The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,58

fiancée had died so closely together.

But of course, it was the way his fiancée had died that held their attention, although not much was known about the details.

As Penny and Victoria set up shop for the day’s business, they eagerly discussed what they now considered their case.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Victoria. “I’ll sit in the chair where la femme we’re cherchez-ing sat, you sit where you sat, and we’ll go over everything just like it happened that morning. Maybe something will come to you. After all, this is where it all started.”

“Oh, good one,” said Penny as she dashed across the room and sat down on her stool. “Here,” she said, flapping her hand at the client’s chair across from her, “sit down. We’ve only got a few minutes.”

“Right,” said Victoria a few moments later, offering up her hand. “Here we are, then. You’re you and I’m the mystery woman. What happened next?”

Penny took up Victoria’s hand and looked at it critically.

“Well, it was the usual manicure, and we talked about the wedding, because there’s me thinking she’s the bride. Well, I wouldn’t have any reason to think otherwise, would I?” She put Victoria’s hand on the table and sat back and looked at her.

“But now that I think about it,” Penny said, wagging a finger, “she was very sure of herself, very confident. You wouldn’t have thought for a minute she was getting married that day, because usually brides are fluttery and nervous, if you know what I mean. In a state of heightened excitement. Can barely control themselves.”

Victoria nodded but said nothing, leaving Penny to follow silently where her train of thought was taking her. After a few moments Penny got up, slowly walked over to her supply cupboard, took a few items out, and returned to the table with three cotton balls in a small silver-coloured bowl and a bottle of nail varnish remover. She shook some varnish remover onto a cotton ball, picked up Victoria’s hand, and started removing the polish.

“Sorry,” she said. “Can’t help myself.” She wiped away at another nail and then set Victoria’s hand down and looked at her friend.

“But this one,” she went on thoughtfully, “this woman was businesslike. Professional. Well, yes, confident. That’s just the best word for it.”

She picked up the hand again, looked at all the nails, wagged her head left and right, set the hand down, and reached for the other one. Her face clouded over as she struggled to capture a fleeting thought.

“What is it?” Victoria said softly.

“It’s something she said that struck me at the time as being a bit, oh, I don’t know, not over the top but indicative of how self-important she was, how full of herself. She said something like she wasn’t having roses at her wedding. No, she was going for peonies and lily of the valley. Peonies, she said, would be the next big thing and she’d even designed a peony-based fragrance for herself … it almost made me laugh until I thought she might just be right. I’ve always thought peonies hugely underrated, as flowers go, not that I know that much about them but they’re beautiful to paint.”

Suddenly, a knock on the shop door snapped them back to the reality that Penny’s working day was about to begin.

“Oh God, it’s the first client, and we aren’t really ready yet,” yelped Penny. “You let her in, while I just finish up here.”

“You’d better give me the bottle of nail varnish remover, then,” said Victoria. “I’ve got one hand on and one hand off.”

“Oh, right. Well, we’ll take care of that at lunchtime. We’ve got to finish this conversation. I think it’s going somewhere, but I’m not sure where. The reenactment really helped bring it all back. It’s too bad we have to stop now.”

“Morning, sir. Feeling better?”

Davies gave his sergeant a small, tight smile, nodded in acknowledgement, and made his way to his desk.

“Anything come in overnight that we need to look at?” he asked as he placed his morning cup of coffee on his desk and sat down heavily.

“There’s this, sir,” she said, offering him a large white envelope marked CONFIDENTIAL in large red letters. “It’s the autopsy report and photos. The strangulation and head bashing you know about.”

He nodded.

“But they found something else. Embedded in her upper right arm they found a needle from a syringe. It was broken off and twisted at an angle as if she’d wrenched her arm away from the person who was