Chapter Thirteen

“What do you know about Jennifer Sayles?” Penny asked Victoria the next morning.

“Jennifer Sayles?” Victoria pushed the start button on the coffee brewer.

“Yes, Jennifer Sayles. Emyr’s new girlfriend.”

“I don’t know anything about her. Is there something I should know about her?”

“I’m not sure. I was trying to place her, and then I remembered that she was a friend of Meg Wynn Thompson, Emyr’s fiancée. One of her bridesmaids, in fact. Other than that, I don’t know anything about her. I’ve been thinking about all the guests who were at the dinner, and we know the others so well, I can’t imagine that any of them could have had any part in the robbery. I mean, Mrs. Lloyd? Thomas and Bronwyn? Hardly. And as for the rest, they’re just honest, hardworking townsfolk, and Bethan will probably eliminate every one of them pretty quickly. They wouldn’t have the resources, and I don’t think they’d have the desire to pull off something like this.”

“So are you saying Jennifer Sayles might have?”

“No, not saying that at all. It’s just that we don’t know enough about her to be certain she didn’t.”

Victoria picked up her plain white coffee mug, looked at it, and thought for a moment. “Didn’t Mrs. Lloyd say she works in PR in London?” Penny nodded. “We might want to think about getting our own branded coffee mugs. And we’ve been talking about the need to create more awareness of the other services we offer, like massages and facials.”

“Oh,” said Penny, “you mean like we could have a PR campaign?”

“Exactly,” said Victoria, taking a sip of her coffee and peering at Penny over the top of her mug. “A small campaign, of course, but it might be worth our while to invest a few thousand pounds into it.”

“And don’t forget the hand cream,” said Penny. “It’s amazing, and everyone who uses it loves it. We could do so much more to promote that.”

“So why don’t we see what Jennifer can come up with?” suggested Victoria. “Although I’m sure she’s used to huge budgets and campaigns, so she might be way out of our league.”

“We can ask,” Penny replied. “I was going to Google her this morning, anyway. The only thing is, if she and Emyr have broken up, as we thought yesterday they might have, he probably wouldn’t want her coming back to Llanelen to work with us.”

“That’s for her to decide,” said Victoria. “If she doesn’t want to, that’s fine, and if there are problems, they can work it out between themselves. This is purely business.”

“Of course it is,” said Penny. “Purely business.”

“Right,” said Victoria. “Speaking of business, got your keys? We open in ten minutes, and you’re on the front desk this morning. See you later. Good luck.”

Penny brewed herself a cup of coffee and carried it back to her office. The cumbersome desktop computers that she, Victoria, and the receptionist had used for a couple of years had been replaced by sleek laptops. She opened hers, entered her password, and typed JENNIFER SAYLES in the search bar.

She scanned the list that came up and then chose a link to JSPR, a boutique PR company in London. She clicked on the link, and up came a photo of Jennifer Sayles in full hair and makeup, including bright-red lipstick, wearing a tailored black jacket over a crisp white shirt with the top buttons undone. Her hands rested on her hips in a confident, open stance. Penny reviewed the list of services offered and the client list, then turned to the biography of the owner of the firm, Jennifer Sayles. At the end of a long list of professional accomplishments and a brief description of her education (University of Manchester), Penny reached the end of the entry—a one-sentence note on her family: JESSICA SAYLES IS THE YOUNGER DAUGHTER OF SIR ANTHONY SAYLES AND HIS LATE WIFE, CYNTHIA (NEE RICHMOND). Penny clicked on the link that displayed the JSPR client list and noted an impressive list of lifestyle, food, and fashion brands. So the Llanelen Spa was in the right area, but hardly in that league, and Penny would have felt ridiculous asking Jennifer to consider taking them on as a client. So much for that idea.

She was about to Google Sir Anthony Sayles to see if she could learn more about Jennifer’s background when she realised with a flash of panic that she’d been on the Internet too long. She checked her watch. It was past time to open. She should have been at the front desk five minutes ago. She closed her laptop, grabbed her keys, and dashed down the hall to the reception area. She unlocked the front door and had barely made it behind the reception desk when the door opened and in walked Mrs. Lloyd.

“Oh, Penny,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I’ve just popped in hoping for a quick word.” She glanced around the empty reception area. “I wondered if there’s any news since yesterday.”

“News?”

“About what happened on Saturday night at the Hall. My goodness, surely you can’t have forgotten.”

“No, no. Of course not. It’s just that I wasn’t with you for a moment there.” Before Mrs. Lloyd could reply, the door opened again and the first client of the day entered.

“Oh, good morning,” said Penny. “You’re here for your appointment with …” She glanced at Rhian’s computer, which she hadn’t had time to switch on. Mrs. Lloyd, looking annoyed at having her conversation interrupted, stood slightly to one side as the client unbuttoned her coat and took off her scarf. Seeing her grey roots, Penny took a chance and asked, “Is it Alberto you’re seeing? Getting your hair done, are you?”

The woman nodded. “Rhian not in today?”

Penny was about to shoot Mrs. Lloyd a look warning her not to say anything but then thought that Mrs. Lloyd might not be aware yet that the waiter who had died Saturday night was Rhian’s nephew. “No, she’s taking a few days off,” said Penny.

“Oh, she’s not ill, I hope,” said the customer.

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Penny switched on Rhian’s laptop, and then remembered she didn’t have the password to sign in. “She’s just taking some personal time. Now, if you’d like to just go on down the hall to Alberto’s salon, he’ll be waiting for you.” And then Penny realised she hadn’t printed out the appointment lists for the day, so Alberto would have no idea whom to expect, and neither would Eirlys in the manicure studio or the skin care specialist or the masseuse. “On second thought,” Penny said to the client, “I’ll walk with you down to the hair studio and let Alberto know you’re here.” She turned to Mrs. Lloyd, who was hovering over the magazines. “I’ll be back, but I may be a few minutes.”

“No, you’re all right, Penny,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “This is your workplace, and I can see you’re busy. I’m sure you’ll be in touch if you hear anything. I’d best be on my way.”

At that moment, the door opened and Eirlys entered, ready for her day’s work in the manicure studio. She looked at the desk where Rhian should have been and raised an eyebrow.

“Just stay there, please, Eirlys, and if you can, start up Rhian’s computer,” Penny said. “I think you know her password. I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Lloyd listened to the exchange, looked from Penny to Eirlys, and then, her hand on the door, hesitated, as if changing her mind about leaving. But a moment later she pushed it open and disappeared into what promised to be a blustery day.

“I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to notify you,” Penny said to Eirlys when she returned to the receptionist’s desk after delivering Alberto’s client. Eirlys looked up from the computer.

“I guess you haven’t printed off the work lists for today,” she said.

“No, I haven’t. Would you mind doing that?”

“I’ll just switch on the printer.” She reached under the desk and then straightened up. “It takes a minute to warm up.”

“Eirlys, look, something’s happened. Rhian needs a few days off, so you’ll be on the reception desk a bit more than usual. Victoria and I will be filling in as well.”

“Or you could get a temp in,” said Eirlys.

“Well, yes, if we have to, we will. But listen, just so you know …” Penny briefly explained the circumstances under which Rhian’s nephew had died on Saturday night.

“Oh, not Rhodri,” exclaimed Eirlys.

“It sounds as if you knew Rhodri. Was he a friend of yours?”

“I wouldn’t call him a friend, exactly. He came here one evening a few months ago to drop something off for Rhian, and I was just leaving and she introduced us. We went out a couple of times. He was a nice enough bloke, but he just wasn’t my type, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean.” When Eirlys didn’t reply, Penny prompted her. “Was he gay, or did you think he was?”

“No, it wasn’t that. Definitely wasn’t that.” Eirlys let out a wheezy little laugh. “It was really more the people he hung out with. I didn’t feel comfortable with them. In fact, I didn’t like them at all.”

“What were they like?”

“Rough.”

“Rough?”

“His mates, they … it seemed to me they … I don’t know, exactly, but it’s almost like they had some kind of hold over him. He seemed a little afraid of them, to be honest. There was something about them that seemed …” She struggled to find the right word and then came up with “menacing.” Penny leaned forward to encourage her to continue, but the door opened behind her, and as Eirlys peered around her to see who was coming in, Penny shifted to one side and turned her head to see who it was.

“Only me!” Mrs. Lloyd called out in a cheery voice. “Sorry to bother you again, but I seem to have misplaced my gloves. I realised I didn’t have them when I was leaving the bank, so I wondered if I might have left them …” She scanned the reception area and spotting them on the magazine table, picked them up, arranged them palms together, and held them in her left hand. At this moment the printer chugged into action and spat out several sheets of paper.

“The appointment lists for today.” Eirlys glanced at the documents before handing them to Penny. “Hair is full, but we’re light in the manicure studio. Do you want me to take the appointments, or would you prefer that I stay here?”

“You stay there. Probably best if I do the manicures and you manage this desk. You’re much better with booking appointments than I am. Sometimes I put people in for the wrong day and it causes all kinds of problems. And you’re brilliant at greeting customers.” She turned to Mrs. Lloyd. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Lloyd, bestowing a warm smile on Eirlys. “She certainly is. You’re very lucky to have her.”

“I’ve got to get back to work, now, Mrs. Lloyd,” Penny said, holding up the client lists. “We’re short-staffed, as you know, with Rhian away, and opening today hasn’t gone very well, but we’ll be fine now that Eirlys is here. But before you go, there’s something I need to tell you.” Just then the telephone rang, and when Eirlys picked it up, Penny and Mrs. Lloyd stepped away from the desk.

“I hoped there might be,” said Mrs. Lloyd eagerly, her blue eyes crinkling with anticipation.

“I’m not sure if the police have released the name of the victim yet, but his family has been informed, and you know it anyway from Saturday night, but what you might not know is that Rhodri Phillips was our Rhian’s nephew.”

“Oh, I see,” said Mrs. Lloyd in a low voice. “That’s why she’s taking some time off. Yes, of course. That makes sense. But the thing is, do we know yet how he died?”

“No. But it’s only Monday. The earliest the postmortem would likely have been scheduled is today, so we might know more soon. And I’m sure the police are working every line of inquiry, interviewing everybody, examining every avenue open to them.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt about that,” replied Mrs. Lloyd. “They haven’t contacted me yet, though, to interview me or take my statement. I assume they will. Right, well, you’ve got a busy day ahead of you, and I must get on with my errands, so I’ll leave you to it.”

But Penny’s day wasn’t particularly busy, giving her lots of time to mull over the events of Saturday night and Sunday. It would soon be forty-eight hours since the chair had been stolen, and she wondered if it was even still in the country.

When the last well-coiffed, manicured, and massaged clients had departed, followed by the staff, Victoria and Penny walked through the empty rooms, checking that the work stations were clean and tidy for the next morning.

“Feel like coming upstairs for a glass of wine?” Victoria asked.

“No, not tonight, thanks just the same. I’m going to see Jimmy. I haven’t been for about a week and a half, and he’ll want to hear all about the theft of the chair.”

“He’ll probably have some interesting thoughts on that,” said Victoria.

“I’m counting on it.”