A Brush with Death: A Penny Brannigan Mystery - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,58
to establish the connection, if there’s one to be made, when your forensics people tell you if the bones are male or female and how old they are.” She shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.”
Smiling up at him, she added, “Do you know who lived on that street, by the way?” She responded to his blank look by telling him. “Only John Lennon. At number two fifty-one. The house was called Mendips.”
“We can ask Merseyside police to help,” Davies said. “Look, do you mind if I keep this for a bit?”
Penny shook her head. “No, you take it.”
“Have you come across anything else I should know about?”
She pointed at the ceiling. “I haven’t been through Emma’s bedroom yet, but I have to do it soon. Bronwyn wants things for the annual harvest jumble sale. You’re good at that sort of thing—going through people’s effects. You do it all the time. I don’t suppose you’d give me a hand with it, would you?”
Davies glanced at his watch.
“I suggest we leave Emma’s room until morning. It’s easier to do that sort of thing in daylight, and a few more hours shouldn’t make a difference. But, for now, I’m going back to the building site to give Bethan a hand with the wrapping up—shouldn’t be too long. May I take you to dinner after that? We’ve got some catching up to do.”
“I’d be good with that,” Penny replied. “And listen, I’m sorry I doubted you. I shouldn’t have.”
“It’s okay,” Davies said. “I understand. We’re just getting to know each other. And I learned a long time ago that things are not always what they seem.”
“So you’ll be back for me in what, about an hour?”
“Yeah, if that’s all right with you?”
“You know, I think I’ll come with you. Could you drop me off at the flower shop? Then I’ll walk over to the site, and we’ll meet up there and then go for dinner.”
“Great. Ready to go?”
“Almost. I just want to get a phone number.”
Penny paused for a moment to take in the cool beauty of the lilies, roses, and carnations as they stood in their ugly buckets waiting to be plucked from their refrigerated unit and turned into beautiful arrangements. But something about a flower shop’s heady fragrance always reminded her of a funeral.
“Hello,” said the girl behind the counter. “I’m going to be closing up soon. Is there anything special I can help you with this evening?”
Why would she even mention closing the shop, Penny thought, when there’s a customer standing right in front of her?
“Hmm. Possibly. I’m hoping you’ll do something for me. Would you please ring this retirement home in Llandudno and say you have a floral delivery and are calling to confirm that a Millicent Mayhew is a resident there?”
The girl took the piece of paper, eyed it suspiciously, and gave a thoughtful chew on a hefty wad of gum.
“Why don’t you ring it yourself?”
“Because they probably have call display, and when they see it’s a florist, they’ll tell you what I want to know.” At that point, she could feel the niceness draining out of her. And because I’m the customer, I’m here to buy flowers, and I asked you to do it, she thought. What was it with shop assistants these days that made them think they had the right to insult their customers?
She had a sudden flashback to the Eaton’s department store of her Canadian youth. No one at Eaton’s would have spoken to a customer like that.
The girl hesitated and brushed the hair out of her eyes in a desultory way.
“I’m thinking about sending her a dozen roses,” Penny remarked.
The girl sighed, picked up her telephone, dialed the number, spoke briefly, and then replaced the receiver.
“She lives there,” the girl said.
“Do you know, I think I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I’ll send those roses after all,” Penny said. “I’ll take them with me, if you wouldn’t mind wrapping them up.”
Penny left the shop with her purchase, making a mental note to have a word with the shop’s owner. She’d want to know how her customers are being spoken to. I know I would. Oh, dear God, thank you for sending us Eirlys, she thought.
By the time she reached the spa building, the ribbon had fallen off the flowers, the paper wrapper was soaked through at the bottom, and the cello tape had come undone at the top.
Most of the crowd had seen all there was to see and