The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,41
too. Would it be breaking the rules, do you think, if I blended the two views, as it were? Do you think the two focal points would work?”
She peered anxiously at Penny.
“I’d be so grateful if you would just take a look at them and let me know what you think. No hurry.” She handed the packet of photos over to Penny, who tucked them in her bag and then introduced Alywnne to Victoria.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” said Alwynne. “Must go. Have to get back to the office. We’re working a new exhibit for fall. Photos taken during World War Two. So sorry about Emma, Penny, but it was a lovely service.”
Penny and Victoria watched her leave and then sat together in companionable silence as the room began to empty.
“Have you ever noticed that when one person leaves, it seems to give everyone else permission to go, too?” Penny asked. “Funny, that.
“Anyway, if you’re going to be around a bit,” she said, handing over a business card, “why don’t you give me a call and perhaps we can meet up for a coffee or lunch.”
“I’d love to,” Victoria said. “Actually, I might come around for a manicure. Haven’t had one in ages.”
After saying good-bye to acquaintances, accepting a few condolences, and thanking Bronwyn again, Penny made her way out of the hotel and headed for home.
On the way she stopped into the Spar to pick up a few things for dinner, along with the local newspaper.
A few minutes later she let herself into the shop, checked her telephone for messages, jotted down a couple of telephone numbers, and then made her way upstairs.
She put the food in the fridge and poured herself a glass of water, went to her desk, telephoned the clients who had left messages, and took their bookings.
She then turned to the paper, whose front-page story, written by Morwyn Lloyd, was all about Llanelen’s missing bride. After glancing at the engagement photo of Meg Wynne Thompson, Penny began reading the article, wondering if she had been mentioned.
POLICE SEEK MISSING BRIDE shouted the headline.
Police are seeking the public’s assistance in locating Meg Wynne Thompson, who mysteriously disappeared on the morning of her wedding to Emyr Gruffydd, only son of local landowner Rhys Gruffydd.
“We have absolutely no idea where she is or what could have happened to her,” said Gruffydd’s friend and best man, David Williams. “We are asking anyone who has seen her to please come forward.”
Ms. Thompson was last seen on Saturday morning having a manicure at the Happy Hands salon, Station Road, owned by Penny Brannigan.
“It was straightforward, really,” said Ms. Brannigan. “I did her nails, and she left the shop about ten A.M. I assumed she would be going back to the hotel to complete her preparations for the wedding.”
Thinking that Morwyn had done a good job quoting her accurately, Penny’s eyes drifted back to the photo. She looked at it closely, looked away, and then, pressing her fingers over her mouth, scrutinized it. She took off her reading glasses and held the paper closer to her face. Finally satisfied, she folded up the paper and set it on the table.
She sat back, folded her arms, and thought for a few moments, and then got up and grabbed her handbag off the counter. She scrabbled about inside until she found what she was looking for, and then picking up the telephone, carefully dialled the number on the card she now held in her hand.
Then, she took one last glance at the newspaper.
“Oh, hello, it’s Penny Brannigan here. I did the manicure on Saturday morning for Meg Wynne Thompson, the missing bride.”
“Yes, Miss Brannigan. How can we help you?”
“Well, it’s just that the officer, the chief inspector, Mr. Davies, gave me his card and asked me to call him if I thought of anything else.”
“And have you?” asked Morgan. “Thought of anything else?”
“Well, no, not really, that’s not it exactly,” said Penny. “But I’d like to know if that woman whose photo is in the paper today, Meg Wynne Thompson, is that really her photo?”
“Yes,” said Morgan, “that’s the photo we were provided with. That’s her. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just that I’m pretty sure that the woman in that photo is not the woman who came to me on Saturday morning for a manicure. If that’s the real Meg Wynne Thompson, then the woman I saw was not.”
Thirteen
Morgan was silent for a moment while she considered what she had just heard.