Till Daph Do Us Part

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “What would you like to do next?” Daphne asked. “Didn’t we see a fishing and tackle shop a bit further along?”

  “I wouldn’t mind a browse. I won’t be long.” Although Daphne enjoyed eating what he caught, she had zero interest in fishing.

  “Take all the time you want and then come and find me in the bookshop over there once you’re finished.”

  Sounded perfect. And a bookshop was about the safest place he could think of leaving Daphne on her own in this somewhat strange town.

  Stepping into the bookshop just off the main street in Little Bridges, Daphne sniffed the air to capture the unique and beloved smell of books. Delightful. Every wall was covered in bookcases and used books were piled up on the floor in the middle. Chaotic, but ideal for those who enjoyed rummaging. Behind a small desk covered with food wrappings, a woman in her thirties ignored Daphne as she tapped on a phone.

  “Good morning!” Daphne smiled.

  The younger woman grunted and didn’t look up.

  Well. You’re a friendly soul. Not.

  Customer service mattered to Daphne. She and John treated every person who stepped through the door of their real estate agency as a welcome visitor. When she visited shops and was ignored, she never knew if it was because the staff weren’t trained properly, or that they weren’t paid well, so didn’t love what they did. Loving what you did mattered. No point doing a job year in, year out, and not finding pleasure in it.

  She pushed aside her feelings of being snubbed and browsed the shelves. There wasn’t any order, with non-fiction sharing space with children’s books. Gardening books with romance. Somehow, it made it more interesting. It took no time at all to lose track of the minutes. With carpet underfoot there was hardly a sound as she selected a couple of mysteries to buy. When a phone rang, she jumped.

  “Friendly Books. This is Tiffany.”

  The woman didn’t even sound welcoming. Much less ‘friendly’. Until she heard the voice on the other end and brightened up.

  “I am so glad you called! Bored out of my head.”

  Perhaps talking to customers would help.

  “Wednesday? Like, what time? And do I have to wear the stupid bridesmaid’s dress?”

  Daphne took a step back so she was out of direct sight of the woman but could see her through a gap in the bookshelves.

  “No? Good. I know Lisa wanted yet another colour for this wedding but lilac did nothing for me. You looked good in it though.” She listened and then giggled. “Next time we’ll tell her we want black dresses. Perfect to wear at the wedding then straight to the funeral.” She gave a shriek of laughter.

  Hand over her mouth to stop herself speaking her mind, Daphne almost dropped the books. What a terrible thing to say. She peered at the woman and recognised her as one of the bridesmaids.

  “Yeah, count me in. I’ll tell the boss I’m sick. Probably enough leftover champagne at Lisa’s to make it true anyway. Gotta go, babe, can see the boss heading in.”

  Off the phone, Tiffany threw the mess on the desk into a bin and jumped to her feet, reaching a bookcase as the door swung open. An older woman with a walking stick shuffled in, muttered at Tiffany, and made her way to a door between bookcases which Daphne hadn’t noticed.

  “Bring me the orders book.”

  As Tiffany disappeared into the room with her boss, Daphne didn’t waste a minute. Sending up a quick ‘sorry’ to the tidy bookstore gods, she shoved the paperbacks she’d chosen onto the nearest shelf and was outside before either woman returned.

  “Whoa, Daph, slow down!”

  She’d exited without looking and almost ran into John, who had both hands full between her shopping bags and a new fishing pole.

  “Thank goodness it’s you. We have to go.”

  Not waiting for a response, she hurried off.

  “Daph, wrong way.”

  She needed to put a bit of distance between herself and Tiffany. Most likely she’d see her tomorrow at the ceremony and had no desire to be viewed as an eavesdropper. Again.

  “Okay, we’ll go the scenic route.” John sounded amused from somewhere behind her.

  At the next corner, she waited for him to catch up and for her to take a deep breath. There were less shops along here, apart from a large, modern supermarket beyond a carpark over the road. A white van was parked facing the street, its driver obscured by sun glare.

  “Would you like to tell me what got under your skin?” John put the bags down to free a hand and put his arm around Daphne. “You ran out of the bookshop like you’d seen a ghost.”

  “Sorry. Accidentally overheard a disturbing conversation and didn’t want anyone seeing me.”

  “What? Are you okay, love?”

  A car drew up next to the van and when its driver climbed out, Daphne moved behind John. “Let me hide for a minute. She’s less likely to recognise you.”

  “Who?” John followed the direction Daphne was looking in. “The woman?”

  “It’s Lisa.”

  Lisa was dressed in jeans and T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail and sunglasses covering her eyes. She went around her own car to stand at the driver’s side of the van.

  “Do you think they’re talking?” Daphne whispered.

  “Hard to tell from this distance. But why does it matter?”

  “I know the van.”

  “Actually, now you mention it…looks a bit like the caterer’s van. But, doll, it’s a common brand. Lots of businesses use them and it isn’t badged up.”

  “We need Charlotte Dean right now.” Daphne said.

  “Charlotte?”

  “She takes photos of everything. What a good idea. I have my phone in my bag.”

  Doctor Charlotte Dean was a friend from River’s End who’d moved to a new town where they’d recently visited so Daphne could perform a wedding ceremony.

  “Do you think you should be taking photos of people without their permission? What if she sees you?” John asked.

  “True. How about you take a photo. You’re better at it.”

  John faced Daphne. “Neither of us are taking photos. Lisa is allowed to talk to people in her own town, and we aren’t here to follow her around.”

  Over his shoulder, the van moved and Daphne peered around him. Lisa was getting back into her car and she raised a hand to wave as the van passed her.

  “I wonder who the driver is?”

  With an audible sigh, John picked up the bags. “I hear lunch calling. Time to go home before it gets too hot.”

  “Let me carry something.” Daphne said.

  “I’ve got everything but you are welcome to push the button on the traffic lights on the main street.”

  She giggled.

  “Come on, young lady. You can tell me about the bookshop on the way home.”

  Unexpected Suspect

  John elected to have a shower to cool down when they reached Bluebell and Daphne was quick to take the opportunity to make some notes while events were fresh in her mind. By the time he emerged she’d put the notebook away and made lunch.

  Determined to keep her earlier promise about staying away from anything to do with the Brookers, Daphne encouraged John to tell her about his new fishing rod and some accessories he’d bought. Most of it went over her head but his enthusiasm kept her interested. Then, she showed him her new clothes as she sorted them to wash or send to the dry cleaners in the next town.

  “One can’t be too careful with new things.”

  They decided to spend the afternoon playing board games. Outside, the sun was beating down in what was an uncharacteristically hot afternoon, according to John’s internet search of temperature averages.

  “Reckon there’ll be a storm tonight.” He opened the box of games they stored under a seat. “Getting a bit humid.”

  “You know, we’ve not had a storm since we’ve been travelling.” Daphne poured glasses of icy water into glasses. “What if we’re hit by lightning?”

  “Not likely, love. Not
with those tall gums all over the place.”

  “Oh my. What if one of them is hit by lightning and falls on top of Bluebell?”

  “Think we’re far enough away. Stop stressing before anything even happens.”

  Storms weren’t Daphne’s favourite event. And she should be well and truly accustomed to them after decades living in River’s End. Being on the edge of the Great Southern Ocean, storms were common. She carried the glasses to the table, where John was setting up a game of scrabble.

  “Good choice. You know you can’t win.”

  “Fighting words!”

  A tap on the door stopped the banter and John and Daphne glanced at each other.

  “Mr and Mrs Jones? It is Constable McIntyre.”

  “My, oh, my.” Daphne breathed. She slid out of her seat and opened the door. “Please, come in out of the heat.”

  The young constable took off his hat and climbed in. He was quite tall and seemed uncomfortable in the small space.

  “Please, take a seat. Would you like some water?”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.” He perched on the edge of the spot she’d vacated. “I’m very sorry to intrude. Looks like you’re getting ready for a game.”

  “You might have saved me.” John said. “Daphne tends to win these ones.”

  “There you go. Iced water.”

  “Thanks. Mrs Jones, Mr Jones, I have some news.”

  “Please, it is Daphne and John, Constable.”

  “Matty. Call me Matty.”

  Daphne sat beside John, who moved across to make space.

  “We received the coroner’s initial report. It isn’t complete yet. There’s tox screening, bloodwork, all kinds of other findings yet to come. Anyway, without getting into the details, it would appear Steve Tanning was indeed murdered.”

  The hairs stood up on the back of Daphne’s arms and her stomach clenched. She’d known it wasn’t an accident.

  “That is sad to hear. A young man at the beginning of his married life cut down like that.” John said.

  “The purpose of my visit is to ask you to come into the station and make a formal statement.”

  “Of course I will.” Daphne asked, reaching under the counter for John’s hand. “Are we allowed to know the cause of death?”

  “Not at liberty to say. Not until further information comes to light.” Matty drank the glass of water in a few gulps and set it down. “That hit the spot. Would now be convenient?”

  “We’ll drive over right away. Is it just Daphne you need to interview?”

  Matty stood and opened the door. “At this stage, yes.” He stepped down and gazed at the outdoor kitchen set up beneath the annexe. “Doing some fishing in the river?”

  John joined him with Daphne close behind. “I am. Just purchased a new rod in town today.”

  On the side of the sink, the utensils John used for the fish were in a plastic container. Matty took a look and glanced at John.

  “Mind if I borrow your filleting knife?” From his tone of voice, it wasn’t a request, and he felt in his pocket and pulled out a glove.

  “I guess so. Why?”

  Matty lifted the knife by the tip of the handle and inspected it. “Probably no reason. I’ll get you to make a statement as well, Mr Jones.”

  Daphne had no intention of correcting the constable to ‘call him John’. Her hackles were up. Why would the police have an interest in the filleting knife belonging to the husband of the celebrant from the wedding where a man was murdered?

  Unless…

  “Steve was killed with a knife.” She crossed her arms and stared at Matty. “And you think we had something to do with it.”

  “I’d really like to know, please.” Half an hour later, Daphne sat opposite a different police officer in the open plan station room. John was at another desk with Matty, his back to Daphne. It all reminded her of a bad television show from the last century.

  Senior Constable Barber tapped on her keyboard for a minute before leaning back in her chair. “There’s not a lot to tell.”

  “I understand you are waiting on more results from the coroner’s office. And under normal circumstances—not that a murder at a wedding is normal—I wouldn’t pry. But taking my husband’s filleting knife for forensic profiling casts a different light on this. Do you believe he had anything to do with Steve’s murder?”

  As much as she was proud of how steady and calm her voice sounded, it was all a front for the panic coursing through Daphne. She wasn’t good with uncertainty. Her hands twisted around each other in her lap.

  “Assuming John wasn’t present at the wedding as you’ve told us, then no, he isn’t a person of interest.”

  “Then what? Do you think someone stole his knife, stabbed poor Steve, then returned it?”

  The officer didn’t respond but her eyes never left Daphne’s face.

  “Oh! You think I did it.”

  Nothing.

  Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Daphne licked her lips as she considered her next words. The police might be guarded about the cause of Steve’s death, but their action of confiscating a filleting knife gave it away. Somehow, it hadn’t been obvious at the pool that he’d been stabbed but there’d been blood in the pool, on Steve and the man who’d helped. Even on her hands. She glanced at them.

  “Care to comment?”

  “Yes.” Daphne lifted her chin. “I’m not a killer and I have no motive to murder a stranger, so let’s get that out of the way first. What I can help you with is my observations of people and events from before the wedding right through until this morning. Some of which I have tried to tell Matty about in the past.”

  “Mrs Jones, isn’t it true that Steve Tanning was rude to you the day prior to his death? That he was insulting in front of other people?”

  “It is true. He said he thought I’d be younger. But if that was sufficient reason to harm him, why didn’t I go after Bertie Brooker? He told me I was immoral for marrying Lisa and Steve. And then there’s Gina, who is Lisa’s great-aunt. She implied I am overweight, among other things.”

  Senior Constable Barber pulled her chair closer and rested her hands on the keyboard. Her expression had softened.

  “What an unkind thing to say.”

  “It was. But the point I’m trying to make is that insults are never a reason to hurt someone. People say nasty things all the time and it is a reflection on them. Not the recipient.”

  With a nod, the officer typed a few lines, giving Daphne a chance to settle her racing heart. But John must be stressed about his interview. A sudden burst of laughter from him put that thought to bed. Her muscles relaxed.

  “You said you have some observations to share. Where would you like to start?”

  The Fallout

  Senior Constable Barber guided Daphne through the interview with no further mention of suspecting Daphne of wrong doing. Partway through, John joined her. The officer excused herself for a moment.

  “Sounds as though you and Matty hit it off.” Daphne said.

  “He’s a nice young man. Does a spot of fishing himself.”

  “Does he have a filleting knife?” Daphne muttered under her breath. She wasn’t quite ready to be forgiving. John patted her hand.

  The officer returned with some bottles of water and offered them to John and Daphne. “Warm day. Best to stay hydrated.”

  “Thank you.” Daphne needed the water and drank quickly.

  “So, we’ve covered the day before the wedding and the day of the wedding as far as the signing of the marriage certificate. Do you recall who else was there?”

  “Lisa and Steve were seated in the middle of a long table otherwise filled with gifts. I stood to one side and their witnesses watched on. I have their names in my ceremonies book, sorry, I should have brought that along.”

  “We can check who they were.”

  “Some were from the bridal party. Not Tiffany though.”

  Senior Constable Barber tilted her head and D
aphne explained.

  “This morning I was in the bookshop and overheard a telephone conversation with the sales assistant. She answered the phone as Tiffany. And talked about being one of the bridesmaids.”

  “I know her. We’ll come back to the telephone conversation shortly. What happened once the signing was completed?”

  “There were photos taken as they signed and afterwards. Once I was no longer needed, I made my way to the house, but Mrs Brooker—Margaret—stopped me. She asked if I’d seen her father-in-law, Bertie.” Daphne said.

  Where was Bertie all that time?

  “And had you seen him?”

  Daphne shook her head. “Last I saw, he was walking in the opposite direction of the house. Margaret was worried he’d end up in the river based on previous incidents. She and Bob rounded up a search party.”

  “So the reception was delayed while people searched? It was quite an early wedding.” Senior Constable Barber opened her own bottle of water and sipped.

  “Apparently Lisa and Steve had a plane to catch that evening for their honeymoon and the reception was to wind down around six. But Lisa didn’t search. She sat down with her bridesmaids.” And a bottle of champagne. “Steve and his groomsmen followed Bob. Actually, Steve stopped to answer his phone.”

  “He had his phone on him?”

  “A few things were different than most ceremonies I officiate for. But I’m there to marry folk, not judge their choices. The others all went ahead. I’m afraid I didn’t see what Steve did.”

  “We can check who phoned and the time. Might help.”

  Daphne smiled to herself. Something she’d seen might be the key to finding the murderer. Who had phoned Steve? Surely it was someone asking him to go to the pool. The waiter?

  “Mrs Jones?”

  “Oh, sorry. Lost in thought. I got as far as the street when Lisa began to scream and I ran back to help. Steve was face down in the swimming pool. Bob and one of the waiters were in there, pushing him towards the side and then another man jumped in and between them, they turned him over.” Her heart raced as she remembered. Poor Steve’s vacant eyes. The blood on her hand. Lisa sobbing. “He was gone.”