A Brush with Death: A Penny Brannigan Mystery - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,10

Liverpool. It was one of them.”

Penny’s eyes widened.

“John Lennon. He lived at number two fifty-one Menlove Avenue with his aunt Mimi. But by 1967, of course, he was long gone and the Beatles were almost over.”

Penny pushed her plate away and folded her hands on the table.

“Right. Let’s see what we’ve got, then. Emma knew an artist or was friends with an artist, who was killed in a hit-and-run. She has a painting by that artist hanging on her wall, and our solicitor, who was the brother of that artist, has a companion painting hanging on his wall. His painting has been in storage and out of sight for years. And then there’s a photo of Emma taken in 1967 in John Lennon’s garden with a fox terrier named Winnie.”

Victoria smiled.

“Well, we don’t know for sure that it was John Lennon’s garden, but it could be the same street. Still, that’s about what it looks like.”

She picked up a few plates from the table, carried them into the kitchen, and set them down on the counter.

“Would you like tea?” she called over her shoulder. “I’m putting the kettle on.”

When there was no answer, she turned around and looked at the table. She was talking to thin air; the table was empty.

From the living room the sound of John Lennon singing “In My Life” filled the small, cozy rooms. As the kettle started to boil in the kitchen behind her, Victoria walked quietly past the table to the sitting room entrance and peered in. She watched as Penny tucked a wayward strand of red hair behind her left ear and then removed a purple ribbon with white polka dots from a small bundle of letters and set the ribbon on the sofa beside her. Taking up the first envelope, Penny set the rest down on the coffee table. She held the letter in her hand, poised to unfold it.

She looked up at Victoria, smiled weakly, and bent her head over the letter.

“Sorry, couldn’t wait.”

A few moments later Victoria set a cup of tea down on the small table near Penny’s elbow and gently touched her shoulder.

“I’ll see myself out,” she said softly. “Call me tomorrow.”

“Mmm. Thanks,” Penny said without looking up but giving her a vague wave of acknowledgment.

Then, as the front door quietly closed, she started again to read the first letter.

Liverpool, Sunday, April 15, 1967

My dear girl, I couldn’t believe my great good luck when on a dull, boring Saturday afternoon, you appeared at my table in a crowded railway station buffet and asked if you might sit down.

Four

LIVERPOOL, SATURDAY, APRIL 14, 1967

Emma Teasdale glanced at her watch as she left the Royal Philharmonic Hall and headed off along Hope Street on her way to Lime Street station. From years of enjoying Saturday afternoon concerts at the Phil she knew how to time it just right to have a cup of tea at the railway station buffet and then make the train and bus connections that would see her back home in Llanelen by about 8 P.M.

The sky had turned dark while she had been listening to Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem and now a hard, driving rain was drenching the grey city. By the time she reached Mount Pleasant Street her feet were soaked through and the uplifted mood in which she had left the concert hall was deteriorating into deflated grumpiness.

Finally, by now in a resentful funk, she entered the station concourse, shook the rain off her umbrella, folded it up, and tucked it under her arm. Not surprisingly, at four o’clock on a rainy afternoon, the station buffet was crowded and the room was filled with a fragrant, steamy warmth. She ordered and paid for tea and a Welsh cake at the counter and, holding her tray, turned around looking for a place to sit. She had hoped to have a table to herself, as she was not in the mood for polite small talk with a stranger, but there was no empty table to be had. Spotting a table for two at the side of the room with a woman occupying one of the chairs, she headed for it.

“Excuse me,” asked Emma, “would you mind terribly if I sat down?”

The woman looked up at her and smiled.

“No, no one’s sitting there. Please join me.” She closed what looked like a catalogue and helpfully pulled the vacant chair away from the table. Emma placed her cup and plate on the table, set the tray and umbrella beside