A Brush with Death: A Penny Brannigan Mystery - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,20

like. Anyway, it’ll be good to see Bethan again. She’s a sweetheart.”

Penny nodded. “She said she’s found the old evidence boxes and that the files even contain photographs. Oh, and speaking of photographs, Alwynne is coming over, too, to bring whatever she’s found at the museum. It should be an interesting evening. Is there anyone else we should invite?”

“Not sure. Let me think about it.”

The door opened and the next client arrived.

Looking at her tightly permed grey hair, sensible shoes, pleated skirt, and worn leather handbag, Penny realized Victoria was right. We do need some young energy around here. Practically everybody who comes in here is middle aged or older, and it’s starting to get very dreary. Not only that, when this lot are no longer able to come to the salon, there’ll be no customers left. And looking ahead to the new spa business, these elderly women are definitely not the sort to pay up for a day’s pampering. We’re going to need a whole new clientele.

She smiled at her client and invited her to sit down.

“I’ll be right with you,” she said. “Just got to get your soaking bowl.”

And then an awful thought occurred to her.

“Sorry,” she added, “just need a quick word with Victoria.”

Victoria looked up from the small desk where she was starting to sort receipts into three small piles.

“Hmm?”

“About the new young person who’s coming here. Be sure to tell her there isn’t a hope in hell that we’ll give house room to those hideous fake acrylic nails!”

She thought for a moment.

“What did you say her name is again?”

“Eirlys. Here, let me write it down for you.” Victoria handed Penny a slip of paper. “That’s the correct spelling of it, but phonetically, it would be Ire-less.” She smiled as Penny repeated the name softly to herself. “You know what Welsh spelling is like! But it’s a rather pretty girl’s name, actually. It’s Welsh for ‘snowdrop.’ ”

Seven

Evelyn Lloyd, the town’s former postmistress, had been one of Penny’s steadiest customers for years. She always came in for her manicure on a Thursday, her bridge night, as she liked her nails to look their best as she dealt cards or reached across the table to play the dummy’s hand.

“Oh, good morning, Penny,” she said as she pushed her way through the door. “So good of you to take me earlier. I have a friend of mine from the old post office days coming for lunch today and wanted to get my manicure out of the way so we could spend the afternoon together.”

Mrs. Lloyd put down her shopping and looked around, taking in the nail polishes neatly arranged by colour, ranging from pale pinks to vivid reds and brilliant burgundies.

“Well, what’s this I hear about you and Victoria going into business together? I do hope this expansion won’t mean higher prices. And as I’ve suggested many times, you really ought to offer senior discounts. Think of all the new customers that would bring in!”

“Yes, Mrs. Lloyd, you might be right,” said Penny diplomatically as she sat down opposite her client. She picked up Mrs. Lloyd’s left hand, unwrapped a new emery board, and started shaping her nails.

Victoria and Penny had discussed whether they should ask Mrs. Lloyd if she remembered anything about the Jones hit-and-run accident. Victoria had figured she would remember plenty and thought it would be a good idea; Penny wouldn’t hear of it.

“You know what she’s like,” Penny had said. “She’ll try to take this over. Emma was my friend and I want to do this my way.”

So they’d left it at that, with Penny finally agreeing that if they needed Mrs. Lloyd’s local knowledge later, they’d consult her then. In the meantime, they knew there was little hope that she wouldn’t get wind that they were looking into the case.

When she had finished shaping Mrs. Lloyd’s nails, Penny brought out a small basin of steaming soaking water, which she set down on her worktable. “Right, Mrs. Lloyd, let’s be having you.”

Mrs. Lloyd gingerly dipped the tips of her fingers in the basin and then quickly withdrew them.

“Oh, why does the water always have to be so hot?” she complained, making an elaborate display of curling up her fingers.

“So it will soften up your cuticles,” replied Penny. “Is it really too hot? If so, I can cool it down.”

“Oh, I guess I can tolerate it,” grumbled Mrs. Lloyd as she placed her fingers in the bowl once more. “It seems to have cooled off a