Free Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery by Elizabeth J. Duncan Page A

moment Davies entered the room and as he got closer to the little group he shook his head slightly. Bethan filled him in on Minty’s condition and then pulled an evidence bag from her jacket. Davies initialed it and Bethan slid the plate into it, keeping it flat. A few minutes later she was on her way.
    “So what happens next?” asked Bronwyn.
    “We wait and see,” said Davies, picking up the notebook and examining the coded contents.
    They did not have long to wait. A few minutes later Davies’s phone rang. He listened for a moment, then nodded.
    “Yes, I’m sure you did. Yes, there’ll have to be one.” He listened for a few more moments, thanked the caller, and then rang off. The little group raised fearful eyes in his direction.
    “Miss Russell died ten minutes ago. There’ll have to be a postmortem. No question about that.”

 
    Thirteen
    In the downstairs hall of Evelyn Lloyd’s comfortable house on Rosemary Lane in Llanelen, Florence Semble put the phone down and turned around just in time to see Mrs. Lloyd dart back into the sitting room. A moment later, her head emerged and the rest of her sidled through the doorway.
    “Well?” asked Mrs. Lloyd eagerly. “I was deeply engrossed in The Lady , but you were talking so loudly I couldn’t help overhear a bit of your conversation. It certainly sounded intriguing.”
    “That was the North Wales Police. They have a job for me and I’m to come at once. I’m to plan to stay overnight.”
    “A job for you? What kind of job could you possibly do for the North Wales Police? What on earth are you talking about?”
    Florence rested her hand on the banister, one foot on the first stair.
    “A woman’s died in what they call suspicious circumstances. She left a notebook, but it’s written in shorthand. They need me to translate it for them. And,” she added proudly, “although I would be happy to do it as the good civic-minded citizen I am, they’re going to pay me. It’s considered translation. A professional service.”
    Mrs. Lloyd folded her hands in front of her. In a recent television documentary she had seen the Queen working in her office, wearing a simple, tailored dress with a brooch on the left shoulder and black shoes with low heels. Thinking the outfit exactly what a lady should wear at home in the daytime, Mrs. Lloyd had adopted the same look. Her dress was a burgundy wool and her brooch was an ornate, swirling flower made up of pink and red stones.
    “Now when they said come at once, Florence, do they mean to send a car for you?”
    “No. I’m to take the train to Chester, letting them know which train I’m on, and they’ll send a car to the station to meet me.”
    “Us,” said Mrs. Lloyd firmly. “They’ll send a car to meet us.”
    She consulted her wristwatch. “I think there’s a train in about two hours, but I’ll check the schedule and ring for the taxi while you get ready.” She thought for a moment. “We’ll need to take some sandwiches with us for the journey. We don’t want to waste our money on that awful rubbish you get on the train. There’s that leftover roast beef. That would be good. What do you think?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on. “Oh, and we’ll definitely need a flask of tea. It’s been ages since I used the flask. I wonder where I put it? I hope it wasn’t in with the lot I sent along to Bronwyn for the spring jumble sale. Well, we’ll have a look for it. It must be somewhere.” She took a step toward the kitchen. “And some wine gums. I always like wine gums on a train journey, for some reason. Have we got any in?”
    Florence shook her head. “Why would we have wine gums hanging about?”
    “No? Well, we’ll just stop off and pick up a couple of packets on the way to the station. And I’ll bring a couple of my magazines.” She looked at Florence. “I suppose you have your library book?”
    Florence remained where she was, one hand still on the banister.
    “Well, don’t