The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,60

bottle of polish from the third row and showed it to her customer. When the customer nodded, Penny sat down and began to apply the varnish.

“Don’t look now, dear, but I think you have a peeping Tom,” said Mrs. Lloyd, who had returned to have her nails redone after her regular manicure had ended so abruptly with what she was now referring to as “that unfortunate business over my hat.”

“There’s someone watching you through the door.” Penny turned to look, and seeing who it was, smiled and waved at him to come in.

Twenty

Good morning, Chief Inspector,” said Penny as Davies cautiously pushed open the door. “Do come in. This is Mrs. Lloyd, one of my regular clients. Mrs. Lloyd, this is Detective Chief Inspector Davies. He’s leading the Meg Wynne Thompson investigation.”

Mrs. Lloyd gave the police officer a careful once-over and then nodded pleasantly. “Ah, Inspector,” she said. “Very clever of you to find me here, especially as this isn’t my regular day, is it Penny dear? No, I was wondering why you hadn’t been to see me before this, but never mind that, you’re here now. What would you like to know?”

Mrs. Lloyd sat back expectantly while Davies collected himself and Penny tried to hide her amusement. Slowly he approached the table where she was sitting.

“What exactly do you have to tell me?” he asked.

“Well, I would have thought you’d be around to take a statement,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “You and that lady officer of yours. I know you’ve been talking to people, and I was there and saw everything, and yet you haven’t spoken to me yet.”

“You were?” Davies asked incredulously. “What did you see, exactly?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Lloyd impatiently. “I was in the church when they made the announcement that the bride was missing. I was almost in the front pew so not much got past me.”

“It never does,” said Penny, looking intently at Mrs. Lloyd’s nails.

“Well, that’s very true,” agreed Mrs. Lloyd with a modest degree of smug satisfaction. “I was the postmistress here for many years, and as you probably know, Inspector, in the post office we’re trained to be observant. In an important position like that, you hear and see just about everything. Of course, discretion comes into it, too, but you learn to tell the difference between what’s important and what’s not.”

“Rather like police work, perhaps?” suggested Penny, smothering a smile.

“Exactly!” exclaimed Mrs. Lloyd.

“Now, then, Inspector, shall I start at the beginning and tell you everything that happened that morning? Why don’t you pull one of those chairs over here and sit beside me?”

Fifteen minutes later, Mrs. Lloyd was wrapping up her version of events as Penny was applying the top coat to her nails.

“And so, that was just about it, Inspector. The rector made the announcement and we all made our way across to the hotel for some refreshments. It was all such a pity. And such a waste, too. The church had never looked more beautiful. It seemed like there were stands of lovely flowers everywhere. Pink, they were, and very blowsy and fragrant. Peonies, I think they were but where anyone would get peonies now, I don’t know. They’ve been over for weeks.” Penny started and dropped her brush, leaving a little puddle of clear fluid on the work surface which she quickly wiped away with a cotton ball.

Mrs. Lloyd took no notice, but Davies’s shoulders hunched forward slightly.

“Sorry,” said Penny, recovering. “I think that you’re done now, Mrs. Lloyd. Just sit there for a moment while they dry.”

But Mrs. Lloyd was now deep into her recollections of the wedding that wasn’t.

“I wonder in a situation like that what happened to the flowers? They weren’t in the church on Sunday, were they? Were they donated to a local hospital or hospice do you think?”

She looked from one to the other.

“Or maybe to one of the old folks homes. Yes, that’s probably where they went. Someplace where they could do a bit of good.”

She blew on her nails.

“And, my goodness, what about all that lovely food? Went home with the hotel staff, I shouldn’t wonder. Well, as I said, what a shameful waste it all was. Not that it was the poor girl’s fault, of course, as things turned out, but I did ask myself at the time if it wasn’t simply a matter of cold feet. Although with a catch like Emyr, that would be hard to fathom, wouldn’t it?” She looked brightly at the two of them, and then,