“Nothing wrong with your weight. I love your curves.”
Daphne kissed his cheek. “Anyway, I think she is just trying to be nasty any way she can. If it wasn’t how I look it would be my profession. Or something else. Which leads me to ask if she is hiding something.” She took one of John’s hands. “I’d love another glass of the lovely sherry we had.”
Good girl.
Nobody bounced back from a bad moment more than his Daphne. “Sherry and another search of the Bertie and Toby saga.”
“Also, can you help me update my website? I have a few photos from the wedding. Unless you think it best not to include them?”
“Let’s take a look first. And while we’re at it, let’s go over the ones you took in the caterer’s van.” All of a sudden, Daphne’s hand slipped out of his as she picked up the pace.
“What a good idea! Coming?”
A sip of sherry was the perfect remedy for hurt feelings. Let Gina say what she would. Daphne had no intention of allowing the woman to get into her head again. She was probably perpetually cranky from being hungry.
“What would you like to do first, love?” John opened the laptop. “Shall I load your photos onto here and we can take a look on the bigger screen?”
While John did that, Daphne wrote down the latest information, thanks to his visit to the graveyard. “Just confirming it is Richard Brooker and Joseph Tanning?”
“Correct. I have images of the dates from the headstones on my phone.”
Daphne found the photos in question and recorded the dates. This notebook was filling up fast.
“Here you go.”
Daphne shuffled around to sit beside John as he clicked on each of her photos to make them fit the screen. There were quite a few from the signing.
“Margaret must have snapped away at anything. How strange to see Lisa and Steve together knowing it must be one of the last photos of him. Do you think I should offer these to Lisa…or even to the Tannings?”
“Might be a nice gesture. Did they open their wedding gifts even before the reception began?”
“Lisa unwrapped some before the wedding. Nobody thought to make a little table up for signing the wedding certificate so it was a last minute rearrangement to create a pretty spot. The flowers look really festive there.”
John peered at the screen. “Are those steak knives?”
“Your eyesight is better than mine! I remember seeing a couple of knife sets and hoped the bride and groom weren’t superstitious—not that many people believe it is bad luck these days, but still, not something I’d give.”
“Maybe they’d be right to be concerned.”
“Why?”
John zoomed in and then out a bit when it was too fuzzy. The steak knives were in a boxset, nestled in black silk.
“Is one missing?” Daphne asked.
“Think so. Now perhaps it fell out when space was being made. But look how pointed their ends are.”
“Oh my. Almost as thin as your filleting knife!” Daphne fanned her face with her hand. “Have we just found the murder weapon?”
“Or where it came from.”
“We should phone the police. Send the photo across so they can investigate.”
John checked the time. “After nine. Not likely to be anyone there.”
Daphne had already reached for her phone. “Can’t hurt to try.” She got Matty’s card from her wallet and dialled. “If someone took the knife at the wedding, it might very well have been an act of opportunity. Oh darn. Voicemail.” Daphne cleared her throat. “Good evening, this is Daphne Jones. John and I have some new information. About steak knives. Oh. At the wedding reception there were steak knives as a gift and one was missing. Anyway I have photos. Goodnight.”
After hanging up she looked at John. He smiled. “Never know what to say to a machine.”
“I’m wondering if I should dial triple zero.”
“Emergency? That’s for life threatening calls.” John said.
“Well, what if the knife is used on someone else? Or thrown into the river? Actually, maybe that is what happened. Someone took the knife from the set, phoned Steve, met him at the pool and stabbed him. And pushed him in to make it look like an accident. Then they threw it into the river to avoid capture.”
“Or the knife fell out on the table and is now safely back with the remaining set.”
“John Jones, you are being far too sensible.”
“Sorry.”
She put a hand over his. “Sensible is good, love. But this is a murder and we have to think like a killer.”
“We do?”
Daphne pulled her notebook closer and picked up her pen. “I’ll draw the Brooker property. Here is the house.” Her lines were angled. “Wrong shape but you get the drift. And the deck at the back and the pool off a bit to one side. This is where the garden splits in two.”
She scribbled a row of x’s.
“That’s the hedge. On this side is where the wedding was held. And over here is the reception. You can’t tell from my drawing but if you are in the wedding area you cannot see into the reception area. And vice versa. Hedges are too thick and high.”
“Are you thinking someone took a knife during the wedding?” John said.
“If they did, it must be Lloyd or another of the catering staff. Everyone else was seated at the wedding.”
“What about the cook?”
This was something Daphne hadn’t considered. She nibbled on her bottom lip, playing with her pen.
John looked through the remainder of the wedding photos. “We need some from the actual wedding. Do you know who did the photography?”
Daphne shook her head. “There were a couple of people filming on their phones but Lisa said something to Steve about them not needing an official photographer. Going back to the cook…I saw her briefly with another woman in the kitchen. But that was the day before the wedding. Whether she was there on the day we’d need to find out. Bob said she was upset over them hiring a caterer so possibly she wasn’t even on the property.”
The phone rang. “That’s the number I called Matty on.” Daphne answered. “This is Daphne, may I put you on speaker as John is here?”
“Good evening, and yes, please do.” It was Senior Constable Barber. “I just picked up the message you left. Can you elaborate?”
Daphne ran through the information about the knife set. “We were just discussing who might have had access. Do you know if the Brooker’s cook was there that day?”
“Mrs Jones—”
“Daphne, please.”
“Daphne. We appreciate you helping with this, but there’s really no need for you to spend your time worrying about this case.”
“Oh. Um, well it was just a passing thought. Because of the cook saying Margaret was trying to kill everyone.”
There was a chuckle on the other end of the phone. John and Daphne exchanged a glance. “We’ve spoken to the person in question and she explained her comment. She’s a woman who takes pride in her cooking and was offended by Margaret’s insistence on using a caterer. In her opinion, they were likely to give the guests food poisoning which was on Margaret’s head.”
Plausible excuse.
“Good to rule her out then. But what about Lloyd? He was one of the waiters and acted strangely and—”
“Okay, okay. Just to give you peace of mind, we have taken a look at the van and there was nothing unusual.”
“But I have a photo of his name badge on the wet apron.”
“We have spoken to him as well as his team mates. He’d spilled water on himself carrying a full tray of jugs and was seen doing so—in fact, some of the other staff made fun of him which he was upset about. All he did was throw off one apron and grab another and before you ask, we have sent the first apron to be tested for pool chemicals.”
“What about the white tub in the corner?” Daphne pressed.
“Used for food scraps. Bit of a dead-end, I’m afraid. The detectives who
I mentioned are here and running the investigation so while you are welcome to contact me with anything you think of, they’ll be the ones to follow it up. Do you mind sending me a copy of the photo of the knife set?”
John leaned closer to the phone. “John here. Shall I send to the email on Matty’s business card?”
“Yes. And thank you both.”
The connection terminated.
“I’ll send this now.”
“Running out of suspects, love.” Disappointment filled her voice. “Not Lloyd, although it doesn’t explain him glaring at me those times. Too many people have alibis. Is it a sign that I should leave well enough alone?”
Worries and Plans
How was anyone meant to sleep with so many thoughts going on? Daphne willed herself to not toss and turn. John was out cold and needed his sleep, so why couldn’t she relax and fall into the arms of slumber?
Counting backwards from one hundred was worth a try. One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight...
Who is the killer?
There it was again, just as her mind drifted off. Worrying about it at night was pointless. If she imagined a golden beach with a hammock and a nice book…
And who did Lisa meet in the carpark?
This wasn’t working. Daphne turned over, an inch at a time, sliding without pulling on the covers so not to disturb John. He mumbled and she froze. Pretending she was on a raft on a gentle sea, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Breathe in. And out.
What happened to the missing knife?
Bit by bit, Daphne slipped out of bed. Her dressing gown had fallen onto the floor and she grabbed it and her slippers. As quietly as she could, Daphne made her way to the tiny living area beyond the kitchen after collecting the laptop. If she sat facing the end of the caravan, the light from the laptop wouldn’t reach John.
She checked her website. John had been busy after the phone call from Senior Constable Barber, cropping photos and uploading them with some captions. They’d decided not to include any with Lisa and Steve until the investigation and the funeral was over. As it was, Daphne was uneasy about sharing much about this particular wedding.
He’d done such a good job. There were three photos of Daphne. In two she appeared solemn and official but in the third she was laughing. Her eyes crinkled around the corners. There were a few images of floral arrangements, the cake, and the signing book open and laid across its pages, the beautiful pen Daphne provided for this purpose. All tasteful and appealing without giving away the bride and groom’s identity.
She went back to the one of herself laughing. There’d been little to laugh at before, during, or after the ceremony and she couldn’t recall the moment. John had imported all of her photos into a file so she opened it and searched for the uncropped image. Everyone in the photo was laughing. Steve was tickling Lisa and the pen had flown from her hand. Bob, the bridal party, and various guests in frame all laughed. But one face stood out with its grim expression. Daphne zoomed in.
Gina.
Daphne clamped both hands over her mouth.
She’d not noticed the woman on the day, which wasn’t surprising given how many people attended the wedding. The creepiest part of this was not her lack of humour but the hatred in her eyes. Hatred directed at Steve.
One by one, Daphne inspected each photograph taken by Margaret. Gina appeared in a few more but her attention was on something or someone further away.
Daphne attached the image of Gina to an email but even as she typed out the address to send it to the police, she changed her mind. How on earth could anyone consider the woman a suspect? Unkind, yes. Over-protective of her family, definitely. But in the photos she was dressed in a body-hugging cream dress, very high heels, and pearls. Not the attire of someone who would stab a man—one much taller than herself—then push them into the pool without a sound or becoming covered with their blood. And although not one to judge a person on appearance, Gina did not give the impression she’d have the physical strength to kill a fit young man.
Daphne yawned. Going around and around with the few clues available made her tired. She closed the laptop and tiptoed back to bed.
Of course she overslept, thanks to too little quality sleep. Daphne woke with a start to an empty caravan, reaching for her glasses to read the clock.
“Dandelions and ducks!” She swung her feet out of bed.
John had left a note on the table.
Gone to pick up brunch. Noticed you were awake in the night so let you sleep.
Daphne dashed into the shower. John was the sweetest man she’d ever met, but just this once she wished he’d woken her. With the Brooker ceremony this afternoon, she would be pushing it to finalise the words, and visit the bistro.
Or perhaps it was best to stop digging around.
She turned off the water and grabbed a towel.
There were homicide detectives in town who had the resources and knowledge to track down the killer. Daphne was—at most—an amateur sleuth. One with a keen mind and way of getting people to talk to her, but amateur, nonetheless. If she’d not been asked to perform the farewell ceremony today, she and John would already be at their next location. It wasn’t her job or her place to uncover the face of a killer.
“Daphne, I’m letting you know we’ve decided to use another celebrant. Considering what is being reported on the news I prefer not to bring bad vibes to an otherwise positive day.”
It was those words in a text message the other evening that set her on this path. Losing one client was awful. The bride and groom in question had already felt like friends yet they’d made the decision to cancel her appointment thanks to the murder of Steve Tanning.
“You could never bring bad vibes, Daph.” She rubbed the mirror to clear the condensation. “They were scared.”
But if more clients got scared and cancelled, not only would her budding career be over, but her heart broken. Before her eyes had the chance to mist over, she made herself a silent promise to be the best celebrant she could, including help solve the murder of one of her own clients. It was the only way she could prove her integrity. The only way she could stay proud of herself.
“I’m back, love.” John’s voice was a welcome interruption.
She stuck her head out of the bathroom door. “Morning! Be there in five.”
It was closer to ten minutes later that she joined John and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Take a seat and I’ll bring coffee. There’s savoury muffins and sweet croissants. Closest I could find for brunch to takeaway.”
“Smells wonderful. And thanks for the sleep in. I was a bit restless last night.”
John delivered two fresh coffees and sat opposite. “Too much on your mind?”
Daphne gave him the short version of what she’d seen on the laptop and the thoughts bothering her the most.
“I agree it is unlikely Gina was responsible for Steve’s attack. Anyway, the police would have interviewed the family and if Gina had been missing for any length of time, it would have been noticed.” John said.
“But what if she relies on her age and appearance of frailty to hide a lethal killing machine.” Daphne nibbled on a muffin. “I wish I could work out who took Steve’s life.”
“Not a lot of time left, love. By the time you’ve finished with the Brooker’s, I’ll have Bluebell all but ready to go. You’ll have time to change for travel and then we can be on our way.”
“Well, whatever I can’t find out between now and leaving town, I’m sure I can continue to puzzle over.” Or else she could simply get more clues before they drove away. “Are you still planning on going to the library?”
“I am. Care to join me?”
“There’s still a bit to write for the ceremony but if I can get it done quickly I did have a thought. The local newspaper has its office not far from where we ate last night. I noticed it when we were coming back.”
“You’re thinking it might be worth dropping in there?”
With a quick glance at his watch, John nodded. “Four hours until you need to be at the Brookers. What if we meet back here for a quick lunch at one and then I’ll take you there.”
Daphne leaned over and kissed his lips. “I love the way you think. And then we’ll be on our way again. Back on the open road.”
A Man Named Maurice
It took Daphne less time than she’d expected to finish writing the ceremony. Her fingers flew over the paper and once she was happy, she transcribed the words into her ceremony book. This took longer as she was meticulous about writing neatly but when it was complete, she tucked the book into her briefcase and put on a pair of walking shoes.
Handbag over her shoulder, she locked Bluebell and donned a wide-brimmed hat to deflect the sun. It was a pleasant day without too much sting in the air. Perfect for a walk.
The route to town was familiar. Funny how fast one becomes accustomed to a place. She even knew where there were a couple of loose boards in the bridge over the river. From caravan to main street was ten minutes at a reasonable pace and Daphne didn’t stop today at the high point of the bridge. Under any other circumstances this would be a town she’d spend more time exploring. Even returning to stay here again. But the upsetting memories would take a long time to fade.
“Enough of that.” She muttered as she crossed the main street. There was only one purpose in her mind and a list of question.
The ‘Little Bridges Chronicle’ was housed in a dark and narrow shop squeezed between a barber and a bank. Daphne had to peer through the window to be certain it was open, but the door was unlocked and she stepped inside.
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. A small counter was set a few feet back and beyond it were several desks. And not a soul in sight. Every wall was lined with framed copies of newspapers highlighting important headlines and interesting people. At the back, a rickety staircase disappeared to another floor and beneath it was a room with a closed door.
Till Daph Do Us Part Page 12
