“Where did you find this?” asked Penny, examining the glass jar with its silver lid.
“In Barbara Vickers’s kitchen. We’ve been combing through her flat, and when I saw this in the fridge, I thought I’d show it to you, just in case it’s Florence’s marmalade, the one you were on about. The stuff’s obviously homemade—there’s no commercial label on it.”
Penny turned the jar upside down and smoothed the stiff plastic of the bag over the bottom of the glass jar.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure it is Florence’s,” she said.
“How can you tell?” Bethan asked.
“Because there’s a little sticker on the bottom with a number on it, and the number is 398, which is high. This is one of the last items we took in for the agricultural show competition. If the number had been three, say, then, no, it wouldn’t be Florence’s. But there is a sure way to confirm, and that’s to compare this number against the list of entries Victoria and I logged in that evening. Barbara was the show’s secretary, and she took the lists and put them on her clipboard, so unless Joyce Devlin has the list, it’s probably somewhere in Barbara’s flat.” She held the jar, still in its plastic bag, with two hands in her lap. “When Florence entered this”—she lifted the jar slightly—“it was wearing a little red-and-white gingham topper. I guess that’s just for decoration and most people toss it when they actually start eating the contents of the jar.” She peered at it. “I can’t really tell if any’s been eaten. It looks full, but it’s hard to tell through the plastic. What will happen to it?”
Bethan reached out for it. “We’ll hang on to it, in case it needs to be tested.”
“Tested?”
“Nothing is really clear at this point. The investigation is still in its early stages, and the Merseyside police haven’t uncovered a motive yet. So it’s hard to say what’s important. Until we know what isn’t important, we’ll hang on to everything, just in case.”
“May I tell Florence we found her marmalade?”
“Best hold off on that until we know for sure. PC Chris Jones is still at the flat, so I’ll ask him to look for the clipboard with the entries. What’s the sticker number again?” She checked the bottom of the jar, then sent a text.
“Can you tell me how Barbara Vickers died?” Penny asked.
“The postmortem hasn’t been completed yet, but the hospital said she died from heart failure. The pathologist says it was likely brought on by attempted strangulation.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. How awful for her.”
“Of course, Merseyside is still piecing the events together to determine exactly what happened.”
“And hopefully who did that to her. She was such a quiet, unassuming soul. Wouldn’t-say-boo-to-a-goose kind of woman.”
“We’ll get whoever did this. Anyway, thought you’d like to know about the marmalade. I’ll let you get on now.” As they left the room, Bethan’s phone chimed to indicate an incoming text. She read the two-word message, then showed it to Penny. Numbers match.
“I’ll let Florence know we’ve solved the mystery of her missing marmalade,” said Penny. “I’m glad you were able to check the numbers so easily.”
Check the numbers, thought Penny as Bethan left. That must have been what Barbara had meant when she said, “I checked.” For some reason, she had checked the number on the bottom of the jar against the entry documents and had realized the marmalade was Florence’s. And now we have to find out how it ended up in the kitchen of Barbara Vickers.
* * *
Client appointments kept Penny busy for the rest of the morning. Finally, hungry and in desperate need of the restorative power of freshly brewed coffee, she and Victoria headed upstairs for lunch in the spacious, airy flat on the top floor that had been created for Victoria when the building that was now home to the Llanelen Spa had been renovated.
When they’d taken on the project—against the advice of just about everybody—the only things the grey, three-storey stone structure had going for it were its solid outer walls and its location. Situated on the bank of the River Conwy, with beautiful views to the richly forested hills beyond, the building was in need of much restoration. Its windows were boarded up and weeds sprouted in the mortar that barely held the place together. The abandoned rooms were filled with rubbish left behind by squatters, the plasterwork was crumbling, and the wooden window frames and sashes were rotted beyond repair.
Nevertheless, they’d seen past all that, right down to the building’s beautiful bones, and recognized the potential, not only for business possibilities but as a property investment, and they’d been right on both counts. The business they created was thriving, and the value of their real estate holding had more than doubled.
Victoria unlocked the door to her clean, uncluttered flat, decorated in soothing neutral colours, accented by splashes of bright accessories, and Penny followed her in. Schedules permitting, they tried to have lunch together in the flat at least once a week. Penny set the second box she had brought from the bakery on the kitchen worktop, and then, as she always did on every visit, she went straight to the sitting room window that overlooked the river and peered out. Victoria headed to the kitchen, and a moment later came the sound of rattling dishes and cutlery. Penny drifted back into the kitchen to see what she could do to help.
“Here,” Victoria said to Penny, handing her a tray, “You can set the table whilst I make a salad.”
Ten minutes later, they sat down to lunch.
“Looks lovely,” said Penny. “I’m starved.”
“Me, too.” Victoria offered the salad to Penny, then served herself. “What was Bethan doing here this morning?”
Penny explained that Florence’s marmalade had been found in Barbara Vickers’s kitchen. “But what’s really got me thinking is something Rhian told me this morning—that Barbara was a bookkeeper and handled the accounts of lots of small businesses around here. Remember she was the treasurer at the Women’s Guild meeting we went to?”
Victoria nodded. “Are you back to thinking about Joyce? That Barbara might have discovered some discrepancies in the finances related to the kennels?”
Penny nodded. “Barbara might have discovered discrepancies in the kennel accounts, or she might have wondered, as we did, where the Devlins got the money to pay for them. And maybe she realized that Joyce, and/or Dev, had been stealing from the agricultural show’s account, used the money to finance the kennels, and then she confronted one or both of them about it.”
“She might have told Joyce that if she paid the money back, the matter would go no further, but Joyce couldn’t do that, because she’s in too much debt,” said Victoria.
“So poor Barbara had to go.”
“People have been killed for a lot less. There is one thing, though. Neither Joyce nor her husband were on that trip to Speke Hall, so I don’t know if they had the opportunity. But still, it might be helpful to know about the funding for the kennels.”
“I agree,” said Penny. “And it would be interesting to know if funds are missing from the agricultural show’s account. I wonder if there’s some way to find out. And I’ve just thought of something. If Barbara was a bookkeeper, why would she be the show secretary and not the treasurer? Why would Joyce’s husband be the treasurer? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know. But I don’t see how you can ask Dev. You’ve got no authority or reason to be poking your nose into the show’s finances, but Bethan could. As part of her investigation, she can ask anybody anything. Why don’t you mention this to her?” said Victoria.
“I did mention it to her earlier and she just said something like ‘Oh, farm financing is so complicated.’ So before I bring it up with her again, I need to be able to give her more details. Everything just seems so half-baked at this point. We’ve got absolutely nothing to go on, just vague suspicions,” Penny replied.
“Mrs. Lloyd is on the agricultural show committee, but we agreed earlier that it would be a mistake to involve her in this. Who else do we know?” asked Victoria.
“Can’t think of anyone off the top of my head. Have you still got your copy of the program? It lists the directors.” Victoria set her fork down and left the room, returning a few minutes later with the familiar blue program booklet. She slid it onto the table. Penny put down her fork, picked up the program, flipped to the back page, and scanned the list of names.
“Let’s see. Executive committee … Joyce, Barbara, Daffydd; members at large … Evelyn Lloyd … some I’ve never heard of … oh, here’s somebody we know.”
“Who?” Victoria picked at her salad.
“Haydn Williams.”
“Oh, right, our old friend the sheep farmer. He might be a good one to talk to. He’d know all about how complicated farm financing is.”
“I’ll add him to my list. I’ve got a few people to speak to. First, there’s Delyth Powell. She was the one who rang Florence and told her to bring her entries to the show Saturday morning, and I’m just going to come right out and ask her why she did that. She must have had a reason.”
“That seems like a reasonable approach.”
“And of course I’ve got to let Florence know the police found her missing marmalade in Barbara Vickers’s kitchen.”
“I wonder how it got there.”
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? And I suspect once we know the answer to that, a lot of other questions will be answered, too.”
“Who are you going to speak to first, Haydn or Delyth?”
“Haydn, I think. He might be easier. He usually comes into town on market day for the sheep auction, and that’s tomorrow, so I’ll stroll around at lunchtime and see if I can spot him.”
“Good. Now, moving on. Let’s talk about the Spa. Anything you want to say about that? Any problems we should discuss?”
“Not a problem, but I’ve had an idea. Remember when Michelle said her little girl’s eighth birthday is coming up? I thought that’s something we could do for the business. Birthday party manicures.”
“For children?”
“For any age, really.”
“At the Spa? Wouldn’t that disrupt our Saturday-afternoon trade?”
“We do wedding hair and makeup services at home, so why not this? And we could do birthday parties on Sunday afternoons, when the Spa is closed anyway, so it wouldn’t interfere with our day-to-day operations. And home-manicure birthday parties might be really popular with senior ladies.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Why don’t I reach out to Michelle Lewis and see if she’d be interested in having us do one for Macy’s birthday.”
“Good idea. I’ll give you a pricing estimate as soon as we get back to the office. And now I’d better get us that coffee you were so desperate for.” Victoria disappeared into the kitchen.
“I left a little something for you on the worktop,” Penny called after her. As she spoke, Victoria let out a little squeal of delight. “Oh, I guess you opened it.”
Victoria returned with two cupcakes on plates, two mugs, and a French press of freshly brewed coffee.
“I was thinking,” she said as she set the tray down, “I really like the birthday party idea. It could be a really nice earner for us. Every little girl at Macy’s party would want one for her birthday, and it wouldn’t take long for word to get around, so that could really grow. And I suspect parents are always looking for new, fun things to do at birthday parties. But we want to get it right the first time, so if you don’t have any appointments this afternoon, and if Michelle is available to talk to you, why don’t you go and talk to her? As a mother with birthday party experience, she knows more about kids’ parties than we do, and can probably tell you exactly how it should be run, and what the parents and kids want. And that way, we’d be able to deliver a great party the first time, so the little girls at Macy’s party will want their mothers to book one for them.”
“Good idea. I’ll ring Michelle as soon as we finish lunch.” She turned her attention to the cupcakes. “Which one’s mine?”