I’m old fashioned,” Davies said to her a few days later. “I’ll call for you. Sevenish suit you? We’ll talk about it then.”
It was a beautiful evening with hours of daylight left as the two of them made their silent, awkward way in the direction of The Leek and Lily. The street was crowded with townsfolk enjoying the fine summer weather as they did a bit of late shopping or ran a last-minute errand.
Penny and Davies, both dreading the chat to come, didn’t take much notice of their fellow pedestrians, least of all a good-looking man wearing a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes who passed them headed in the other direction. He stopped, shifted the cellophane-wrapped bouquet of flowers he was carrying from one arm to the other, and waited under the awning of the stationery store until they turned the corner into the High Street, and then he crossed the street and headed up Station Road.
A few minutes later Victoria, who was just settling in with a magazine and a glass of wine, was startled when the bell in the flat rang to announce someone at the salon door. Thinking Penny must have forgotten her keys and come back to get them, rather than risk waking her up if she returned late, Victoria hurried down the stairs to let her in.
“Oh hello,” she said as she opened the door. “What gorgeous flowers! Who are they for?”
Penny entered the pub first, and Davies, ducking his head slightly, followed her in. Two steps down to the right and they were in the large, welcoming main room. Mercifully, it had somehow been spared the modernizing trend of the 1980s, and retained a look from a much earlier period. The low ceiling featured genuine oak beams, the whitewashed walls had lovely old prints of Llanelen’s historic ties to the local quarry, and there wasn’t a pseudo horse brass in sight. Facing them as they entered the room was a large fireplace, empty and cold now, but when the nights began to draw in, it would provide the welcome warmth, comfort, and soft, flattering light that it had since the pub opened in the 1920s. And best of all, the real look of the place went with the real ale it served.
Along two walls were large tables with bench-type seating and smaller tables were scattered throughout with simple wooden chairs. The pub was about half full, and as Penny and Davies entered, a few regulars stopped their conversations long enough to look at the newcomers and then went back to their pints.
“White wine is it? Davies asked.
“No,” said Penny. “Better make it a large G and T, please.”
“Right,” said Davies. “Be right back.”
He made his way over to the bar, spoke a few words to the amiable barmaid, affectionately known as Lily, and returned in a couple of minutes with their drinks. Setting them down on the table, he looked around for a moment before taking a seat opposite Penny.
“Not too many in tonight,” he commented.
“No, not yet,” agreed Penny. “I don’t come here very often, but when I do, I ask myself why I haven’t been back sooner. I like it but I’m just not a pub person, I guess. Well, cheers,” she added as she picked up her drink and raised it toward Davies.
“Cheers,” he replied and then took a sip from his pint of Honey Fayre, the locally brewed beer.
“Mmm,” he said. “That’s good.”
The tension hung in the air between them like thick, acrid smoke.
He hadn’t spoken to her since the sighting in Llandudno, sending Bethan to interview her and Victoria. You could see the steam coming of out his ears, Bethan had told them, when he’d heard about their clumsy attempt to discover the mysterious woman’s identity. By the time the police got there, Bethan said, she’d undoubtedly been tipped off, probably by the desk clerk, and was long gone. Not only that, but Emyr had apparently gone missing. Penny had apologized profusely to Bethan and had been dreading the moment when she would have to face Davies.
Now that he’d had a chance to cool down, he was ready to discuss it. He cleared his throat.
“You did exactly what I asked you not to do,” he told Penny sternly. “Not only did you put yourselves at risk, but if you’d done this by the book, we might have had her in for questioning by now. I told you to leave it to us, and I wish you had.”
He sighed and took another sip of his beer.
“I can’t tell you how sorry we are,” Penny said. “We didn’t know what to do for the best and we thought we were doing the right thing.”
Unable to look at him, she gazed around the pub and welcomed the diversion of a group of regulars calling out greetings to one of their mates who had just arrived.
A short, middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion that gave the impression of long years of outdoor work, waved to a group sitting around a corner table and made his way over to them, leading a black-and-white, medium-sized dog of uncertain parentage on a lead.
His cronies greeted them and slid down the bench to make room for the two of them. The dog hopped up on the seat and the man unfastened the lead, placed it on the table and, announcing it was his round, took the drinks orders from his companions and walked over to the bar.
The man sitting beside the dog put his arm around it and gave it a friendly pat. The dog looked at him and then, its lips drawn back in what passed for a smile, panted lightly and looked happily and expectantly around the room.
Penny watched all this play out and then turned back to Davies.
“That’s Mackie, and the dog’s called Buster,” she explained. “Mrs. Lloyd told me that he rescued the dog from an abusive owner, and they’ve been together ever since. Mackie does odd jobs, a bit of gardening, clearing out your gutters, that sort of thing, and takes the dog everywhere with him. Just adores him… .” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the group.
“What is it?” Davies asked.
“I’ve just remembered something Gwennie told Victoria.”
She got up slowly and made her way to the table. Davies watched as she leaned over to give the dog a pat and then spoke briefly to the man sitting beside him.
She turned around to face Davies, holding the dog’s lead. Unlike a simple, old-fashioned leather leash, this one was retractable, designed to give a dog the chance of a bit of controlled roaming. On the business end was a clip that attached to the dog’s collar, then a short strip of heavy nylon banding about an inch wide, and then a long cord like a stout fishing line that disappeared into a heavy blue plastic case with a built-in handle. Davies watched as Penny grasped the case in her right hand and taking the clip end in her left hand, slowly wrapped the band two or three times around her hand as she carefully pulled the lead from the case until she had exposed about two feet of heavy nylon cording.
Now what she held was a formidable weapon.
Allowing the cord to rewind inside the case, she made a heavy chopping motion with it.
Davies licked a trace of foam from his top lip and set his glass down on the table. Mirroring his action, Penny set the lead down on the table, nodded her thanks to the mystified men, and returned to Davies.
“Remind you of anything?” she asked softly. “What do you think? Imagine the case is red plastic instead of blue. And Gwennie told Victoria that the dog’s lead went missing the morning Meg Wynne disappeared.”
“We’ll have to ask Gwennie about the dog’s lead and interview the wedding boys again,” he said. “Find out if the groom had time for a little dog walking.” As the frosty, formal atmosphere between them began to thaw, Penny felt a slight glimmer of hope that she might have redeemed herself.
“Too bad we can’t just ask Trixxi,” said Penny. “She’d know.”
“Trixxi?”
“Emyr’s dog.”
Davis nodded and took another sip. A few minutes later Penny set down her drink and looked at him.
“I don’t know why,” she said, “but I’ve got a bad feeling and I’ve suddenly started to feel anxious. I need to go home.”
“Right,” agreed Davies. “Let’s be off.”
They made their way back to the flat more quickly than they had come, scarcely speaking.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Davies said. “I have to get in touch right now with Sgt. Morgan and prepare to track down Emyr and the rest of them. She’s been in London for a couple of days checking out Meg Wynne Thompson’s life there but so far she hasn’t turned up anything that we think concerns us.”
As they approached the salon, they slowed down and Davies looked at Penny.
“Look,” he said, “things are going to speed up now, and I don’t think this case is going to go on for too much longer. But once it’s wrapped up and all this is behind us, I hope that we can, that you’ll …”
They had stopped in front off the salon and Davies reached out to Penny and putting his arm around her waist, pulled her gently toward him. She reached out to steady herself and as she touched the door to the salon, it opened a couple of inches.
Reacting to the startled look on her face, Davies turned to look at the door and immediately understood.
Gesturing to Penny to stand to one side, he pushed open the door and cautiously looked in.
“Oh God, no!” he said as he sprang through the door.
“What is it?” said Penny as she charged in after him. “What’s happened?”
Reaching for his mobile phone, Davies gestured at the floor and a few moments later was speaking rapidly into his mobile.
“It’s Davies. I need an ambulance to the manicure salon on Station Road in Llanelen. We have a woman here who seems to be unconscious.” He bent down and touched Victoria’s forehead. “Her skin is very hot and flushed. Sweaty. Oh, and we’ll need officers, too. Quick as you can.”
Penny was crouching beside the limp Victoria, stroking her hair, gently lifting her up. A small moan escaped from her lips and Penny bent closer as Victoria struggled to speak.
She looked up at Davies, with tears in her eyes.
“She said ‘die’. She told me she’s going to die,” Penny whispered. “And look.”
Mixed in with the broken blossoms strewn across the hardwood floor was a syringe.