A Brush with Death: A Penny Brannigan Mystery - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,46
rate, say one pound off, just for the dance? There’ll be a set time limit. One week only! I’ll get my brother to make up a nice sign on his computer, and we’ll post it in the window.” She paused for a moment and then added eagerly, “And I’ll be the one to do the girls’ nails; you don’t have to worry about that.”
Penny laughed. “I admire your enterprise, Eirlys! All right, then, go on. We’ll start with that. One week only!”
“And then . . .” Eiryls glanced at Penny as if seeking approval to continue. “Well, it’s just that you mentioned the senior ladies would want something, too, so I thought perhaps in the run up to Christmas, you might offer the pensioners a one-pound-off special deal, too.”
“Hmm. I like it,” agreed Penny. “Or maybe in the week between Christmas and New Year’s, when things are a bit slow.”
Penny gave Eirlys a little pat on the arm and then left the shop, headed up Station Road in the direction of the library.
“Hello.” She smiled at Rhian, seated behind her desk.
“Computer?” she asked. Penny nodded.
“Right. I’ll put you on number eight and give you an hour, as we’re not too busy.”
Penny thanked her and settled in front of the computer. She took out her notebook, called up Google, and went to work.
The time flew by and a very fast hour later, she closed her notebook and signed off the computer.
“That was really helpful,” she said to Rhian on the way out. “Thanks very much. I was thinking about getting myself a coffee. May I get you one?”
“How kind! No coffee, for me, thanks, that’s part of my problem. But I’m all alone here for the next two hours, and if you’d just wait there for a moment, in case someone comes, I’d love to pop along to the loo. Would you mind?”
“No, I’d be glad to.”
Penny stood in front of the counter while the librarian pulled her handbag out of the desk drawer and disappeared through a door marked PRIVATE.
A few minutes later she returned, and Penny left the library. She hurried along the street back to the salon and poked her head in the door. Eirlys was concentrating on her work, but the client looked over and, when she saw who it was, smiled.
“Hello!” said Penny. “Everything all right?”
“Just grand, thanks. Your new assistant is doing a wonderful job.”
“Good! Glad to hear it. Eirlys, have you seen Victoria? Is she here or at the site, do you know?”
“She’s upstairs in her flat, working on some papers.”
“Right. I’ll just pop up and see her then, and I’ll be back in about half an hour and you can take your lunch break.”
She closed the door and walked a few steps to the edge of the building and scampered up the circular wrought-iron stairs that led to the small flat above the salon that had once been hers; when she moved into Emma’s cottage, Victoria had taken it over. She knocked on the glass door and waited for Victoria to answer it.
A few minutes later Victoria tugged open the door.
“You gave me a real fright. No one uses that door, and you should know by now that you don’t have to knock. What were you thinking?”
“Sorry! I just thought it would be better to come this way than through the salon. I’ve got so much to tell you. You won’t believe what I’ve found out.”
“Well, you’d better come in, then. Do you want anything to drink? Tea? Biscuit?”
“No, thanks. I’m bursting to tell you what I learned at the library on the Internet this morning.” She flipped open her notebook.
“Right. Let’s start with Cynthia Browning. She’s supposed to have emigrated to New Zealand. Anyway, she seems to have been a pretty minor player in the Liverpool art scene.”
Penny looked up from her notebook.
“But Millicent did better for herself. She had a couple of successful shows and got fairly good reviews. ‘Work shows great promise’ sort of thing. But then she got arthritis and had to give up her painting career. Still, her paintings sell reasonably well today. She’s considered almost, but not quite, in the same league as Stuart Sutcliffe.”
She closed the notebook with a flourish.
“And . . .” Victoria prompted.
“And what?”
“And what about the man? The curator?”
“Ah. I couldn’t find anything about him. But . . . and here’s the best bit . . . there’s a multimedia exhibit opening at the Victoria Gallery and Museum in Liverpool in a couple