The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,62

don’t go there,” he said sternly. “I know you feel you’re involved in this case, and you’ve been very helpful. But the last thing we need now is a couple of amateur detectives—you and your chum upstairs. We’re the police, we’ve got resources, and we know what we’re doing.”

As Penny raised her eyebrows, he smiled.

“Well, most of the time, anyway. But, see, don’t try to work this one. Leave it to us, and if you do think of anything else, just let me know, and we’ll look into it.”

He reached into his inside pocket.

“Here’s my card,” he said, handing it to her.

“I’ve still got the other one you gave me,” said Penny stiffly. “I don’t need that one, thank you very much.”

Davies reached for the door and started to leave. He turned back to her and gently touched her shoulder.

“Remember what I said. We don’t know who it was yet, but we do know he’s dangerous. And thanks for the lunch. My turn next time.”

When he was gone, Penny did a little dusting, put some instruments in the sterilizer, and then went to rinse her soaking basins. When she stepped away from the sink, Victoria was standing there watching her.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“He warned us off. Said we’re not to go poking around. Too dangerous. Probably thinks we’re just a couple of silly women. Mr. ‘We Know What We’re Doing’ policeman,” she said indignantly.

Victoria thought this over for a moment.

“Do you like him?” she asked.

“Do I like him? Where did that come from?” exclaimed Penny. “Like him? I guess. Why do you ask?”

“Because he fancies you.”

Penny laughed. “No, he doesn’t! He just wants to know what I know.”

“Yes, he does,” said Victoria. “I’ve seen the way he softens when he looks at you. And he looks at you more than he has to. He likes watching you. I don’t think he’s quite realized it yet, though.”

“Hmm,” said Penny. “I don’t know what to say to that. It’s been so long since anybody’s fancied me, that I don’t really know if the one or two hormones I’ve got left would be up to that kind of excitement.”

They both laughed, and then she looked thoughtfully at Victoria.

“But I’ve been thinking some more about this case, and I’ve had an idea. We can’t go to wherever it is that Meg Wynne’s parents are, and we can’t go to London where the bridesmaids are, but we can go to Ty Brith. We need to get into the Hall so we can snoop around and see what we can find out.”

“And just how are you going to do that?” asked Victoria.

“Oh, no,” said Penny. “Not me. I’ve got no reason to go to the Hall. But you do. And as reasons go, it’s heavenly.”

Victoria groaned. “Well, just don’t keep harping on about it.”

They looked at each other and laughed, leaning into each other, the way friends do.

Twenty-one

On Monday morning, Victoria drove slowly up the winding road leading to Ty Brith which had been situated perfectly to give spectacular views of the Conwy Valley. As her car climbed higher, she took in the breathtaking vista of the wide view stretching all the way to the rugged peaks of Snowdonia. The endless fields, shimmering in the freshness of their summer greenery, contrasted spectacularly with the brilliant blue of the cloudless sky. In all seasons, whether lit from above by bright sunlight on a summer’s day, nestled under a thin, patchy blanket of snow, or aflame in autumn foliage, the valley always looked postcard beautiful. But best of all was early spring, when gardens filled with shocking yellow daffodils signalled the arrival of warmer weather and longer days.

The Hall had been built of Welsh stone in the mid-1800s as the country retreat of a titled English landowning family. Much loved and much used, it had stayed in the family until the 1930s when its age began to catch up with it, and rather than undertake the extensive repairs and refurbishing required, the family reluctantly decided it would have to be sold. But with the Second World War looming, no buyers came forward, and as the war years dragged on, the Hall was pressed into service as a convalescent home for wounded Welsh soldiers.

Having made a fortune during the war from its haulage interests, the Gruffydd family had bought the rundown Hall at auction and modernized it to include the best of mid-twentieth-century refinements, including central heating, en suite bathrooms, and a large, bright kitchen. It had