A Brush with Death: A Penny Brannigan Mystery - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,72
Alys were, you know, what you said they were, it surprises me that you haven’t found any photographs of them together. Or at least you’d think Emma would have had photos of Alys. It seems to me rather strange that you’ve given the cottage a pretty good going-over and haven’t turned up any photographs. Doesn’t that seem odd to you? Don’t most people keep photos of the person they love?”
Thinking of the one photo she had found in the Harrods pencil case, the young blond woman with the fox terrier pup, Penny nodded in agreement.
After about an hour, Alwynne stood up and rubbed her hands together. “My fingers are starting to get a bit numb with the cold,” she said, reaching into her pockets to see if by any chance she’d left a pair of gloves in there last winter. “We’re going to have to pack up soon and start heading back to town, I’m afraid.”
Penny nodded vaguely and continued sketching, raising her head now and then to look at the scene in front of her.
“So I’m going to take lots of photos of the site for both of us so we can carry on with these at home,” Alwynne said.
Penny nodded again, and Alwynne strolled around the clearing, snapping photos of the site from all angles for Penny and the view of the lake for herself. She replaced the camera in her backpack and began gathering up her sketching materials.
With a sigh, Penny began to do the same.
“You’re right,” she said reluctantly, looking at the sky and then back to the tall grasses in front of her. The sun had shifted toward the west, taking with it the light that had given the scene intense colours just an hour earlier. Long shadows began to creep in all around them. “We’re losing the light.”
The women finished, packed up their gear, and as they prepared to leave, stood for a moment looking around them. Alywnne touched Penny’s arm. “You’re thinking of them, as they were that day.”
Penny felt the salty sting of unshed tears and nodded.
“I can almost feel them here.” She gave Alwynne a fleeting glance and then shifted her shoulders to position her backpack more comfortably.
“I’ve been thinking that if we’d known then what we know now, it might have been nice if they’d been cremated and their ashes scattered together here.”
Alwynne pursed her lips. “You might be right,” she said gently.
They set off for home the way they had come and eventually reached the clearing where they had had a cup of tea on the way up.
“There’s a bit more tea left,” said Alwynne, “if you’d like to stop and rest for a few minutes. I’ve got a couple of Welsh cakes here, too.”
“You have the tea,” Penny said. “I’ve got a bottle of water, but I’d love a cake.”
Alwynne unwrapped the small, flat, raisin-studded cakes and offered one to Penny.
“Mmm, this is delicious,” Penny said. “Where I come from, we’d almost call this a pancake, but it’s sweeter. This one isn’t store-bought, is it?”
Alwynne shook her head and laughed.
“My husband makes them. He was looking for a hobby when he retired, and I thought he’d take up gardening or lawn bowling or rambling, like any other man would do, but he chose baking. It all started, really, when he was clearing out his mother’s house and found his grandmother’s old bake stone. Couldn’t bear to part with it. So he cleaned it up and started using it. Says it brings back memories of his grandmother’s baking when he was a boy.”
“Hmm,” mumbled Penny with her mouth full, waving a hand and shaking her head to decline Alwynne’s offer of a second cake. She swallowed and then commented, “I imagine his pastime doesn’t do your waistline any good, but other than that, it seems harmless enough.”
“Oh Penny, it’s easy to see you’re not married. If you were, you’d know that the downside is that it doesn’t get him out of the house!”
She wrapped up the remaining cake, tucked it into her backpack, and they continued on their way.
As they approached the scattered buildings that signaled the town was about to come into view, Alwynne returned to the topic she had raised earlier.
“I think you need to keep looking for those photos, Penny. I’m sure Emma would have had pictures of Alys that were taken while they were together, and she would have kept them stashed away somewhere. They’ll turn up, you’ll see. You’ll find them.”