Thirteen
The soft thud of the morning post landing on the rectory’s hallway floor was the signal for Robbie to swing into action.
He raced down the hall, barking loudly, to warn off the unseen threat to the safety and well-being of his family that seemed to present itself most days about this time.
“The post has arrived,” Bronwyn commented as she held up the coffeepot with a quizzical look at her husband.
“Yes, please,” he said, as he rose from the table.
“All right, then, Robbie,” he muttered as he made his way to the front door. “Come on now, there’s a good boy.”
Wagging his tail, Robbie charged ahead in the direction of the kitchen where his next task of the day awaited him: helping Bronwyn clear the plates.
The rector scooped up the morning post and followed the small dog back to the kitchen.
He placed the little pile in front of him and began to sort it. “Oh, here’s a postcard from your sister,” he said as he handed it to Bronwyn. “Where’d they go, again?”
“Arizona.”
“Oh, right, Arizona. The weather’s very good out there, I hear. Many pensioners take advantage of it. It’s meant to be very dry or something like that.”
He placed a few bills to one side and then looked at the two magazines that had just arrived.
He chose Wales Today and, after glancing over the index, turned a few pages and scanned the contents. A small article caught his attention and he started to read, then chuckle.
“What is it, dear?” asked Bronwyn.
“It’s called bog snorkeling, of all things. Here, listen,” and he read out loud: “ ‘In Llanwrtyd Wells, crowds watch competitors swim up and down a hundred-and-thirty-three-meter bog filled with sulphurous, weedy water. Some wear silly costumes, but all entrants must not use conventional swimming strokes, relying on flipper power only.’ ”
He patted his stomach. “I think I should take it up. I expect I’d be a natural. And as you always like to remind me, I should take more exercise.”
Smiling, Bronwyn got up from the table and came round to stand beside him. Leaning over his shoulder, she looked at the photograph and rocked with laughter.
“Oh! And we could get you a nice rubber suit. What with the flippers, you’d look so fetching I’d not be able to keep my hands off you.”
They giggled together while he wrapped his arm around her waist.
A few moments later Bronwyn returned to her seat, and Thomas looked at the cover of his weekly Church Times bulletin. He riffled through a few pages and then turned to the obituaries.
“It’s a sad commentary on our lives when we start to take an interest in the obituaries,” he remarked to his wife, who was buttering her toast while she admired the image of a large cactus on the postcard that she had propped up against her juice glass.
“No one we know mentioned there, I hope.”
The rector scanned the list.
“No, I don’t think so. Wait. Who’s this?”
He read for a few moments in silence.
“Bronwyn, listen to this! ‘Suddenly, at his home in Llandudno, the Reverend William Peyton, in his seventy-ninth year. Survived by his wife, Marjorie, three children, six grandchildren, and brothers, Andrew and John.’ And then it goes on about the funeral arrangements.”
“I don’t think we know him, do we, dear? Perhaps you met him in the course of your duties, but the name doesn’t ring a bell with me.”
“No, not him, Bronwyn. His brother. Andrew Peyton. Isn’t that the name of the man Penny was interested in? The artist fellow from that group of people in Liverpool that are connected to Alys Jones?” He fumbled about in his pocket for his diary. “Let me see. Where did I write those names? Yes! Here we are—Millicent, hmmm, yes! Andrew Peyton! No, not an artist. He was the curator.”
“But we don’t know if it’s the same fellow,” his wife commented.
“No, but I’m sure Penny would want to know, anyway,” he replied with mild impatience. “I must ring her right away. Excuse me for a moment.”
Bronwyn spread a little more marmalade on her toast, then broke off a piece and slipped it to Robbie, who was sitting beside her chair.
“Hello, Penny,” the rector was saying, “sorry to ring you so early but wanted to get you before you left for the shop.
“Sorry, salon. Anyway, I wondered if you fancied going to a funeral with us on Thursday morning in Llandudno.”
He laughed.
“Yes, I know it seems a bit odd, but you know that Andrew Peyton fellow you were interested in? I don’t know if this is the same one, but . . .” He read the contents of the obituary notice.
“Right, then, we’ll pick you up at nine. See you then.”
He set down the telephone receiver and returned to his wife.
“She was very keen to go.”
“Of course she was! Like a dog with a bone, that one.”
Robbie cocked his head.
“No, poppet, not you!”
The drive to Llandudno took them along twisting and turning rural roads that were so narrow in places they had to pull over so an oncoming car could pass. Bronwyn had decided not to go, saying poor Robbie would be absolutely bursting by the time they got home. When the rector had suggested that he would come to no harm tied up in the garden for a few hours, she had given him such a dark look he might as well have suggested that they have Robbie for dinner. Victoria had planned to go, but work was beginning on the spa renovation, and with Eirlys on her own at the salon, she felt she should stay behind in Llanelen, and reluctantly, Penny had to agree.
“So it’ll just be the two of us, Penny,” the rector had said. “As a fellow rector, it won’t seem strange for me to attend the funeral, even though I never knew him, and maybe we can be vague about that bit, if we have to. But hopefully you’ll learn something at the reception afterward.”
They arrived at Holy Trinity Church in the centre of Llandudno just as the service was about to start. Nodding and smiling gravely at people they didn’t know, they made their way down the centre aisle along the blue patterned carpet and found seats to the right, underneath a brilliant stained-glass window. Another time, Penny’s mind would have drifted off while she studied and admired it, but today she barely took any notice of it, as her attention was riveted on the small group of mourners seated in the front pew.
Unfortunately, all she could see was the backs of their heads. She thought the small woman with the white hair and thin, frail shoulders must be Peyton’s widow. On each side of her sat two burly men who appeared to be in their late forties—sons, perhaps? Her eyes moved down the row to the figure at the end of the row. An elderly man with thinning hair in an outdated brown pin-stripe suit held his hymn book in a steady hand, and when he turned slightly to his left, she could see a gauntly elegant profile whose contours had been softened by time. That’s got to be him, she thought. That’s Andrew Peyton.
Following the brief, oddly impersonal service, the small group of mourners moved into the church hall, where a modest spread had been laid out. Penny and the rector took a couple of limp cheese and cucumber sandwiches from the tray.
“Let’s stay together when I talk to him,” Penny said in a low voice. “You’ve seen a lot of human nature, and your impressions will really help.” She grimaced. “I must admit I’m feeling a little nervous about this. I wish Bronwyn were here. She’s really good at this sort of thing. She’d know what to say.”
The rector nodded.
“I’ll just pay my respects to Mrs. Peyton and be right back.”
He drifted to the entrance of the hall, where Mrs. Peyton was receiving guests. Penny watched as he introduced himself. A gentle smile spread across her face, and she shook his hand warmly. The rector spoke to her for a few minutes and then said hello to the two men with her.
The man they thought was Andrew Peyton was at the tea table, so with a slight nod at Penny the rector glided off in that direction and she followed.
Penny found herself standing beside a tall, effete man. She watched his long, delicate fingers as he picked up the pitcher and poured a few drops of milk into his tea.
“Hello,” said the rector. “I’m Reverend Thomas Evans from Llanelen, and this is my neighbour Penny Brannigan.” The man looked from one to the other and smiled vaguely. “Hello,” he said. While his accent was definitely English, Penny could not place it. It didn’t sound Scouse, as it would have if he’d grown up in Liverpool.
“I wonder, now,” said the rector smoothly, “if you would be William’s brother Andrew?”
The man nodded.
“Did you know my brother?”
“Sadly, no, not personally,” the rector said, fingering his clerical collar, “but, of course, in a professional capacity, as I live and work in a neighbouring parish, I wanted to come along today to pay my respects.” Handing Peyton a business card, he introduced himself and Penny. “And, interestingly, we may have something in common. That is, Penny here might. Is it possible that you are the Andrew Peyton who was a curator of art in Liverpool in the 1960s? Penny is an artist, you see, and doing some research into that period.”
Brilliant, thought Penny. He didn’t mention Alys.
Peyton gave Penny an icy appraisal as he dropped the rector’s business card into his jacket pocket without having bothered to look at it.
“Yes, I was associated with the Liverpool School of Art at that time,” he said. “We did put on some rather good shows. Showcased new artists. Of course, there was a lot of great talent about to work with. Liverpool was in the midst of a renaissance, you might say, fueled by the music.” He raised his teacup to his lips in an oddly feminine way. “The Mersey sound,” he added sarcastically.
“I’d love to learn more about the period,” Penny said, “and speak to one of the artists, Millicent Mayhew. She was one of your group, I believe. Could you put me in touch with her, do you think?”
Peyton dropped his gaze to the bottom of his now empty teacup, and then, as the cup clattered slightly, he set it on the table.
Rubbing his long fingers together, he turned to Penny.
“I’m not sure exactly where she is now,” he said, “we lost touch some time ago. And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a stressful day and I’d like to go home.”
Penny nodded and stepped aside. She and the rector watched as he made his way across the room, said a few words to his sister-in-law, and then left the hall.
“Come on, Thomas,” Penny said. “He’s lying. We have to follow him or we might never find him again. Let’s see where he goes.”
The rector took a long, last draught of his tea and, with a sigh, set the cup down on the table beside Peyton’s.
“Right. I’ll just say good-bye to Mrs. Peyton and we’ll be off.”
They got into the rector’s car just as Peyton pulled out of the parking lot. They followed him as he drove through the town, and then along Marine Drive, and when he switched on his right turn indicator, the rector did the same, turning into the Sunset Villas Retirement and Nursing Home.
“Oh, why do they always give these places awful names like that!” Penny moaned. “Sunset Villas, Gateway Haven . . .” She stopped as Peyton parked in a visitor’s spot, got out of his car, and entered the building. “Can we park over there?” she asked, gesturing to an empty spot at the end of a row of cars, which gave them a good view of the entrance. The rector glanced at his watch. “Just for a few minutes, and then I’m afraid I have to get back to Llanelen.” Penny nodded.
“Well, he’s in a visitor’s parking spot,” she said, “so he doesn’t live here. I wonder who does.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, and then the rector remarked, “Mrs. Peyton said Andrew probably had to leave because it was time for his injection. Apparently he’s diabetic, so if he needs his insulin, he shouldn’t be in there too long. Still, it seems odd he would come here instead of going home. What on earth is he doing here if he should be taking care of his diabetes?”
They looked at each other in puzzlement, and then the rector, glancing at his watch, reached down and switched on the radio. They listened to the news on Radio 1 for a few minutes, and then with a long sigh, the rector switched off the radio. He patted his pockets, then turned to Penny.
“If you’ll just excuse me for a moment, my dear, I think I’ll just get out and stretch my legs for a minute or two. Maybe take a little stroll and admire the garden.”
He sloped off and soon disappeared behind a tree. A few moments later, wisps of smoke drifted away from the tree, carried away on a light breeze.
He thinks Bronwyn doesn’t know that he sneaks the occasional cigarette, Penny thought, as she chuckled to herself.
With a satisfied smile, the rector returned to the car, and just as he settled into his seat, the door of the building opened and Peyton emerged. With long, purposeful strides he walked to his car, started it up, and drove off.
“Do you want to go in and try to find out what he was doing here?” asked the rector.
“No, not today. I know you need to get home. But I’ll bet you anything that Millicent Mayhew lives here. I can confirm that by phone. And if she does live here, why did he deny knowing her? He said he’d lost touch with her.” She thought for a moment. “When I do go to see her, I’ll need a better idea of what I’m going to say.” She turned to the rector and smiled. “It’s interesting, though, that we didn’t even mention Alys Jones and he heads straight over here. You were really good back there, by the way, with Peyton. What did you think of him?”
“I thought there was something decidedly shifty about him,” the rector replied as he put the car in gear and they pulled out of the parking lot. At the end of the driveway he checked for oncoming traffic and then turned toward the long and winding road that would take them home. “He’s either lying or hiding something. Or maybe both. And I think he was definitely nervous. You’ve put the wind up him, my dear.”
Penny sighed and settled back in her seat. She looked out the window for a few minutes as the houses thinned out and gradually disappeared, giving way to lush green fields partitioned by stone fences that bound them together like grey ribbons.
“You know,” the rector continued, “it really is too bad that Bronwyn couldn’t come. She’s a wonderful judge of character and not much gets past her. She would have had him figured out in no time.”
He slowed down as a car filled with young people overtook them.
“Would you look at that! And on this narrow road. Honestly, everyone’s in such a hurry nowadays. What in heaven’s name is the matter with them?”
He shifted gears and glanced in his rearview mirror.
“Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, Bronwyn. She’s really enjoying that little dog. Says she must have had a life before Robbie, but it couldn’t have been up to much.” He laughed lightly. “I wasn’t sure how to take that.”
From Penny’s handbag came the sound of a mobile phone ringing. She pulled the phone out and checked who was calling.
“Sorry, Thomas, it’s Victoria. She wouldn’t ring unless it was important, so I should take this. Please excuse me.”
“Go right ahead. You’re not driving!”
“Hello?”
She listened for a moment.
“You’ve got to be kidding! No, no, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Of course you’re not kidding. Yes, we’re on our way home now. We should be there in about, oh, forty-five minutes or so.”
She listened again, then said a hurried good-bye and turned to the rector.
“You’re not going to believe this, but the workmen have just found skeletal remains in the ductwork in the building we just bought. And the first day on the job, too!”