Penny was surprised when her telephone rang at eight on Sunday morning. She was even more surprised that her early morning caller was a police officer asking if she and another officer could come around immediately to ask her a few questions.
Although most people would have asked what it was about, Penny just agreed to meet with them and said she would wait for them downstairs in the shop.
A few minutes later Morgan and Davies were on her doorstep.
It was a lovely morning, the start of a perfect June day, with a fresh, light breeze gently stirring the treetops under a cloudless blue sky.
“Would you like to talk in the shop or do you want to go up to the flat?” Penny asked. “I must tell you I’m a little nervous. Should I offer you a cup of tea or coffee? I don’t often get visits from the police, so it’s a bit … well, you know.”
Davies smiled reassuringly at her, taking in her red hair and trim figure.
“Actually, I do know. Well, first things first, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Gareth Davies and this is Detective Sergeant Bethan Morgan, and thank you, no, we’ll not trouble you for a drink. We’re fine.”
Morgan smiled encouragingly at Penny.
“And let me begin by apologizing for troubling you at this hour, but we need to get an early start today. If you’re planning to get to church, we’ll try not to keep you,” he added.
Penny led the way into the shop.
“This will do nicely,” Davies said, as he and Morgan sat in the two clients’ chairs and Penny pulled up a seat to face them. “I expect you know why we’re here.”
Penny looked blankly at him, her face clouded and troubled. “No,” she said, “absolutely not. I’ve not got the faintest idea why you’re here.”
The two officers looked at each another and Davies took the lead.
“Well, we’re investigating a missing persons report. Meg Wynne Thompson has gone missing.”
“But she can’t be,” Penny exclaimed. “She just got married yesterday. What on earth could have happened to her?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Morgan, “and as far as our investigation goes, you’re ground zero.”
“Sorry, I’m not taking this in,” Penny said, looking from one to the other. “I’m not following you.”
“We’re not doing a very good job of explaining this,” Davies said. “Let’s go back to the beginning.
“According to the information we have, Meg Wynne Thompson came to your shop yesterday morning for a manicure.”
“That’s right,” Penny said. “She did. It was nine o’clock, the first appointment of the day. She was right on time, which I liked.”
“Good,” said Davies. “Right, well, she came here for a manicure, and so far, we haven’t been able to trace her movements after that, so you’ll understand now why we’re here. At this point, we believe you were the last person to have seen her.”
Penny struggled to make sense of what she was hearing.
“I’m staggered. Are you saying that after she left my shop she just disappeared?” She sat back as Davies gave her a bit more time to think about what she had just been told.
“And she didn’t show up for her wedding?” Penny asked.
“That is correct.”
“Oh, poor Emyr. That’s terrible, just terrible.”
“So now, Miss Brannigan, is it? I need to know everything that happened here yesterday. Start at the beginning if you don’t mind, and walk me through it. Don’t leave anything out. The sergeant here will take notes.”
Penny walked over to the small work desk against the far wall, and picked up a burgundy appointment book and small metal box.
She returned to Davies and opened the book to show him the page for Saturday.
“Here she is,” Penny said, pointing to an entry. “She was here at nine for a manicure. It was uneventful, ordinary.”
Morgan was writing frantically while Davies, paying close attention, leaned slightly forward, maintaining eye contact.
“What was she wearing?”
“Hmm. Let me think.” Penny paused for a moment and looked away.
“She had on a kind of pink plaid boxy jacket with fringe, just along here,” Penny said, running her hands down an imaginary lapel. “Blue jeans, I think, and some kind of strappy sandals. Fancy shoes like the other two girls were wearing when they were here on Friday. People were saying how totally inappropriate those shoes were for the country. Just silly, really.”
“What did you talk about?” Morgan asked.
“Not much, actually. The usual client chitchat. She didn’t seem to want to talk. She did say, though, that she had chosen peonies for her flowers and it wouldn’t be long before everyone would want them. She said she’d even designed a special peony fragrance for herself. She seemed very sure of herself, very confident with her choices.”
“Did she seem troubled, or upset, or anything like that?”
“No, she didn’t. But come to think of it, she didn’t seem very nervous or excited, either, the way most brides are on their wedding day. Not that I see that many of them.”
“Really? I would have thought wedding parties would be a natural for a business like yours,” Davies said.
“Oh they are. I just don’t get to see them on their wedding day. Bridal parties are usually done the day before. There’s too much to do on the day, and the manicure takes up too much time, and then your nails are a bit tacky and you can’t get on with things. So I was rather surprised when Meg Wynne made the appointment for yesterday, not Friday. The other girls came in on Friday. Anne and the other one.”
“Jennifer.”
“That’s it. They seemed like nice girls. Very supportive of their friend. So that was all there was to the manicure. Wait a minute! Yes, right, one of the bridesmaids, I can’t remember which one it was, came by yesterday, around lunchtime, asking if Meg Wynne had been here and did I know where she went afterwards. I did wonder about that at the time and then I thought no more about it.”
She thumped her forehead lightly with the heel of her hand.
“Of course. I should have realized then that there was a problem, but I never would have dreamed that she wouldn’t turn up for her wedding. That’s the last thing you’d expect.”
Davies continued to look at Penny, while Morgan stole a glance at her watch.
“Right, well, you’ve been very helpful and we appreciate that,” he said. “Just a couple more questions. How long did the manicure take and did she say where she was going after she left you?”
“It took about forty-five minutes, a bit longer, maybe. And no, she didn’t say where she was going. I just assumed she would be going back to the hotel or somewhere for hair and makeup and all the rest of it.”
Morgan folded up her notebook and looked expectantly at her boss.
“One more thing. I wonder if you can tell us what you were doing yesterday.”
Penny gave him a puzzled look.
“Me? I had a full morning in the shop until about lunchtime, and then I walked up to Ffridd Uchaf to go sketching. I like to work with the afternoon light, see. When I got back, I tidied everything up. I have to do the accounts on Saturday, if I’m to have any hope of staying on top of them. Then I had an early supper and read a chapter or two of the new Maeve Binchy. I watched a bit of television, and then went to bed. I don’t lead a very exciting life, I’m afraid. Very dull and predictable it is, to be honest.” A moment later she added, “Why would you even ask that? You surely don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you? I didn’t even know the woman, for goodness sake.”
“I was wondering why you hadn’t heard about the wedding, that’s all, and obviously it was because you were away from the town.”
After a few moments of silence, Penny followed up with something that had just occurred to her.
“I guess it will be on the news,” she said.
“Oh, it’s got all the ingredients,” Morgan agreed. “This story’ll be all over the news today. You may get some calls from reporters, once they figure out you were one of the last people to see Meg Wynne Thompson.”
“I hope not,” Penny said, looking from one to the other. “I don’t like the sound of that. What should I say if a reporter calls?”
“Just confirm she was here,” Morgan said. “They shouldn’t bother you for any more than a day or two. Everything blows over quickly, and they move on to the next thing.”
The two police officers stood up.
“What’s in the box?” Davies asked, looking at the box Penny had brought over with the appointment book.
“It’s the box I keep client cards in,” Penny said. “I write down the date of each client visit, and what colour of polish she chose.”
“Is that really necessary?” Davies asked.
“It is,” Penny said. “I used to get customers coming in and they’d say, ‘I didn’t like the last polish as much as the one I had the time before that,’ and they’d expect me to remember what that was, so I started keeping notes on what polish they have, and then it’s all very simple. So I have a note here that tells me what Meg Wynne had. I could also tell you what the bridesmaids had, if you need to know that.”
“I think that’s one detail too many,” smiled Davies, “but you never know. Here’s my card,” he added, handing one to Penny. “Call me if you remember anything else you think we should know, even if you think it’s not important. Don’t hesitate to call.”
A few minutes later the officers were setting off to walk the short distance to the Red Dragon Hotel where the manager was expecting them.
“What did you think, sir?”
“I thought she was genuine and uncomplicated. She told us what she knew and that’s it and all about it.”
For now, thought Morgan.
When the police officers were gone, Penny went upstairs to her flat and put the kettle on. Maybe they didn’t want a coffee, she thought, but I certainly do. While she waited for the water to boil she wandered into her bedroom and riffled through her closet. Although she hadn’t planned on going to church that morning, the police visit had got her thinking and she didn’t want to be on her own. Anyway, there might be news. She reached into the closet and pulled out a navy blue shirtwaist dress with hunting scenes on it that she had bought at a charity shop in Llandudno. That’ll do, she thought.
At Ty Brith, Rhys Gruffydd’s condition had worsened overnight and the doctor had been called. After spending a few minutes with her patient, she talked quietly with Emyr outside his father’s room.
“He is in decline, I’m sorry to say, and I don’t think the end will be too long in coming. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. He will likely be comatose at the end, so my advice would be that if you have anything left unsaid, or if there’s anything you want to ask him, now’s the time. We’ll continue to keep him comfortable, but that’s really all that’s left for us to do. Is there anything you want to ask me?”
Emyr shook his head.
“You go back in,” the doctor told him. “I’ll show myself out.”
Emyr quietly opened the door to his father’s room and made his way to the bedside chair. He sat down and took his father’s hand.
“Dad, it’s me,” he said gently. Rhys turned his head toward the sound of his son’s voice, opened his eyes, and gazed lovingly at his only child in the peaceful glow of the muted sunshine that filtered through the beige blinds.
“Ah, Emyr,” he said softly. “I can guess what she told you and I have come to accept it. Don’t worry about me. I am just so sorry to have to be adding to your troubles with everything else you have to worry about.”
“Dad, you mustn’t think that,” Emyr said.
“Emyr, there’s something I wanted to say to you about Meg Wynne. I know some people don’t like her, they think she’s arrogant and above herself, but she reminded me in a lot of ways of your mother.”
“Oh, Dad, please don’t”
“I have to, Emyr. I need to say these things, and I want you to hear me out.”
Rhys paused for a few moments.
“Water, please.”
Emyr held the glass to his father’s lips. Rhys took a delicate sip through the bent straw and nodded. Emyr replaced the glass on the bedside table and then sat down.
“I’m not stupid,” Rhys continued. “I know exactly what kind of woman Meg Wynne is. I understood her because I’d seen it all before. And what’s more, I believe I know what she would have become, once she realized that no one was going to hurt her anymore, and that she was safe with you. She needs you. And you need her. She’s a very smart, strong woman.
“In the end, once she’d learned to trust, she would have come to love you, truly love you, and I think you two would have had a wonderful life together. Like your mother and I did.”
The effort of speaking had tired him, and Rhys sank deeper into his bed and himself. He picked at the duvet covering his sunken chest.
“I’m going to rest now. I don’t think I’ll be getting up again. Not today, anyway.”
The day before, the area outside the church doors had been crowded with wedding guests in their finery, but today it was the usual Sunday morning crowd, and then some. Morning service had attracted quite a few lapsed churchgoers, all hoping to hear the latest news on the missing bride. They filed into the cool interior of the church, took their seats, and as the rustling stopped and whispered chatter died down, the rector took his place in front of them and morning service began.
“Bore da,” he said. “Good morning. Let us pray.”
At the nearby Red Dragon Hotel, Davies and Morgan were in hotel manager John Burton’s office, watching him open the safe.
“Yes,” he said. “Here we are,” as he looked at the entries in an old-fashioned leather-bound book and then peered into the depths of an equally old-fashioned wall-mounted safe. “Everything’s in order. She, that is Meg Wynne Thompson, left two items with me and here they are.”
“One small box, green, embossed CYM in a gold oval with gold dragon,” he read.
“One wooden presentation box with a small gold-coloured pentagon with a ‘CG’ on the top.”
The manager set them down on his desk, within easy reach of the police officers, stepped back, and folding his hands together, chuckled nervously and waited.
Morgan picked up the first box, and opened it.
Inside was a plain gold man’s wedding band.
“That’ll be Welsh gold,” said the manager, peering at it. “They say pure Welsh gold is now the most valuable of all the precious metals.”
“The royal family’s wedding rings are made from Welsh gold, aren’t they?” asked Morgan.
“Indeed they are,” said Burton. “It’s become very rare since the Clogau mine closed down. Supply and demand, don’t you know.”
Clogau rose gold, the rarest and most expensive in the world, was discovered in 1854 at the Clogau St. David’s mine near Dolgellau in Snowdonia. By 1998, the gold seam had become too thin to work, and the mining operation was closed, leaving only the reserves.
Morgan snapped the lid shut and set the box down on the desk.
Letting out a small sigh, she picked up the other one, and opened it.
A smile lit up her face as she showed the box to the two men.
“You’ll appreciate this, Mr. Burton,” she said, pleased with her little joke.
Nestled inside was a Welsh dragon brooch, its fiery red-gold wings gleaming against the white satin lining.
“Well, everything seems to be in order here, then,” said Davies. “And this is all you had?”
“Let me just make sure,” said the manager, looking again at the register. “No, wait. There should be two more. Two others were brought in after these ones. They were listed in her name, but she didn’t entrust them to us herself.”
He reached into the safe and withdrew the two boxes that Anne and Jennifer had given to the night clerk late Friday night.
The men watched as Morgan examined the chandelier drop earrings and diamond hair clip. It was difficult to tell what she was thinking, but Davies knew she had to be feeling something like envy and longing.
Silently she handed the boxes back to Burton, who replaced them in the safe.
He hesitated for a moment, and then, leaning forward with his hands braced on the desk, looked at Davies.
“I hope I’m not being insensitive here,” he said, “but I was wondering about the rooms and how long they would be needed. And also, what if Ms. Thompson doesn’t come back? How long should I keep the jewellery boxes? Who should I give them to? Should I give them to her parents, or her fiancé? It’s a bit difficult to know what to do for the best, and I wondered if you would be kind enough to explain to me what our position is here at the hotel?”
Davies scratched the back of his neck and thought for a moment.
“Yes, I do understand that all this is a bit tricky for you. Let’s talk about the rooms first. I expect the bridesmaids and her parents will be leaving today, as planned, and as for her room, we are going to go through it again this morning, and then we’ll release it to you, and the contents to her parents.”
Burton, listening carefully, nodded.
“This jewellery now, is a bit different,” Davies continued. “Why don’t we hold it for you? We’ll take it off your hands and give you a receipt for it, and that way, if there’s any disagreement over it later, that won’t be your problem.”
Burton nodded gratefully.
“Of course, what we hope will happen is she’ll turn up within a day or two in London or somewhere, and then we’ll make sure everything is returned to her.”
With a relieved smile, Burton turned away again to remove the boxes from the safe once more.
“All right then?” said Davies. “Very good. Thank you so much for all your help. If you would put those boxes in a bag—any old bag will do—the sergeant here will give you a receipt for them and we’ll pick them up on our way out. When we’re finished upstairs, we’ll take the tape down, and let you know on the way out that we’ve finished with the room.
“Oh, and here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else, no matter how trivial or unimportant it might seem to you.”
Davies and Morgan made their way upstairs to Meg Wynne’s room, checked that the tape across the door had not been disturbed, and then peeled it away.
Everything was as they had left it the evening before, but now, in the bright sunlight of a beautiful June morning, the room felt stale, closed in, and lifeless.
“Let’s see what we can find,” Davies said. “Handbag, credit cards, money, address book, diary, passport, receipts, anything and everything like that. I’ll start over here, including the closet,” he said, pointing toward the window side of the room. “You do over there, the dresser, and bathroom.”
They worked their way around the room for about twenty minutes without speaking. There was the occasional sound of a drawer opening and closing, clothes hangers being pushed along the rail, bedclothes being turned over, and one or two cracks of protest from Davies’s knees as he bent down and stood up again.
Morgan held the curtains back to check the windowsill and then, opening the drawer in the nightstand, glanced in. She leaned closer, then withdrew something and called out to her boss.
“Why on earth would she be reading this?” she asked, holding a slim volume entitled Street Drugs. “I would have thought something from the Shopaholics series would have been more in her line.”
Davies glanced over and then held out his hand. She crossed over to him and handed over the book. He thumbed through it, shook his head, and gave it back to his sergeant.
“Go through it carefully, see if any pages are marked and make a note of it. You’re right, it does seem strange.”
A few minutes later Davies crossed his arms and looked around the room.
“Right,” Davies instructed. “That’s it. We’ve done all we can. We’ll notify the manager that we’re finished and he can let her parents take her things. If they want them.”
He glanced at his watch and then gestured at Morgan to get ready to leave.
“Our bulletin should be on the noon news. Let’s hope it gets results. And now, let’s follow up with surveillance tapes of the street that might show which way she went. We’re looking for, say, nine A.M. and later. We’ll leave no stone unturned.”
They stepped out into the hall and just as Davies was about to close the door, Morgan stuck her foot in front of it to keep it open.
“I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder as she headed back into the room.
A few moments later, she returned, holding up a scrap of yellow paper.
“It looks as if she was writing something, changed her mind, and then tore it up. A first draft of a letter, maybe. This little piece was hiding under the wastepaper basket. Probably fell out when it was emptied. It was you saying that about no stone unturned that made me realize I should have looked under the bin.”
She smiled up at him.
“Good work,” said Davies. “Now I wonder. What do you suppose it can tell us?”