Kate Kingsbury - Wedding Rows

Polly stared at her in surprise. “I thought you were daffy about Joe.”

“Nah, Joe’s nice, but he’s so slow. I like ’em with a bit more pizzaaazz.”

She’d sort of drawled it and wriggled her hips, making Polly laugh. “Why don’t you write a letter then,” she said. “Come over my house tonight and we’ll write it together.”

“Great idea! I’ll be there.”

“I’ll send it to Tom and ask if he has a friend that wants to write back to you.”

“His name is Tom? Can I read it?”

Polly watched as Sadie scanned the lines Tom had written. At last she raised her head and grinned at Polly. “He sounds a right charmer, don’t he. Wonder what he looks like?”

“We’ll find out when I get his next letter.” Polly took the letter back and tucked it in her pocket. “I’m sending him a photograph of me tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. She felt a little jump of excitement. Tomorrow her letter would be on the way to Tom, and who knows what would come out of it. Now she couldn’t wait to get a letter back from him, and a photograph. If only time would go by faster. “I wish,” she said, as she walked with Sadie back to the stairs, “that I had a crystal ball that would tell me what’s going to happen in the future.”

“You’re not the only one.” Sadie paused at the top of the stairs. “And I wouldn’t mind betting that right now, Tess Winterhalter is thinking the same thing as well.”

Elizabeth stared in dismay at George’s furious face. “What, may I ask, had led you to the conclusion that Rodney Winterhalter killed Brian Sutcliffe?”

George smoothed out his glare, which had been directed at Sid, and said stiffly, “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, your ladyship. You know how it is.”

“Yes, I do know how it is.” Elizabeth tied her scarf more firmly under her chin. “I know very well that misplaced speculation can result in some unpleasant consequences. For all concerned.”

George lifted his chin. “Certain facts have come to my attention, from which I have deduced that Mr. Winterhalter had both motive and opportunity.”

“What facts?” Elizabeth demanded bluntly.

George cleared his throat. “Your ladyship-”

“I shall find out sooner or later, George. You will save us both a great deal of trouble if you simply tell me now.”

George let out his breath in frustration.

“He was seen leaving the kitchen round about the time of the murder,” Sid said.

George sent him another withering look. “Just remember he told you that, m’m. Not me.”

“Who saw Mr. Winterhalter leave the kitchen?”

“It were Nellie Smith,” George answered, beating Sid to the punch. “And that’s me last word on the subject.” He sent Sid a meaningful look. “And yours.”

“Well, thank you. Both of you.” Elizabeth straddled the saddle of her motorcycle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my own investigation to conduct.”

“The inspector won’t like you interfering, m’m,” George warned.

“The inspector,” Elizabeth said, rising up to kick start the engine, “will thank me when I save him, and you, George, from a grave miscarriage of justice.”

“If you find out anything, your ladyship, you’re under an obligation-”

The rest of George’s words were drowned out by the roar of the motorcycle’s engine. Smiling and waving, Elizabeth soared off down the street, narrowly missing a startled housewife scurrying across the road.

No matter what George thought, Elizabeth told herself as she rode down the hill, she would not believe Rodney had stabbed Brian Sutcliffe. He had been too distraught at the thought of his daughter possibly being involved.

Nor did she believe that Tess had killed her lover. But she intended to make quite certain of that before she tackled the other people on her list.

Arriving back at the village hall, she parked her motorcycle and cut the engine. She had taken longer than she had intended to deliver Bessie’s china to the shop. She could only hope Bessie was still inside.

To her relief, not only was Bessie still there, but several members of the Housewives League stood about, apparently finishing up the cleanup. She spotted Nellie in the group, and headed over to her, intent on speaking to the young lady before she left.

Elizabeth wasted no time in coming to the point when she drew Nellie aside. “I understand you saw Rodney Winterhalter leaving the kitchen yesterday afternoon about the time of the murder,” she said.

Nellie looked apprehensive. “I didn’t want to get no one in trouble, your ladyship, but George did ask and I had to say what I saw.”

Elizabeth nodded. “It’s all right, Nellie. What exactly did you see?”

“Well, it were a little while before all that fuss about the missing knife. I seen Mr. Winterhalter rushing out of the kitchen, and he looked really upset about something. I wondered at the time what he was doing in there, but then Florrie went in to get the knife and came running out again to say it were missing and, well, you heard the rest.”

“Did you see where Mr. Winterhalter went after he left the kitchen?”

Nellie shook her head. “I was too busy helping Florrie look for the knife.”

“Very well. Thank you, Nellie.” Elizabeth smiled at the worried-looking girl. “You did the right thing. Please don’t give it another thought.”

“Yes, m’m.” Still looking concerned, Nellie went back to join the group that was now stacking chairs against the walls.

Bessie seemed to have disappeared, and Elizabeth hurried into the kitchen, hoping to find her in there. Pleased to find her alone, Elizabeth complimented her on the fine job she had done with the wedding.

“There’s just one thing I’d like to ask you,” she said, when Bessie thanked her. “You said yesterday that you found the key to the cellar in a milk jug. Where exactly was it standing when Florrie picked it up to empty it?”

Bessie pointed to a table by the wall. “It were on there, m’m.”

Elizabeth walked over to the table, followed by an anxious Bessie. “On here?” She pointed to the table.

“Yes, m’m. Right here.” Bessie patted the table.

Elizabeth raised her gaze to the shelf above the table. “Were you using this shelf for anything yesterday?”

“No, m’m, we weren’t. It’s in an awkward spot, isn’t it. We’d have to have really long arms to reach up there across the table.”

“Which is probably why the key fell off,” Elizabeth murmured.

Bessie poked her head forward. “What did you say, your ladyship?”

“No matter.” Elizabeth looked around. “Everything looks spick and span, Bessie. You and the rest of the Housewives League provided a lovely wedding for Priscilla and Wally. I know they must be so grateful to you all.”

Bessie’s smile was radiant. “We were all happy to do it, m’m. Everyone likes Prissy, and Captain Carbunkle is a good sort. They’ll be happy together, I know.” She glanced over her shoulder as if to make sure they were alone. “Can’t imagine our Prissy having a friend like that Fiona. Not a bit alike, are they. Someone said Fiona married an old bloke for his money and when he died he left her a fortune. Bit of a fly-by-night if you ask me. I wouldn’t have thought Prissy would be that friendly with someone like that.”

Elizabeth wondered if Bessie had heard about Fiona’s indiscretion with the murdered man, but thought better about asking her. “Well, they hadn’t seen each other in thirty years. I’m sure they both must have changed in that time. Anyway, I must be off. Violet will be getting supper and I don’t want to be late. Oh, before I go, could you let me have the address of the photographer. Dickie Muggins, I believe?”