Elizabeth J. Duncan - A Brush with Death: A Penny Brannigan Mystery

A Brush with Death

ALSO BY ELIZABETH J. DUNCAN

The Cold Light of Mourning

A PENNY BRANNIGAN MYSTERY

Elizabeth J. Duncan

Minotaur Books
A Thomas Dunne Book
New York

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS .

An imprint of St. Martins Publishing Group.

A BRUSH WITH DEATH . Copyright 2010 by Elizabeth J. Duncan. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.minotaurbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Duncan, Elizabeth J.

A brush with death : a Penny Brannigan mystery / Elizabeth J. Duncan.1st ed.

p. cm.

A Thomas Dunne book.

ISBN 978-0-312-62282-4

1. Women artistsFiction. 2. MurderInvestigationFiction. 3. City and town lifeWalesFiction. 4. WalesFiction. I. Title.

PR9199.4.D863B78 2010

813.6dc22

2010008716

First Edition: July 2010

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

In Loving Memory
Irene Theresa Lynch Campbell

Thank you to everyone who wrote to me after the publication of The Cold Light of Mourning with kind words of praise and encouragement. I am so grateful for your support, and hope this book lives up to your expectations.

A special shout-out to the wonderful librarians who embraced my first book. I love the idea that readers in, say, La Grange, Illinois, or Llanrwst, North Wales, can check this book out of their local library and, I hope, enjoy it.

Heartfelt thanks to the library ladies in Conwy, North Wales, who organized an evening for me and got everything absolutely right: Gaynor L. Jones, Cheryl Hesketh, Rhian Williams, Myfanwy Evans Jones, and Rhian Owen. (Beautiful Welsh names!)

Thank you, Madeleine Matte and Carol Putt, for reading the first draft and suggesting huge improvements.

And speaking of improvements, I am grateful to the editorial team at St. Martins Press, notably the legendary Ruth Cavin and the patient, forgiving Toni Plummer. Also in New York, thank you to my agent, Dominick Abel, for wise counsel, direction, and guidance.

Thank you, Dr. Pete Wedderburn, for your veterinary counsel in the examination of Robbie, the Cairn terrier.

To Diane Mosher and Lea Milbury, thank you for the fun and friendship that inspired a loving relationship in this novel. Brian Sherwin in Llanrwst, I appreciate your daily tweets, although they make me long for the valley, and thank you for suggesting the sketching and walking route.

Special thanks to Dennis and Sybil Walker, who so kindly give Dolly wonderful vacations in their Hamilton, Ontario, garden while I am walking those beautiful Welsh hills and calling it research.

And finally, to my son, Lucas Walker, who was with me on the very first visit to Llanrwst and who brings joy and meaning to my life, wherever we are.

A Brush with Death

Penny Brannigan awoke disoriented and confused. What on earth was she doing in the old-fashioned spare bedroom of Emma Teasdales cottage? Why wasnt she at home in her own bed in the small, tidy flat above her manicure salon?

And then, through the just-woke-up muzziness, it all came back to her. She had recently inherited Jonquil Cottage, today was Sunday, and she had just spent her first night in her new home.

She kicked back the rumpled duvet, sat up, and looked about. The subdued light of a cheerless, rainy late-summer morning revealed an outdated pattern of orange poppies on yellowed wallpaper that had started to peel away from the ceiling and a substantial layer of dust on shabby, mismatched furniture. The room gave off a musty feel of neglect and the air was so close and stale that she leaned over to turn the latch of the small, leaded window beside the bed and pushed it open. When the first breath of cool, damp air from the garden filled her lungs, she felt her spirits lift as a feeling of excitement and anticipation began to creep in. She hopped out of bed, found her slippers, and padded across the hall to the loo.

A few minutes later she was standing at the bottom of the stairs. In front of her was the door that led to the street; to her right, the sitting room and dining area; and adjacent to that, toward the back of the cottage, a small kitchen which gave access to a partially walled garden, now somewhat overgrown but well laid out with mature pear trees espaliered along the south-facing brick wall.

With her hand resting on the banister, she surveyed the sitting room. What little light managed to filter through the closed curtains on this grey morning bathed the room in a soft, desolate luminosity, giving it the abandoned look of a place someone had once loved but would never be coming home to.

Although Penny had realized that the charming Welsh cottage would require major renovations to shift it out of the 1960s, she had decided to live in it before undertaking any drastic changes so she could get a feel for it, get to know it, and discover what she liked and what she didnt. She wanted to modernize it but in a way that would respect its history and the memory of its previous owner.

But there are too many memories crowded in here, she thought, memories that are not mine. Other people, from other times, living other lives.

Penny, a Canadian in her fifties, had met Emma when she arrived in the Welsh market town of Llanelen, decades ago. Over the years, their friendship had grown, and Penny had been deeply saddened when Emma passed away. To Pennys astonishment, the retired schoolteacher who had never married and had no close relatives, had bequeathed the cottage and its contents to her, along with a substantial amount of money.

Although Penny had visited the cottage many times, it was different now. When youre a guest in someones home, you dont see the precious, secret things that have been carefully preserved and hidden away, to be held, savored, and reflected upon in quiet, private moments.

Emma, who had been ill for some time, had made a will and funeral plans but had not got round to dealing with her personal effects. Perhaps she thought she had more time to wrap up her affairs, Penny thought. And dont we all?

Today, she would have to start clearing out Emmas things, but first things first. Facing the centre of the sitting room window, she reached above her head and grabbed a curtain in each hand. With a smooth, sweeping motion, like tearing off a bandage, she ripped them apart and as they swooshed along their rail, a soft, moist light filled the room.

Thats a bit better, she thought. And now, she must find the kettle.

Her friends Victoria Hopkirk and Detective Inspector Gareth Davies had dropped her off at the cottage yesterday, and she was well provisioned with the basics. A few minutes later, carrying a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee and a bowl of cereal on a tray, she made her way back to the sitting room and sat down on the faded, sagging sofa.

Opening a new notebook, she crossed her legs, looked around, and began to make a list:

Internet (and computer)

LRNew curtains

New furniture

Paintpale green/white trim?

No wallpaper!

Carpet?

She crossed that out and then wrote underneath it.

Hardwood floors