On Deadly Tides Read online

  “It is,” agreed Alwynne, “but Beaumaris Castle isn’t as impressive as some of the others.”

  “Probably because it was never finished, so the walls don’t have the imposing height, and it lacks grandeur. But it does have a proper moat with actual water in it, and you don’t see that every day.”

  “No, you don’t. In fact, it was interesting that several artists chose to stay in town and paint the castle today.”

  “Poor things, they probably come from places where they don’t have an abundance of castles like we do here in Wales.”

  They reached their destination, a bistro that specialized in seafood. Although dinner service was in full swing and the small restaurant was nearly full, they managed to squeeze into a small table for two at the rear. A waiter brought menus, and the women studied them for a few minutes.

  “I’m leaning toward the Scottish salmon in watercress sauce with Pembrokeshire potatoes and fresh carrots,” said Alwynne.

  “That sounds delicious. And shall we have some white wine with it?”

  “Yes. I’ll get the wine. I owe you for earlier. And what about a starter?”

  “Not for me,” said Penny. “The salmon will do me just fine.”

  They placed their order, and just as their wine was brought to the table, the door opened and in walked Gerald and Betty Thorpe, accompanied by another couple. The four hesitated in the doorway, surveying the crowded room, and then Gerald Thorpe acknowledged Penny and Alwynne with a gentle wave.

  “Looks like they had the same idea we did about trying a different restaurant for dinner,” remarked Penny as she acknowledged their greeting with a brief wave of her own. When he had finished pouring their wine, the waiter led the foursome to a table in the centre of the room with a RESERVED sign on it.

  “What did you make of the Thorpes coming over and speaking to the police about the argument they overheard in the bar last night?” asked Alwynne.

  “It did seem rather strange. Why would they think an argument between Bill Ward and a barmaid was connected to a young woman’s death? Do they know something we don’t?”

  Alwynne took a thoughtful sip of wine while eyeing the Thorpe couple and their friends. The two women were chatting while the men were engrossed in the menus. “Of course, they might have just been trying to be helpful.”

  “That’s possible. Bethan always says the police want people to report everything, no matter how trivial or inconsequential it might seem. The police will decide what’s relevant. People often withhold information that turns out to be useful because they didn’t think it could be important, but they don’t have the big picture. They don’t know what the police know,” said Penny.

  “True.”

  “And there are also people who just like talking to the police because it makes them feel important. The Thorpes could belong in that group.”

  “Or they might just be civic-minded folk who thought it their duty to report something they thought was unusual or suspicious to the police,” said Alwynne.

  “That’s certainly a possibility.”

  “And then, some people just have a morbid curiosity about death, and when the police get involved, they just want to be close to the action.”

  “I can see why they wanted to speak to Constable Jones, since he was the one in uniform, but poor Mr. Thorpe was thrown for a bit of a loop when Bethan identified herself as the senior police officer.”

  Alwynne smiled. “I know what you mean, but to be fair, she was in plain clothes, and PC Jones was in uniform, so Mr. Thorpe wasn’t to know.”

  The waiter appeared with their entrees, and despite their intention of avoiding any topic to do with art, they soon found themselves discussing how to capture the rough texture of stone walls and buildings in their paintings.

  They decided to pass on dessert, and as they were preparing to leave, Penny remarked, “That argument the Thorpes overheard at the bar—it would be nice to know more about it.”

  “Why? Do you think it matters?”

  Penny arranged the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. “I don’t know. It might.”

  * * *

  “This is my favourite time of day,” Alwynne remarked as they left the restaurant and set off on the short walk back to the hotel. “It’s a relaxing time. Just before sunset as you notice the light’s beginning to change. And then comes twilight.”

  “‘Twilight.’ Such a lovely word.”

  “Yes, it is. You start to get a sense that the day is ending, but it’s not quite over yet. There’s still time for something interesting to happen.”

  “In that case,” said Penny, “since it’s a lovely evening, why don’t we take the longer way round to the hotel’s rear entrance so we can have a little stroll along the promenade?”

  They retraced their steps in the direction of the castle, but instead of entering the hotel as they passed its main entrance on the high street, they walked on a little further until they reached the open space across the street from the castle adjacent to the seventeenth-century courthouse. Here, they turned right toward the seafront, passing a B&B painted a soft blue, with a joyful display of red and yellow azaleas in window boxes and pots. The sun cast a scattering of light in the palest of pink across everything it touched, and the air felt thin and light.

  They turned right again and passed a circle of standing stones that had been set up on the green for an arts festival in the 1990s. A little further along, Penny paused to admire a magnificent limestone Georgian terrace with sashed windows, a hipped slate roof, and its east and west wings resolved in a grand pedimented central block. A FOR SALE sign was affixed to the end house.

  “Imagine living here”—she gestured at the grandly designed property—“and getting to look out at that every day.” She pointed across to the green with the Menai Strait and Snowdonia mountain range beyond it and then turned to face her friend. “Do you ever do that? See a unique or beautiful property and wonder what it might be like to live there? Or wonder about the lives of the people who are fortunate enough to live there?”

  “I do,” said Alwynne with a touch of wistfulness. “And I envy everyone who lives in that beautiful terrace. To my mind, Georgian buildings are the most beautiful.”

  “Oh, absolutely. The proportions, the elegance.” Penny pointed toward the third storey. “You can often tell a Georgian building because the windows on the top floor are smaller than the windows on the lower floors. Servants slept in the attics, and the architects thought their rooms wouldn’t need as much light as the main rooms, where the owners lived.”

  “It makes sense, really. The servants were out of their rooms all day working, so they wouldn’t have needed large windows to let in light. And of course it was a cost-saving measure. Glass was very expensive, and smaller windows were cheaper.”

  Dusk was now closing in, and they set off toward the beckoning light coming from the rear entrance of the hotel. They entered to find the coffee shop closed and the lounge, so busy during the day, almost deserted.

  “It’s been a long day, and after all that’s happened, you must be exhausted,” said Alwynne. “Are you coming up?”

  Penny hesitated. “I’m just going to pop into the bar, but you go on up, if you want to.”

  “Well, it’s still early. I’ll come with you.”

  The bar area, located just off the lobby, was an open, rectangular space consisting of two long walls and a shorter one. Comfortable brown leather club chairs and small round tables were lined up along the two longer walls. The third wall was taken up with a carved wooden bar, complete with brass rails, and the fourth wall was open to the hallway.

  Behind the bar, a young man busied himself attaching a sign that read GIN OF THE WEEK to a display.

  As Penny hesitated in the entranceway, Colin Campbell leapt out of his chair and reached her in a couple of long strides.

  “I heard what happened, and I was hoping to see you,” he said. “I’m just here if you’d like to join me.” He
gestured to a table about halfway down the room. All the other tables were occupied. Penny introduced him to Alwynne, and the three of them made their way to his table. “What can I get you?” Colin asked when they were seated.

  “We had some wine at dinner, and I feel as if I’ve had enough to drink,” said Penny. “Maybe just a—oh, I don’t know, a …”

  “What about a tonic water with a slice of lemon for each of us?” suggested Alwynne.

  “Yes, that would be fine,” said Penny. Her eyes followed him to the bar.

  Colin returned a few minutes later and placed a glass in front of each woman. He lowered himself into the chair beside Penny, and the two angled their bodies toward each other so their knees were almost touching. “Cheers,” said Penny.

  “I heard what happened this morning,” Colin repeated, “and I was so sorry you had to go through that. It must have been a terrible shock. I wish I’d been there to help you. How are you doing? Are you all right?”

  “I’m doing all right,” said Penny. “And how about you? Did you have a good day? Did you make it to Puffin Island?”

  “I did. Got some good photos. I think the magazine editor will be pleased.”

  Alwynne, seated on Penny’s other side, had to incline her body forward to see them. Her head moved from side to side as she followed their conversation.

  “Where do you think you’ll go tomorrow?” Colin was asking.

  “We discussed that briefly, but we didn’t settle it,” said Penny. She turned to her friend. “What do you think, Alwynne?”

  “Well, there’s just the one day left to paint, and I’d rather like to paint the boats at Moelfre.”

  “I don’t know,” said Penny. “I’m leaning toward staying in Beaumaris. There are some interesting shops, so I thought maybe a streetscape.” She brightened. “Or what I’d really love to paint is that beautiful Georgian terrace at the seafront we were just looking at. Remember I said I want to paint something I can’t get at home? Well, that definitely fills the bill.”

  “Then I’ll stay in town, too,” said Alwynne. “I don’t think you should be left on your own.”

  “I’d be happy to look after her,” said Colin.

  “I don’t need looking after,” protested Penny, “although it’s very kind of both of you.”

  “Keep you company, then.” Colin corrected himself. “Sorry, wrong choice of words. Made you sound like an elderly aunt. Not at all what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant.” As they smiled at each other, Penny smoothed her hair and tucked a strand behind her ear.

  “That sounds like an excellent idea,” said Alwynne. “I’ll go to Moelfre, then. And now that we’ve sorted out tomorrow, I’m suddenly feeling terribly tired.” She got to her feet. “I’m going to take my drink up to my room, and maybe I’ll see you in the morning, or maybe not. It’s an early start for me, but there’s no need for you to get up, Penny. In fact, after what happened today, a lie-in might do you good.”

  As Alwynne walked across the hardwood floor and through the entranceway into the green-carpeted corridor, Colin and Penny turned back to each other and were soon deep in conversation. One by one, and two by two, the other customers in the bar left, until they were the only two who remained.

  “Miss Brannigan?”

  It was the woman who had served behind the bar the previous evening.

  “Yes?”

  “Good. I was told I’d find you in here. I’m Sarah Spencer, assistant manageress here at the Beaumaris Arms. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  As Colin half-rose from his chair, Sarah gestured that there was no need for him to step away.

  “I just wanted to thank you for what you did this morning,” she said. “As you know, the woman whose body you found was one of our guests. The police told me that you stayed with her, and in fact, if it hadn’t been for you, I understand that she might even have been washed out to sea, so we’re all very grateful to you for what you did.”

  She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope. “I just wanted to thank you personally.” She held out the envelope. “I understand you’re here with Bill Ward’s art group. On behalf of the hotel, I’d like you to have this voucher for an all-included weekend for two. We hope you’ll come back another time for a more pleasant stay under better circumstances.” Penny accepted the envelope and thanked her. “And here’s my card. If there’s anything you need for the rest of your stay, please, just ask.” She checked her watch. “I’ll let you get back to your drinks. The bar’ll be closing early this evening, so may I get you one last drink? Complimentary, of course.”

  Colin and Penny thanked her but declined.

  “That was decent of her,” said Colin after Sarah left to speak to the barman. “But given what happened, and what you did, I guess it’s the least the hotel could do.”

  “I do appreciate the gesture, though,” Penny said.

  A few minutes later, the dimming of lights and clattering of the metal grille as the barman sealed off the bottles behind the bar signalled the end of the evening.

  “I’d like to walk you to your room, if that’s all right with you,” Colin said as they left the bar and entered the main corridor. They walked comfortably together upstairs, and Penny stopped outside her door. As she prepared to put her swipe card in the lock, he placed a light hand on her shoulder and, without any awkward hesitation, bent down and kissed her softly on the cheek. He lingered, giving her a moment to breathe in the clean, soapy smell of him, and then, with a warm smile, he said, “See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Seven

  Alwynne and the rest of the painting group were long gone by the time Penny entered the dining room the next morning. As she hesitated in the doorway, Colin Campbell looked up from the menu he had been pretending to study for the last fifteen minutes, and waved her over.

  “Have you ordered?” she asked as she slid into the chair across from him.

  “I was just about to.” He handed her a menu, which she left unopened beside her place setting.

  “Thanks, but I know what I want. I have the same thing almost every morning. Creature of habit, me.”

  With their order taken, Colin asked Penny how she had slept, although her puffy eyes hinted at the answer.

  “Not that well, if I’m honest. I managed quite well throughout the day, got through dinner, and last evening in the bar with you, but last night when I closed my eyes, I kept having flashbacks to Jessica’s body on the beach.” She swallowed hard as she reached for her water glass. “I kept seeing her there. So young. Remember how excited and enthusiastic she was on Friday night? All that energy, all that”—she held up her hands in a gesture of despair—“all that future. Just gone. And what really made me sad, and what I couldn’t stop thinking about last night, was how cold and wet she was. It all just seemed so terribly wrong.” She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with the snowy linen napkin and offered a weak, apologetic smile. Colin reached across the table and gave her hand an encouraging, sympathetic squeeze.

  “But something didn’t seem right. Beyond the obvious, that is—that she was dead.” Colin said nothing, giving her the time and mental space to gather her thoughts. “What bothers me is where the body was located. It seems to me it was too far away from the cliff for her to have fallen. She was half in the sea by the time I got there. The tide was going out, so … oh, I don’t know. I can’t think clearly until I’ve had coffee.”

  “Neither can I.” A few minutes later their server placed a silver coffeepot on the table, along with two steaming bowls of oatmeal, a bowl of fresh raspberries, and a jug of cream. Penny held out her cup and Colin filled it with fragrant coffee.

  “You know,” he said, as he picked up his spoon, “I’ve been on assignments and expeditions with a lot of scientists over the last couple of years, and I learned from them that science governs just about everything to do with the coastal
environment—currents, waves, tidal forces, and so on. It’s too complicated for me, but if you think Jessica might not have fallen off the cliff, is it possible that her body was left on the beach by someone hoping the tide would take it out to sea?”

  Penny thought for a moment. “That’s entirely possible. A really easy way to get rid of a body, when you think about it. As long as whoever put the body there gets the timing right, of course, and the body isn’t discovered before the tide can do its work.”

  “As might have happened in this case, but didn’t, thanks to you.” He took a sip of coffee. “It’s odd, though, that we were discussing something along that line with Jessica on Friday night. The scenario where someone who wants to disappear leaves their shoes and clothes in a neat pile on the beach, hoping the authorities will assume they went in for a swim and drowned, and then their body was swept out to sea. And then this happens.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, and then Penny broke eye contact to stir a little cream into her oatmeal.

  “So, to change the subject,” said Colin. “If you’re still planning to paint in town today, as I said last night, I’d like to come along. If that’s all right with you, of course. I wouldn’t bring too much camera equipment, so I could help carry your painting gear. And I promise you I won’t get in the way.”

  “I’d like that,” said Penny. “As long as you don’t look over my shoulder. I find that terribly distracting. It makes me so self-conscious. Can’t stand people creeping up behind me and watching while I’m trying to work.”

  “Neither can I. Or when people ask questions.”

  “Oh, I know! That’s even worse. It completely destroys your concentration.”

  “But worst of all is when they offer opinions. ‘Why don’t you just try this? Have you thought about doing that?’”

  They both made a little groaning noise at the same time and then grinned at each other.