A Brush with Death: A Penny Brannigan Mystery - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,7

too, was the smell of fresh paint; the windows overlooking the street had been washed and the refurbishment gave everything a look of understated, refreshed professionalism.

If the receptionist had been upset because they were late, Jones showed no signs of concern.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, gesturing to the two chairs facing his desk. “Please, take a seat. So very nice to see you. Yes, indeed. Now then, shall we get down to business?”

He reached for a file and began explaining the terms of their agreement, who would contribute what, how the partnership could be dissolved, the importance of each one having a will.

But Penny was not listening.

On the wall behind Jones was a painting that seemed to be the companion of the one she had in her own sitting room. It depicted the same picnic in the same spot but a different couple.

In her painting, the couple was sitting at the left and right of the painting. In this version, another couple was sitting at the top and bottom. If you were to blend the two images, she realized, you would have four people at the same picnic, one person on each side of the checkered tablecloth and the bank of purple flowers behind them. Unlike Emma’s painting, however, this one looked as if it had recently been cleaned and its colours were bright and true.

“And all this notwithstanding,” Jones was saying, “all property that you might purchase will be held jointly; so in effect, you will be equal partners not only in the running of the business but in the legal holdings. You will each be entitled to fifty percent of the profits and you will each be responsible for fifty percent of the risk.”

He looked from one to the other.

“I think this agreement reflects your wishes. Do you have any questions?

“Sorry,” said Penny. “But yes, I have a question. Who painted that painting behind you? It was A. Jones, wasn’t it? Was he a relative of yours?”

If he was surprised by her off-topic question, Jones did not show it.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, to both your questions,” he said, shifting in his seat to glance over his shoulder at it. “We recently rediscovered this painting hidden away in our parents’ home and after the decorating, we decided to hang it. Rather nice for what it is, don’t you think?”

Penny nodded as she stood up.

“It is indeed,” she said. “I wonder if I might take a closer look at it.” Catching Victoria’s dark look, she apologized and sat down again.

“If you’re ready, then, let’s just get the signing out of the way,” Jones suggested, “and then you may look at the painting for as long as you wish.”

With Jones occasionally pointing to a red dot on the papers, accompanied by a soft “and now again just here, please,” Victoria and Penny signed the papers.

“Congratulations, ladies,” Jones said at the end of the signing. “You are now official co-owners of the Llanelen Spa. I understand the next step is the purchase of property, and I hope I may be of service to you in all aspects of your venture.”

He beamed from one to the other and clasped his hands together.

“Now, Penny, you were interested in this painting.”

“Yes,” said Penny. “You see there’s one like it in Emma’s, well, my sitting room, and I wanted to know more about it. Do you know anything about the artist? Was he a good friend of Emma’s?”

“Well, I can certainly tell you about the artist,” said Jones. “But the thing is, A. Jones was a she. She was my sister, Alys Jones.”

“Alys! Why did Emma never mention her to me?” Penny asked. “What happened to her? Is she still alive? May I go to see her?”

“Sadly, no,” Jones replied. “She died in 1970.”

Penny and Victoria glanced at each other as he began to gather up the documents they had just signed.

“How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was a hit-and-run accident, Penny. They never did find out who did it.”

He sighed. “It was so long ago. Not much can be done about it now, eh? She was quite a well-respected artist in her day, I think, but you’d know more about that than I would.”

After a moment, he placed his pen in the holder on his desk, locked his desk drawer, dropped the key into his vest pocket, and smiled at them.

“Well, ladies, I think that’s everything, so I needn’t keep you any longer. All the best on your new