Twenty
Penny looked at the list of clients in the appointment book. “Thursday already! Another week almost gone. Mrs. Lloyd was right when she said it would be Christmas before we know it.”
Eirlys peered over Penny’s shoulder as she set her coffee down.
“Mrs. Lloyd’s coming in this morning, see,” Eirlys said, pointing to an entry. “And she’s bringing her friend with her. They’re both to have a manicure, then they’re going shopping, and tomorrow they’re going to Manchester for the weekend. She told me all about it when she rang up for her appointment.”
Penny nodded and smiled at her.
“And Mrs. Lloyd said she hoped you would not mind too much, but she would like to have her manicure with me today.”
“Eirlys, where would we be without you?”
She glanced at her watch.
“Our first client won’t be here for another fifteen minutes, so I’m going to leave you in charge while I nip up to the library. I’ve been meaning to photocopy something, so you keep an eye on things here, and I’ll be right back.”
Eirlys looked dismayed.
“But what about your coffee? I made it just the way you like it.”
Penny took a small sip.
“It’s delicious, Eirlys, and it is just the way I like it, but a wee bit too hot. By the time I get back, it’ll be just right. Just leave it in the back so it doesn’t get spilled on the appointment book. Won’t be long.”
She snatched up her purse and bolted out the door while Eirlys browsed the selection of nail varnishes, looking for one or two that would appeal to the salon’s most discerning client.
Mrs. Lloyd made her grand entrance right on time, accompanied by a small, pleasant-looking but nondescript woman of similar age.
“Now, Bunny, let me introduce you to the girls,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Penny, Eirlys, this is my friend, Bunny. Well, I say Bunny—her name’s really Mavis, but we’ve always called her Bunny.” Penny showed Bunny where to sit, and the filing and soaking of the manicure ritual were soon under way.
The two clients chatted with each other about their weekend plans for a few minutes, and then Mrs. Lloyd looked across at Penny.
“Now, Penny, we’ve known each other a long time, and I know you’ve been looking into the accident of Alys Jones. I must say, I was rather surprised you haven’t consulted me yet, but never mind. I have done something on your behalf. I had a word with Morwyn.” She turned to look at Bunny. “You remember Morwyn, Bunny, my niece who works for the newspaper. She went through the archives or whatever you call it, old newspapers and she found an item that relates to this. She made a copy for you,” she told Penny.
Mrs. Lloyd pulled her wet hand out of the soaking bowl and looked at it.
“Oh.”
She smiled at Eirlys.
“Eirlys, love, just fetch my handbag, would you, dear?”
When Eirlys returned with the bag, Mrs. Lloyd asked her to open it, remove a folded piece of paper, and give it to Penny.
“I think you should read it later, Penny, not now. Read it when you get home tonight. And now, Bunny here has something she wants to tell you. You’ll remember I told you that she used to drive the post office van. She was on her round that morning and she saw something.”
Feeling the pit of her stomach clench, Penny raised her eyes from Bunny’s hand to her face. The tension in the room rose, and Eirlys, picking up on it and clearly uncomfortable, released Mrs. Lloyd’s hand and wiped it with a towel.
“Should I step out for a minute, Penny?”
Penny looked at Mrs. Lloyd, who nodded.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but we don’t want to upset you, Eirlys, love. Tell you what. Why don’t you take a couple of pounds out of my purse and go and get us some nice biscuits, and when you get back, we’ll have a nice cup of tea?”
“What kind of biscuits would you like, Mrs. Lloyd?”
“Whatever kind you’d like. Something with a bit of chocolate on them, perhaps?”
Eirlys jumped up out of her chair and, clutching the money, left on her errand.
“All right, Bunny,” said Mrs. Lloyd, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms. “Get on with it. Tell Penny what you saw that morning.”
Bunny nervously cleared her throat.
“It was very early,” she began, “just before dawn, and I was making my rounds, dropping off the mail to the sub–post offices and clearing the pillar boxes as I went. It was crisp and cold, I remember, and I thought it was going to be a lovely day.
“And while I was in Trefriw to empty the letterbox there”—she looked at Mrs. Lloyd for reassurance—“you know the one, Evelyn, just outside the pub.” Penny and Mrs. Lloyd both nodded. “A car stopped and asked me for directions. It seemed odd to me that someone would be out and about at that time of day looking for the back route to Llanelen.”
Penny thought for a moment and then rose from her seat and went to her handbag. She returned with the photocopy she had made at the library that morning and, pushing the soaking bowl aside, put it down on the table, facing her client.
“Have a look at this photocopy of an old newspaper clipping,” she said. “I know it’s not very clear, but do you recognize this man? Was he the one driving the car?”
Bunny stared at the image of four people, one holding up a piece of art and the other three pretending to judge it, and she then shook her head.
“No,” she said, again shaking her head slowly, “he wasn’t driving. In fact, he wasn’t in the car. I don’t know anything about him.”
Penny sighed.
“But this one,” Bunny said, “this one was in the car and she’s the one who asked me for directions.” She pointed at Millicent Mayhew.
Penny covered her mouth with her hand and looked at Bunny.
“So she did it,” she said softly.
“But she was the passenger,” Bunny continued. Her damp finger hovered over Millicent’s image and then moved on. “This girl,” she said, pointing to the smiling blond woman, “this is the one who was driving.”
Her finger came to rest on Cynthia Browning.
Stunned, Penny struggled to take it in.
“But why didn’t you come forward and tell all this to the police at the time, Bunny?”
“Well, they were all over the radio asking for information, but they always referred to the driver as ‘he,’ so I figured they were looking for a man. I reckoned the police knew what they were talking about and they knew who they were looking for and it was a man. I didn’t see any man that day, just these two women.” She shrugged. “Still, I always wondered about it. Something didn’t seem quite right.”
Penny and Mrs. Lloyd exchanged a quick glance, and then Penny nodded slowly.
She remembered Gareth’s comment a few days earlier when he looked at the tire tracks across the painting—how the boys in the lab would enjoy it. She was certain that women worked in the lab, too. It seemed that policemen still talked like that.
“I see now what it was. It was the times. Back in 1970, the police—mostly men, of course—would just assume the driver was a man, and they would use ‘he’ in their appeal for help.”
She thought for a moment.
“But this happened such a long time ago, Bunny, and you did that route every day. Why do these two women stand out? How is it, do you think, that you even remember them?”
“I’ve thought about that day a lot over the years, Penny. When I heard about what happened to that poor young woman and realized I was so close to the scene, I wondered about it. It just stayed with me. And also, it was my daughter’s second birthday that day, and I was in a hurry because I wanted to get through my rounds early, if I could, so I could pick up a few bits and pieces for her party.”
“Oh, and Gwennie, I wondered if you could make us some of your delicious sandwiches? There’ll be about ten of us, including a couple of pensioners from out of town, so we want to make it a bit special. And those little petit fours you do so beautifully. Lovely! I’ll leave the rest up to you. Thanks and we’ll see you tomorrow.”
Penny put the phone down and turned to Victoria.
“There. All set. We’re giving a nice little tea party tomorrow to thank everyone. That was a really nice idea of yours to invite Florence and Jimmy. They probably don’t get out much, and I’m sure they’ll really enjoy it. Gareth and Bethan are bringing Jimmy with them from Llandudno. Jimmy says he hasn’t had a ride in the back of a police car for ages, so it’ll be quite like old times!”
Victoria remained silent.
“You’ve been absolutely wonderful about all this, Victoria, and I promise you’ve got my full attention now. We’ll get the spa ready for a Christmas opening, and they’re starting work on the cottage next week so it’s going to be all go. No more mysteries, I promise.”
“I don’t mind the mysteries,” Victoria said, “but you’ve got to get your priorities straight.” Penny was looking so intently at the photo of Alys as a child that Victoria gave up. “And blah, blah, blah.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Penny agreed. “And I will. Now let’s go over the guest list one more time. Oh, I forgot Mrs. Lloyd. She’s meant to be going to Manchester tomorrow, but I’ll invite her anyway and she can decide whether she wants to come.”
Penny added her name to the list.
When Victoria left, Penny settled into the sofa with her handbag on her lap and withdrew the piece of paper Mrs. Lloyd had given her earlier. After setting the handbag to one side, she unfolded the paper. It was a clipping from the local paper, dated January 21, 1971.
ARTIST’S DEATH: HUNT FOR HIT-AND-RUN DRIVER GOES ON, SAYS CORONER
She scanned the article, noting that the coroner had returned an open verdict, and the police were continuing their efforts to find the driver responsible.
Then, a few paragraphs into the story, the words of the coroner caught her full attention.
This driver failed completely to observe the ordinary decency one expects from a motorist involved in an accident—to pull up and go back to help the injured person,” said Coroner Morgan Llewellen.
“I hope the person who is responsible for this fatality can be brought to justice in another court.”
The coroner said that in the circumstances he would only ask the jury to return a verdict concerning the medical evidence that death was from shock due to multiple fractures of the pelvis and that the cause was being struck by a motor vehicle. The jury agreed.
She sat there for a few moments, then rose, crossed the room, and pinned the paper to her whiteboard.