Cynthia?” she asked Florence, showing her the black-and-white photo of the smiling blond woman cradling the fox terrier.
Florence took the photo from Penny, tipped it toward a nearby lamp, and gazed at it. Then, she turned it over.
She nodded slowly.
“Yes, it is. Cynthia’s parents had a home on Menlove Avenue. She lived there with them, and they took in students.” She looked around the room.
“You have to remember that Liverpool was badly bombed in the war, and even twenty years later there was still a housing shortage, so many Liverpudlians, who had the room, took in student lodgers for a bit of extra income.”
She handed the photo back to Penny, and all eyes turned back to Davies. But before he could speak, another voice spoke.
“Florence is right.”
Jimmy looked at Florence and smiled.
“Millicent is still like that. I think she finds out things about the staff members and uses that information to her advantage. She always gets special treatment, and I think it’s because they’re afraid of her.”
Florence patted his hand, and they turned their attention to Davies.
“And now, we come to our second victim, Andrew Peyton,” Davies continued. “He was given a massive injection of potassium chloride by, of course, Millicent Mayhew. She might have overheard two nurses discussing it. It’s the perfect poison, really. It’s in your body anyway; your heart needs it to function properly. But an overdose will stop the heart. And it’s easily available in a nursing home. It’s on every drug cart, and it’s not restricted in any way.
“It was our old friend Jimmy here who remembered all the commotion a couple of weeks ago when Millicent couldn’t be found for the bridge game and how annoyed the players were when they had to rustle up a fourth at the last minute.”
Jimmy nodded and looked very pleased with himself.
“We’ve also found a witness who saw Millicent entering Peyton’s building that day.” He paused and looked around. “I’ll be happy to answer any of your questions later, but right now, Alys’s brother, Richard, would like to say a few words.”
A respectful silence settled over the group as Alys’s twin rose to his feet. He handed his teacup to his brother and turned to face the gathering.
“I want to thank all of you for your efforts. Alwynne, who found the photos, the rector who spoke to my brother, and Penny and Victoria who tracked down the people who killed our sister.”
He paused for a moment to fight back tears.
“You know, when someone is murdered, everyone tends to focus on the victim. But there are more victims. Our mother was bewildered and in pain for the rest of her life, our father was consumed by hatred for her killer, and our whole family ached with the loss of our beautiful girl. Her death changed who we were as individuals, and it changed who we were as a family.
“And then there was Emma. She lost the love of her life, and because of the attitudes when all this happened, she felt she couldn’t discuss it with anyone or come forward with what she might have known. She had to carry a terrible burden for the rest of her life. If our family had only known, we would have tried to comfort her.
“And we can’t even begin to imagine what the art world lost. We’re glad that her paintings are being restored to us. The value hasn’t been determined yet, but we understand they’re valuable. Of course, we’d be only too happy to exchange all of them for her.”
His voice broke, and unable to continue, he returned to his place. Bronwyn immediately went to him and said a few words. He smiled at her and conversation resumed.
And then the rector took the floor.
“I have been asked to speak to a somewhat delicate matter. When Alys died, her family did not know about Emma, but now that they do, her brothers have asked for her ashes to be reburied in Emma’s grave. They feel that the two belong together, and we are making the arrangements for this to happen. We’ll let you know when.”
Gwennie, who had been listening at the entrance to the sitting room, entered the room and passed among the guests with a tray of sweets.
Penny gave her a grateful smile as she went through to the kitchen, where she picked up a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. She returned with it to the sitting room where Richard Jones was preparing to leave.
“Richard, I’m very sorry. I know I should have returned your painting sooner, but here it is,” Penny said, as she handed it to him. “I’ve put the other one in there, too. Like Emma and Alys, they belong together and I want you to have both of them.”
Richard smiled at her and then at his brother, Alun.
“Funny you should be thinking that,” Richard said. “We thought the same thing, and hoped you’d be willing to swap. Anyway, we thought you’d rather have another one.”
Alun returned and handed Penny a painting. She turned it around, and a broad smile lit up her face. It was the painting of Emma reading in the garden.
“I love it,” she said, “and a restorer will soon get the signatures right. Alys’s signature will be here, under this gob of paint. A gob of paint very badly applied, I must say.”
The brothers thanked her again, shook her hand, and then made a dignified, graceful exit.
The party gradually broke up, with Florence and Mrs. Lloyd among the last to leave.
“You may not have seen the last of me,” Florence said to Victoria as they were saying good-bye. “Mrs. Lloyd here has offered to rent me a room, and I might take her up on it. I could live so much more cheaply here, and there’s nothing much keeping me in Liverpool now.”
“And the company would be very nice,” added Mrs. Lloyd as they made their way together down the path leading to the street. “I have a feeling we’re going to get on just fine. In fact, why don’t you stop over tonight? I’ve got a nice fresh chicken we could have for our supper. Do you like to cook, Florence?”
• • •
That night, as Penny lay in bed thinking over the events of the day, she smiled as she thought of Mrs. Lloyd and Florence. Both so opinionated. What was it Mrs. Lloyd had said about Emma? “Always liked to have the last word.” Now, that was the pot calling the kettle black!
She started to drift off to sleep and then jerked awake.
The last word! Of course!
She flew down the stairs and into the living room. She pulled the Scrabble game off the shelf where Gareth had placed it on her first morning in the cottage and carried it to the table. She ripped off the elastics holding the box together and lifted the lid. Her shoulders sagged with disappointment when she didn’t see what she was looking for, but she couldn’t resist picking up the little pad on which Emma had recorded the games. She flipped to the last page. With a score of 278, Emma had won, and even noted a word which she must have liked for some reason: QUEENLY!!
Penny lifted out the folded board and the four tile racks and set them on the table. Then she picked up the little bag containing the letter tiles, kneaded it for a moment, and then opened it and tipped out its contents. The letters of the alphabet scattered across the table, and so did dozens of photographs. She picked one up and tipped it toward the light. Alys and Emma with their arms around each other in front of the Victoria Gallery & Museum. Emma smiling and waving to the camera. Alys lounging in a deck chair, holding a glass of wine. And so many more, capturing all the golden moments of their lives together. Penny’s heart began to beat faster as she lifted out the cardboard inserts that divided up the space. And there they were. Four slim red journals. She looked at the years: 1967, 1968, 1969, 1970. Peeking out of the 1970 volume was an envelope. She withdrew it from the diary and turned it over. It was addressed to her.
She opened it, and began to read.
My darling Penny,
By the time you find this, you probably know my secret. You’ll find all the details in the journals, but I want you to know that I loved you, too, in a different way. You reminded me of her and when I met you . . .
I’d better put the kettle on, thought Penny. It’s going to be a long night.