The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,69
sit outside but from the looks of things, we’ll be better off indoors.”
“Sounds great,” said Penny, smiling at him. “I love picnics but my problem has always been finding other people who like them, too. I think you either like eating outdoors, or you don’t.”
After a few moments driving in silence, Davies asked Penny how long she had lived in Wales.
“About twenty-five years. Sometimes I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
“And what part of Canada are you from?”
“Nova Scotia,” replied Penny, and then after the significance of his question had sunk in, she had a question for him. “But how did you know I’m Canadian? Most British people ask me what part of America I’m from.”
“Oh, my nephew went out to Canada to join the Mounties,” Davies replied easily. “And there’s something about the way Canadians say ‘about’ that gives them away every time.”
Penny laughed, fingering her necklace.
“People have told me that before but I don’t hear it myself.”
“It’s true,” said Davies. “Canadians say it so that it sounds like ‘a boot’. Actually, I rather like a Canadian accent, but the really funny thing is that most of you don’t think you’ve got one. You think the British do, and the Americans do, but you don’t.”
“That’s right! We don’t!”
Davies laughed and a few minutes later they pulled into the car park.
The restaurant had a wonderful view of the Conwy River and Penny could see that on a fine day it would indeed be a pleasure to have lunch outdoors on the terrace.
By the time they had settled, ordered their meals—soup and salmon for him and salad and salmon for her—and handed the menus back to their server, Penny found her initial nervousness was wearing off and she wondered if it would seem rude to ask him why he had invited her to lunch.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you here today,” he said.
She smiled and nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” she said, “and I was trying to decide if it would be rude to ask.”
“No, no, certainly not,” he said. “But I hope you know I don’t usually invite witnesses to lunch. It’s just that you’ve been very perceptive and I had hoped that if we chatted a bit more, in a friendly, casual environment, we might jog your memory a bit.”
Penny hesitated. “I’ll try, but if nothing else has come to me yet, I may not know any more, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I think you do,” Davies said with an encouraging smile. “It’s my job to help you seek out and recover those memories.”
As the server appeared with a basket of warm bread rolls, Davies reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
“I’d like to start by asking you to take a look at this and tell me what you think.”
“What is it?” Penny asked.
“It’s a photocopy of a scrap of paper we found in Meg Wynne Thompson’s room. Sergeant Morgan and I aren’t sure what it means, and she suggested that I show it to you.”
He handed it to Penny and then broke a bread roll in half, buttered it, and sat back while she looked at the document.
“Hmm,” she said after a few moments. “Is it MOMA? Could it be a reference to her mother? Or, what about the Museum of Modern Art? That’s in New York and one of the bridesmaids—sorry, can’t remember which one—told me Emyr and Meg Wynne were going there on their honeymoon. The bridesmaid said she was green with envy that they were going to New York.”
“Did she now?” said Davies.
“The handwriting is interesting, though,” said Penny. “Very stylized, like something an architect would do. A very fine hand, as they used to say.”
Davies nodded. “She was a graphic designer so I guess she would write in that ornamental way. Well, you might be right about the museum. That’s probably what it was.”
Penny handed the paper back to him, and then took a bread roll.
“I love bread,” she said. “I have to really watch it, though, or I’ll eat too much of it. I used to bake my own. There’s nothing like fresh bread.”
“Really?” said Davies. “You baked your own bread? That’s really amazing.”
“My fiancé loved it, too, actually,” said Penny. “It was great fun to bake for someone who really appreciated it.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were married,” said Davies. “But you’re not now, though, are you? I see you’re not wearing a ring.”