shame, really. Wears makeup when she's just out and about on errands.” A light smile crossed her face. “Even just walking down the street. Most of us consider ourselves dolled up if we bother to put on lipstick.”

“I can remember the old days when women would wear a dress and put on a hat just to go shopping,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Gloves, too, for heaven's sake. Mind you, that's going back a good few years. More than I care to remember, actually. I guess going into town was more special back then.”

Penny smiled and reached for the bottle of nail varnish Mrs. Lloyd had chosen.

“Got everything? Gathered up all your bits and pieces? Want to put your coat on before we do this?”

Mrs. Lloyd slid her arms through the sleeves of her spring coat and sat down again.

“I don't think Catrin had much of a life while her parents were alive,” she continued. “So maybe that's what's brought all this on. Very religious, they were, and so strict with her. Much too strict. You've got to let young people have fun. She was never allowed to go to the dances or young people's outings when she was a teenager, and not allowed to train for anything so she could get a decent job. Such a shame. If only those kinds of controlling parents knew how their children would go wild at the first opportunity. And who can blame them? The girls often end up in the family way and the boys in trouble with the law.”

She peered at the polish Penny was applying. “Yes, that's a nice colour. Has a lovely touch of spring in it.”

“I heard somewhere that Catrin looked after her parents for years,” Penny said.

“That's right,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “They kept her at home and she never had much of a life, really. They were well into their forties when she was born and they died quite close to each other. She hasn't been on her own that long and in some ways, she's like a much younger girl living on her own for the first time. Enjoying her freedom and turning into the woman she wants to be, not what her parents thought she should be.”

“She's quite girly,” said Penny. “Likes pretty things and loves coming here for hair and nails.” She laughed. “Our kind of girl, really.”

“I think at one time Haydn Williams's parents had hopes the two might get together,” said Mrs. Lloyd, “but her parents seem to have quashed any chance of that happening.”

“Well,” said Penny, “if the way he looked at her in the bank today is anything to go by, they might still get together. He seemed rather interested in her.”

“Oh, that'll be the new hair,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Men can be so shallow that way, I find.”

Penny laughed. “She's lost a fair bit of weight, too,” said Penny. “All in all, I think she's doing a great job of making the best of herself. I might take a page out of her book and lose a few pounds myself.”

 

Three

Catrin Bellis entered the dark, outdated kitchen, dropped her small bag of shopping on the green linoleum floor, and filled the kettle. While the water heated she put away the groceries and a few minutes later walked into the sitting room with a cup of tea on a small tray. While her parents were alive the tea would have been accompanied by a couple of biscuits or a home-baked scone or tea cake but now that she was free to do as she pleased, biscuits were not allowed in the house. Neither was meat. Her father had been a butcher and how she hated the sight and smell of meat. The very idea of the traditional roast beef Sunday lunch her mother served after chapel, with the roast potatoes and sprouts, followed by a stodgy pudding, made her nauseous. Now, she might have an occasional fillet of grilled salmon with some green beans and new potatoes, but for the most part her diet was vegetarian.

She'd been nervous in the supermarket this morning when she inserted her bank card into the little machine to pay for her groceries. How embarrassing it would be to have it declined in full view of the people behind her in the queue and the teenage cashier. But she'd been careful what she'd put in her shopping basket, keeping a running total as she went and her transaction had gone through. Going forward, though, she'd have to be much more careful with her money.

She thought, not for the first time, that perhaps she should sell the house. She'd probably get a good price for it, and she could use that money to buy a small flat. Even though the house wasn't large, she could easily get by in a smaller space. She didn't need two bedrooms, for a start.

And maybe she should even consider leaving the town and relocating to a larger place where there'd be more opportunities. But opportunities for what? She had no training to do anything. What kind of job could she hope to get? Here, in Llanelen, at least she knew a few people. There, in a larger town, she'd know no one. And property prices were rising, so it might be best to hang on to the house for the time being. Perhaps she could take in a lodger, a single woman perhaps. She could rent out her parents' old bedroom. She'd barely set foot in it since her mother died.

She wished her father had been open about the family finances but he didn't think women needed to know about that sort of thing, or much of anything at all, for that matter. Her mother was just as much in the dark as she was when her father had died. Neither woman knew where the banking papers were kept, or his will, or any of the important papers. Eventually Catrin had found a metal box with what looked like important papers in it, so she took them to the bank and had a friendly chat with the new manager who pored over the papers. While she sat anxiously in the hard wooden visitor's chair, listening to his wheezy breathing, he studied the documents, turning them face down on his desk with stubby fingers as he finished with each one. Finally, he refolded the last piece of paper and placed them all back in the metal box. He clasped his hands together, placed his arms on his desk up to his elbows, and leaned forward.

Her father had left everything to her mother, the banker informed her, but eventually all assets would come to her, and when her mother died unexpectedly just a few months after her father, they did. She had no delusions that her mother had died of a broken heart, like the couples you read about in the papers when one partner couldn't live without the other. Her mother had just seemed unsure how to be in the world without her father telling her what to do and how to do it every five minutes. In Catrin's opinion, her mother just gave up.

After her father had sold the butcher shop, he invested the proceeds in safe financial instruments that weren't due to mature for another three years. They were earning about as much interest as could be expected, the banker told her, but if she cashed them in now, there would be heavy penalties.

She wished she had someone besides a bank manager she scarcely knew to advise her, someone with her best interests at heart, someone who cared only for her well being and happiness. There had been someone, once, but her father had made sure that came to nothing. A lad had walked home with her after school, but instead of inviting him in for a cup of tea and a bun as other mothers would have done, her mother had closed the door sending the boy away and Catrin to her room. You know what your father's like, she'd said, and we must obey his wishes. Of course the lad had taken no more notice of her. There'd been another boy a year or two later but her parents had not permitted them to walk out together and he eventually married Tegwen, a schoolmate of hers, who was still her closest friend. He and Tegwen were now the parents of two teenage daughters and he was active in the local Rotary and served on the town council. She'd thought of him over the years and wondered why her parents had been so determined to stand in the way of her happiness. She envied Tegwen her happy family life. How different her life would be now if she had a home of her own, a nice little place in the country maybe, filled with the love of a decent man and their children.

She sighed and taking her tea with her, went upstairs. The wooden stairs creaked beneath her feet. At the landing, instead of turning left into her little room with its sloping ceiling, she turned right and pressed down on the latch that opened the door to her parents' slightly larger bedroom.

The curtains were kept drawn, so she pulled them apart, letting in a weak stream of afternoon sunlight that cast a slanted shaft of light across the bed and onto the floor. The air felt stale and close; it was obvious that the room was unoccupied. The furniture was solid and heavy, with two oak chests of drawers, part of a set, against one wall. The taller one with five drawers had belonged to her father. On top of the shorter one, which had belonged to her mother, sat two framed photos and a silver-backed hairbrush. She picked up a photo and tilted it toward the window. Her mother, her hair upswept in a beehive hairdo and wearing a sleeveless summer dress, gazed lovingly at the little girl in her arms. Catrin's eyes filled with tears as she set the faded colour photo back on the chest of drawers and picked up the hairbrush.

Her mother had never asked for much, but had always longed for a dressing table with three mirrors, lots of drawers, and a matching stool that tucked away when not in use, but her stern father had refused to have such an item of furniture in the house, saying it catered to a woman's vanity and would set a bad example for Catrin.

Hairbrush in hand, Catrin sat on the edge of the bed. The worn mattress on its ancient, metal bedsprings sagged beneath her weight. They should have been replaced years ago, and if she did get in a lodger, she'd have to find the money for a new set of box springs with a decent mattress. She looked down and ran her fingers lightly over the handmade quilt that had covered her parents' double bed for as long as she could remember. When she was very small and home from school sick, her mother had wrapped her in the quilt and kept her downstairs on the sofa where she could keep an eye on her as she went about her tasks. But she'd made sure Catrin was back upstairs in her bed by the time her father came home and the quilt returned to its place on their bed.

The pattern was a simple geometric design of turquoise triangles on a white background. Catrin had never really thought about it before, but now she considered it rather modern in its choice of colour and its clean, uncluttered design.

She was sure her mother must have told her who had sewn it, but she couldn't remember—either her grandmother or great-grandmother. Probably her great-grandmother as a young girl, as the initials JB in a circle had been carefully embroidered on the bottom layer. Her great-grandmother's maiden name was Jane Bellis, so it was likely her. That's the trouble with family history, Catrin was starting to realize. When your parents are telling you about your grandparents and great-grandparents you don't care. And then, when you're older and you do care, your parents are no longer alive to answer questions or recount family history.

She stood up and opened the wardrobe door. It was past time—she should have got rid of this lot months ago. She pulled out her father's Sunday best suit and his white shirts and laid them on the bed. She'd bundle them up in the morning for the charity shop, although they were so worn and outdated she doubted anyone would want them. Her mother's skirts and dresses would be a little more difficult to part with, but they had to go, too. She'd bring in some bags tomorrow and get that done. There was no point in holding on to these garments and the memories they held any longer.

The last thing she saw before she closed the door was her father's suit on the bed. She shifted it onto the room's only chair and then surveyed the quilt as an idea began to nibble at the edges of her mind.

But for now, she'd better hurry if she was to catch the 2:10 bus as her friend Tegwen didn't like to be kept waiting. It was all very well for her; her husband had bought her that little car to run about in. But if Catrin was just a minute or two late, Tegwen would punish her for about half an hour with cool indifference. Then she'd warm up and the two would be best friends again, just like they'd been in their school days, laughing and chatting about everything in general and nothing in particular.