Nine
Victoria had reminded Penny that Eirlys, the daughter of the family with whom she had stayed earlier that year, who was hoping to be taken on as a junior, was coming in for an interview at lunchtime.
Just before noon the door opened and a young woman with long dark hair clipped jauntily on top of her head, leaving a few bobbing, youthful wisps, slipped quietly into the salon. Penny’s client turned to see who had just arrived and broke into a broad smile.
“Eirlys, love! It’s grand to see you. How are your mum and dad?”
That does it, thought Penny. We’re having her.
Forty-five minutes later, with her duties and hours of work explained and a training scheme agreed to, Eirlys bounded happily out of the salon, leaving Victoria and Penny to head upstairs to Victoria’s flat for a quick lunch.
“What did I tell you!” exclaimed Victoria as they entered the small, neat sitting room.
“Yes, you were right,” Penny agreed. “I could feel the atmosphere change as soon as she walked into the room. Of course, with that gorgeous dark hair and blue eyes, she’s a scene stealer.”
She made a quick pointing gesture at Victoria. “That’s it! Of course! I was trying to think who she reminded me of and it’s Catherine Zeta-Jones.
“Anyway, I really hope this works out as well as I think it’s going to. Do you know, she even asked me if she could wear a smock, as she thinks it looks more professional. Do you think she might have seen that in a movie?”
“No”—Victoria smiled—“she saw it in a salon in Llandudno. She visited a couple as part of her research so she’d have a better idea of what the job might involve.”
“Well, I’m impressed! I give her a lot of credit for that.”
“Anyway, I’m famished. Let’s get the kettle on and then figure out what we’re going to have for lunch.”
As they sat down to their sandwiches, Victoria’s phone rang.
“Oh, hi, Bronwyn,” she said and, after a moment, added, “yes, I did mention the jumble sale to Penny and she’s going to do Emma’s room very soon and sort out the clothes and things for you.”
She tilted her head meaningfully in Penny’s direction and then listened for a few moments.
“Really! The cemetery? How lucky that you found him when you did. What did the vet say?”
She listened for a few more minutes and then rang off.
“You’ll never guess,” she said to Penny.
“No, I probably won’t,” said Penny, “so you’d better tell me.”
“Well, it’s just that Bronwyn found a dog in the cemetery. At death’s door, he was. So they took him to the vet, and now they’re looking after him for a bit. Nursing him back to health. I thought I might go over later and see him.”
“Took him to the vet, eh? Do you think they’ll be taking him to the vet again?”
“Well, I don’t know. I guess it depends on how well the dog . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, I get it. The vet. Alun Jones the vet. That vet.”
Penny nodded. “Victoria, that’s a brilliant idea that you should look in on the poor dog. And find out if Bronwyn’s going back to see the vet, and if she is, let’s invite her and Thomas round on Friday evening for a little chat. I think they can help with our investigation. They’ve got the perfect opportunity to poke around a bit and see if Alun Jones can tell us anything about the accident. He might have heard something.”
Victoria nodded. “Not one to miss an opportunity, are you?”
“Right. And there’s something else we can ask Thomas to do,” Penny continued. “Emma’s journals. I really don’t want to read them myself, not yet anyway, and who knows? Maybe I never will. But remember a few months back when Thomas agreed to go through one or two when we were looking for background information that we hoped would help in that business about the missing bride? And besides, as a rector, he knows about keeping things confidential, so Emma’s secrets, whatever they may be, will be safe with him. So let’s ask him to go over the crucial years. Emma might have made notes about people or events that could be helpful to us now.”
She paused for a moment and then reached for her notebook. “I wish I could go with you to Bronwyn’s. But I can’t wait to hear all about the dog.”
On Wednesday, Penny and Victoria met the estate agent to go over the riverside property they were considering for conversion into the Llanelen Spa. They considered its location right beside the Red Dragon Hotel a bonus and, if they decided to buy it, planned to approach the hotel owners to discuss redecorating and upgrading rooms for the exclusive use of their out-of-town clients.
“Now I must be honest with you,” the estate agent was saying as they studied the outside of the three-storey dark grey stone building, admiring the way it stood its timeless ground against the river. “There isn’t much space for parking and that could be a drawback.”
“We’ve thought of that,” said Penny, “and we think it could be an advantage. We will encourage our clients to come by train—we can arrange for them to be met at the station. More environmentally friendly and relaxing. No driving!”
The front of the building, which faced the river, featured a small path that led to a few crumbling stairs.
“It’s been empty for a long time,” the estate agent warned as he unlocked the bright blue door. “Prepare yourselves, and don’t expect too much.”
The two women glanced at each other, and then Victoria stepped tentatively inside. She found herself in a large entry hall, permeated by an overwhelming smell of damp and decay. Peeling plaster, which had once been painted a vibrant turquoise, hung from the walls exposing thin wood strips. She turned around and motioned for Penny to join her, and the two set off to tour the rooms while the estate agent waited outside, occasionally glancing at his watch.
“What do you think?” asked Penny when they had looked over the building. They knew the building had been on the market with no interest for years and had decided that if they were to move forward with it, Victroria would take the lead on the property development, and once the structural work was done, Penny would oversee the decorating and furnishing.
“If we were to make an offer, I’m sure we’d get it way below asking price. Everyone else sees it as it is, and no one wants it. We see it as it could be, and we do want it. What we’d really be buying is the potential,” said Victoria. “It’s been abandoned for ages so no surprises. It’s about what I expected.”
She gestured toward the river. “The location is a huge plus. The land value alone would be a great investment for us. We do it up . . .”
Penny nodded. “Go on.”
“Look, let’s get the surveyor to go over it and give us a report on the structure. That way, we can get an idea of how sound it is and what would be required. You could then draw up a few sketches of what you think we’d like it to look like, and we can move forward with the work. We’ll want to knock down some of the interior walls to open up the space. And put in a really good kitchen. That sort of thing.
“But if you can imagine it with hardwood floors, new walls, beautiful pastel paint colours, really high-end bathrooms with rain forest showers—all the fixtures and fittings . . .”
“Stop!” Penny laughed. “I’m starting to get excited. Next you’ll be talking about rose petals and tea lights! Let’s do it!”
“And here’s another thought,” added Victoria. “If they do a good job on this building, they could probably have your cottage done up in no time. You’ll be getting, what, a new kitchen, new bathroom, and everything painted and new floors?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Penny. “I’m going to leave it as it is until I find out why Alys Jones died. I think renovating it now will take me too far from Emma and Alys.”
She thought for a moment. “No, what I really mean is renovating it now will take them too far away from me. While everything is as they knew it, I can picture them there and feel close to them. When we know what happened to Alys, then I’ll be able to get on with the redecorating.”
Victoria touched her arm. “And move on. I understand. Oh, and speaking of moving on, I wondered what you’d think of the idea of incorporating a small flat into the spa for me on the top floor? I’ll have to move out anyway when we give up the lease on the salon and this way, we’ll have someone on the premises all the time. Good idea, yes?”
“Yes, good idea.”
“And you know, I also think we could have a reception room. If it were done properly, it could be used for corporate events and maybe even small weddings. We’ll have kitchen facilities so we could generate extra income by renting it out.”
“Oh, I do like the sound of that,” said Penny, adding, “and we might even be able to offer musical evenings. You could perform.”
An accomplished harpist, Victoria had performed in London until her recent move to Llanelen.
Smiling, they rejoined the anxious estate agent. After all this time, could today be my lucky day, he asked himself as he saw them approaching. He almost felt sorry for them. What could two middle-aged women possibly want with a rundown old building like this? Did they have any idea what they’d be taking on? Still, business is business, and in real estate the offers you least expect are often the best ones. Not to mention the only ones.
Penny finished up for the day and said good-bye to Victoria, leaving her to close the shop. As she walked home through the familiar streets, she realized that it was now well into September and she could feel the evenings beginning to draw in. The sun was setting that much sooner now, and it wouldn’t be long until she would be getting out her warm clothes, including her favourite sweaters that had been unworn for months, waiting for their time to come again.
The artist in her loved the colours of fall, the rich reds and browns of turning leaves. While Wales did not have the extravagant display of leaf colours she had known as a child in her native Nova Scotia, the ivy on the tea shop did turn a lustrous scarlet and put on a brave show. She thought about Canada from time to time but did not long for it. This had been her home for many years, and in her heart she would always belong here, not there.
As she turned into the little lane that led to her cottage, her thoughts turned again to Alys. What was she like, she wondered. What did her accent sound like? Did she have a favourite fragrance?
She walked through the small front garden to her front door. She had arranged for a neighbourhood boy to start work on the garden after school, and just as Gareth had promised, with the weeds gone and order restored it was looking much better. The pale pink, late-summer roses nodded gently to her as she brushed by them, and she smiled as she put her key in the door.
As she pushed the door open and entered the living room, she sensed the change that had come over the house in the short weeks that she had been there. Gone was the sense of unloved abandonment and loneliness; the house was filling up again with contentment and energy and was slowly starting to take on the personality of its new owner.
Suddenly, Penny was impatient to lay its ghosts to rest. I must find out what happened so I can put this behind me and get on with my life, she thought. She glanced at her watch. The library would be open for another hour. She closed the door again and hurried out.
Seated at the computer, she typed in “Liverpool artists 1960s.” There were masses of material on the Merseyside music scene, a little about the poetry scene, but not much about artists. On a different search, there were lots of Alys Joneses but not her Alys Jones. Twenty-five very fast minutes later the banner warning her that her time was almost up crawled along the bottom of the screen. She closed her notebook and stood up.
On the way out, she thanked the librarian and made a mental note that getting her own computer had now risen to the top of her priorities list. She had even heard somewhere that you didn’t need to get the Internet cable installed in your home now; you could get a little thing that plugged into your computer and the Internet was instantly available to you. Laptop, she thought. I’ll get a laptop and I’ll get it right away. I’ll ask Bethan what kind to get. She’s young and smart—she’ll know about things like that. Oh, God, do I feel old and out of it.
But still, she told herself, if she couldn’t find what she wanted on the Internet, there was an old-fashioned, low-tech way, and she knew exactly where she had to go to do it.
“Well, Penny,” said Mrs. Lloyd the next day at her regular Thursday afternoon manciure, “I hear Eirlys is going to be working here. About time, too! You know I’ve been telling you for years that you need someone young about the place to liven us all up. Someone on the BBC was saying just this morning that mentorship is the way to go. It helps us view the world through younger eyes and keeps us in touch with what young people are up to.
“Now, in my day,” she went on, “things moved much more slowly. But the pace of change these days! You simply can’t keep up with it. As you know, I got my mobile phone a few months ago and I do use it for making calls, but apparently I could use it to take photos, send text messages, and all kinds of other things. Send text messages! I ask you—who on earth would I send a text message to?”
Penny nodded as Mrs. Lloyd rambled on. Once she was up and running, there was no stopping her. Penny’s thoughts drifted away.
“. . . and then,” Mrs. Lloyd was continuing, “I’ll be going to Llandudno for my usual tea at Badgers. But my friend Bunny from the post office days, the one who came to lunch last week—you’ll remember I told you about her—she was suggesting that we might go to the theatre in Manchester and stop overnight at her daughter’s home. So I think we’ll do that. And no doubt she’ll want to come in for a manicure, too, before we go. There! Now I’ve brought you another customer. It’s good to get away every now and then, even for a weekend, don’t you think? Brings a different perspective to things.”
Penny, who was applying the second coat of Mrs. Lloyd’s polish, stopped and, holding the brush in midair, smiled at her.
“Do you know, Mrs. Lloyd, I think you’re right, as usual. By the way, how do you like this colour? You’re getting a little daring in your choice of colours, I must say.”
“Yes, does it seem a little brighter than the usual ones? What’s it called, again?
“Baguette Me Not. It’s from the France collection.”
“Baguette . . . that reminds me . . . must stop in at the bakery on the way home. I do like a baguette with some Brie and a bit of celery. Does anyone eat celery anymore? I can remember my mother used to have a special dish just for celery. No one these days would be able to figure out what it was for. Had a very distinctive shape, though. Well, it would do, wouldn’t it?”
When she had said good-bye to Mrs. Lloyd and tidied up after her, Penny went off in search of Victoria. She found her upstairs, working at the kitchen table, magazines and notepaper spread everywhere.
Victoria looked up and smiled. “Couldn’t resist going over some of these spa magazines. The surveyor is going to go over the building this weekend, and if we like what we hear, we should be in a position to make an offer on Monday.”
Penny nodded. “That would be good. Well, I’ll leave that in your capable hands. By the way,” Penny continued, “Mrs. Lloyd has heard that Eirlys is coming to work here and likes the idea so much, she’s passing it off as something she dreamed up! Honestly, that woman can be so annoying when we both know the idea was really mine!”
Victoria laughed.
“Excuse me? Whose idea was it? Mine, I think. But yes, Mrs. Lloyd can be very trying at times, but underneath it all she’s got a heart of gold and you can’t help but like her. Most of the time, anyway. Still, you want to keep on the good side of her because you never know when her local knowledge is going to come in handy. She knows everything there is to know about this town and has done for years. And her memory is still amazingly sharp. She remembers every detail of just about everything that happened.”
“That’s true.”
Penny looked around the kitchen that had once been hers. “You know, it feels strange being here. It’s not mine anymore, but I don’t feel the cottage is my home yet, either. I feel, well, a little unsettled, really.”
“I think you need to lay an old ghost to rest, and then you can move on.”
“Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about. I’m going to Liverpool on Sunday. The Central Library is open in the afternoon, and I’m going to search through the archives. They’ll have copies of the Echo dating back decades, and I want to see if there’s any mention of Alys.”
She started and put her hand over her mouth.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! There’s me going on and on and I forgot to ask how you got on when you went to see Bronwyn and Thomas’s dog. How was that?”
Victoria stood up and walked over to the sink to fill the kettle. When she returned to the table, she reached into her handbag for her mobile.
“Look, here he is. I took a photo of him.”
Penny leaned in to look.
“Oh, he looks adorable in his little basket. I’m sure they’re taking really good care of him. What will happen to him, do you think?”
Victoria shot her a wry, knowing look.
Penny grinned.
“Of course they will! They’re probably telling themselves all the reasons why they can’t keep a dog, but they can say what they like. The outcome’s going to be just the same.”
She continued to look at the photo.
“You know, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the idea of looking at photos on a phone. It seems too temporary. I think of them as paper things you hold in your hand. Like the one I found in Emma’s pencil box. Like the ones Alwynne has. They’re easier to share. I think they’re more permanent, too.”
She shrugged.
“I know. I’m turning into a fossil. But I like the old ways better. Lots of things just worked better back in the day.”
She brightened.
“Anyway, are Thomas and Bronwyn coming over on Friday night? I hope so. There’s a lot they can do to help.”
“He’s coming,” replied Victoria. “Bronwyn thinks the dog is too delicate to leave just at the minute.”
“Well, fair enough.”
“We’re going to need stadium seating if our little circle continues to grow,” said Victoria as she carried a chair from the dining room into the sitting area. “Who all are you expecting tonight, again?”
“Let’s see. Um, well, Alwynne, you and me, of course, and Bethan and Thomas,” she said, counting them off on her fingers. “So that’s five of us. Gareth isn’t coming. Says he’s just going to leave us to get on with it.”
Victoria set the chair down and wiped off the seat.
“Do I get a sense that things are cooling off a bit there?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s just we’re both a bit preoccupied with other things right now. You and I have the new business, and then there’s this place, and of course the Alys Jones affair. I want to get my wings straight and level before I move on with him. I want everything to be just right. For both of us.”
“Well, don’t leave it too long is my advice, for what it’s worth, or you might find he’s moved on without you,” said Victoria with an emphatic nod. “He won’t wait forever, you know.”
Penny looked startled.
“Gosh, I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I’d better find more time for him. How long until they get here? Good, I’ve got time to make a call. I’ll invite him to come with me on Sunday.”
As she finished speaking, the doorbell rang, and moments later Alwynne entered.
“Evening, Penny,” she said. “Oh, I see you’ve kept the board up. Good! Well, I’ve brought another photo to add to it, and I think you’re going to like it!”
She reached into a carrier bag and brought out a large brown envelope.
“Here you go,” she said as she handed it to Penny, who took it over to the window so she could look at its contents in the early evening light. Alwynne followed her a few moments later and stood silently as Penny withdrew a black-and-white 8 by 10 photo.
The image showed a group of about six teenagers in what looked like an art class. They were grouped around an artfully arranged still-life of fruit, flowers, and a dead bird of some kind, its showy tail feathers trailing mournfully over the edge of the small table.
“Here she is,” said Alwynne softly, pointing to a girl in the centre of the group. Penny was surprised that her hand was trembling a little as she handed the photo back to Alwynne.
“Here,” she said. “Hold it for a moment while I get my glasses.”
A few moments later she examined the photo more closely, her attention focused on the young Alys. She was wearing a school uniform with a crest on the centre of the tunic and a cardigan. She gazed critically at her canvas with a serious look that was difficult to read. Penny couldn’t tell if the girl liked what she saw or was dissatisfied with it. Her head was held at a slight incline and her lips were pressed together in what could be critical contemplation of her work. She seemed deeply absorbed in what she was doing, unaware of or uncaring about the camera. Her dark hair was worn in a fringe over her forehead, and the rest of it, all the same length, was cut just under her ears, giving the appearance of a glossy helmet. Penny turned the photo over, noted the date, and did a quick calculation.
“She would have been about fourteen years old here,” she murmured.
“Sorry, what did you say?” asked Alwynne, leaning closer.
Penny repeated herself and Alwynne nodded.
“That was taken at the old school. The art teacher’s widow donated a lot of his old photos. He was an amateur photographer and enjoyed taking photos of his pupils. Even had a little darkroom at the school and developed the negatives and made the prints himself. Of course, they’re both gone now, but it was good of her to pass the photos on to us. You can see how immensely valuable they are. I much prefer the old prints myself to the new digital things that people sometimes e-mail us. Not sure what to do with them. If I save them on a computer, no one will ever see them probably.”
After a tactful pause, she added, “So if you do come across any photos in Emma’s things that you think have historical merit, you’ll be sure to . . .”
Her voice trailed off as Penny nodded and touched her arm.
“Yes, of course I will. You don’t have to worry about that. And I agree with you about the photos, by the way. I think it’s all about instant gratification versus something of permanent and lasting value, but there are advantages to the digital ones, too, like speed. I haven’t turned over Emma’s bedroom yet, but I expect there’ll be a few treasures there for you. I promised the clothing to Bronwyn for her jumble sale.”
“That’s the best place for it,” agreed Alwynne. “You won’t want to wear it, but someone else will. Still, you have a bit of time. The sale isn’t until November. Good timing, that, so we can clear out our closets to make room for all the new things we’ll get for Christmas.”
“You’re so practical, aren’t you?” said Penny affectionately as the two women smiled at each other.
“Oh, and look—here’s the rector. We left the front door open for him.”
The Rev. Thomas Evans closed the door behind him and eased into the sitting room with the confidence acquired from many years of attending every imaginable occasion from sickbed visits to the counseling of parents who are beside themselves after learning that their teenage daughter is pregnant.
“Good evening, Penny,” he said warmly, reaching over to shake her hand. “And Alwynne, too.” He peered around. “Victoria somewhere about, is she?”
From the kitchen came the sound of a ringing telephone, and then a few moments later Victoria joined the group in the living room.
“Hello, Thomas,” she said with an easy smile. “That was Bethan on the phone. Says she’s sorry she can’t make it and that we should carry on.”
“Right,” said Penny. “That’s what we’ll do. Why don’t we all sit at the dining room table? I think that would work better for us this evening. But first, I want to show Thomas our board and get him up to speed on what we know so far. And, Victoria, there’s a new photo here you need to see. It’s Alys, when she was about fourteen. She wore her hair quite short. I bet there were a few arguments with her mother over that, but I think she looks quite good.”
She handed the photo over to Victoria, who gave it a brief glance, then passed it on to the rector, who carried it with him as he and Penny crossed the room to the whiteboard.
He took a bit more time with it and then returned it to Penny, who taped it to her display.
“I think I’m going to get a small corkboard,” she muttered to no one in particular. “I like pushpins better.”
She spent a few minutes with the rector, showing him the timeline of the events on the night Alys died and giving as much background as she could. Then, the two joined Victoria and Alwynne at the table.
“Oh dear me,” he said as he lowered himself into his chair. “I know you are preoccupied with all this, Penny, but realistically, after all this time, do you think you’ll be able to solve a mystery that the police were unable to at the time?”
He paused.
“Well, we did once before,” said Penny, referring to the missing bride earlier that summer. “And I, that is we,” she said with a vague gesture at the other two, who nodded helpfully, “we need your help. In fact, we need you to do now what you did for us then.”
“Oh, no,” said the rector. “No more breaking and entering for me. That was quite enough, thank you very much. I am still terrified someone will find out what we did, and I will be up in front of the bishop so fast my feet won’t touch the ground.”
As the others laughed, he joined in in a good-natured but halfhearted kind of way.
“No,” Penny went on, “but you’re on the right track. Now, though, we are legally in the cottage so there’ll be none of that. However, I hope you’ll agree to read Emma’s diaries, just as you did last time. But you don’t have to read all of them. If you would start in 1967 and go through to 1971.”
She gave him her best appealing look. “I can’t bear to go through them, and I know you would treat the contents of those journals with the strictest confidence. You are the only person we can trust with this job.”
The other two nodded.
“I don’t know,” he replied uncertainly. “It doesn’t seem right to pry into the nature of their relationship, as you described it to me. I don’t think I would be comfortable with that.”
Penny’s mouth turned down at the corners, and an uncomfortable silence hung over the group, broken only by the sound of the rector tapping his fingers on the table.
Don’t say anything, Penny thought. Keep quiet just a moment longer and we’ll have him.
“Oh well, I guess it won’t do any harm,” he said at last, giving in with obvious reluctance. “But, mind you, I don’t know how soon I might be able to get to them, as we’ve got our hands rather full at the moment.”
He brightened, sat up straighter, and smiled.
“Have you heard about the little dog we found? Of course we’re just looking after him temporarily, until a permanent home can be arranged for him, but I must say Bronwyn is enjoying nursing him back to health and she’s doing a wonderful job. The little chap gets stronger every day. Won’t stay in his basket and follows Bronwyn everywhere. She’ll be taking him for walks soon.”
The others smiled at him.
“And has he had his follow-up visit to the vet yet?” Victoria asked. “Bronwyn mentioned that something came up and she had to reschedule that.”
“That’s right, we’ll be taking him in next week,” the rector replied. “I’m sure Jones, the vet, will be pleased with the dog’s progress. Definitely going in the right direction.”
Penny cast a sidelong glance at Victoria, acknowledging the deft way she had manipulated the conversation, and then she dived in.
“Well, that’s what we were hoping to talk to you about,” she began.
“You see, Jones, the vet, is actually the brother of Alys, and we thought that when you take your little dog in to see him . . . by the way, what’s the dog’s name, again?”
“He doesn’t have one. We thought there’s no point in us naming him when we aren’t going to keep him. We agreed that his proper owners should name him.”
Oh, you’ll be naming him, all right, thought Penny with an inward smile. That dog isn’t going anywhere, except, of course, on another visit to the vet, to be followed soon after by a nice, long walk through the town so his proper new owners can show him off.
“Right, well, when you take the little fellow in to see the vet, I wondered if you or maybe Bronwyn could swing the conversation round to Alys and the accident. I understand from the police reports that Alun was away at university in Edinburgh at the time and the police never interviewed him.”
“Is there any reason why they should have?” asked the rector.
“I don’t really know,” said Penny. “That’s what we’d like to find out. See if he suddenly goes all shifty, as if he’s got something to hide.”
The rector laughed.
“Really, Penny! As if he’s going to reveal anything about the death of his sister thirty-odd years ago to a couple of clients he barely knows, while he examines a dog in his surgery. And maybe it will cause him some distress, opening up an old wound like that.”
Penny looked deflated, and the rector, being a kind soul, responded. “Well, there’s no harm in asking, I suppose.”
He drained the last of his tea and set the cup down.
“Now, I must be off. I promised Bronwyn I would not be late. Still, I think she enjoys having the occasional evening to herself. Usually spends it curled up with a library book and a glass of sherry, as far as I can tell.” He chuckled. “From the covers on them, some of them seem to be quite racy!”
Penny jumped up and ran to the kitchen. She carried the box of Emma’s journals that she had saved from the rubbish, through the dining and sitting rooms to the front door, where the rector joined her and opened the door. He went on ahead to open the car door, and she placed the carton on the backseat.
“Now remember,” she said, “1967 to 1971. You’re looking for references to Alys Jones, and I expect there will be lots of them. We’re looking for anything that might shed some light on what happened to Alys. Who their friends were, where they went, any references to a disagreement—anything and everything that you think will help.”
The rector smiled at her earnest sincerity.
“And thanks so much for doing this. You’re the only one we could ask and we do appreciate it.”
The rector acknowledged her thanks, got in his car, and with a gentle wave over his shoulder, drove off.
Penny watched as his car made the turn toward town, and then she returned to the cottage.
“I think things will start to move forward now,” she said to her friends as she rejoined them at the table. “I’m going to call Gareth and see if he’s free on Sunday afternoon. I’m planning a little outing. Not very exciting, I’m afraid, but he might like to come.”
She paused for a moment and then continued.
“I’m going to go through the old newspaper microfiche rolls in the library.”
Seeing their puzzled looks, she added, “The Central Library. Liverpool. We know how Alys died. We need to know how she lived.”