Wedding Soufflé and a Dead Valet

by A. Gardner

  She's alive. Tamsin has to be alive.

  "Eh-hem." Lewis clears his throat and takes it upon himself to stand and say a few words. "Thank you all for coming today. I know we are missing a few people—my lads who couldn't join us this afternoon and…Marta's mate, Tamsin. Tomorrow is a very special day for Marta and me, and I'm very grateful indeed that all of you have come to share it with us."

  "To the bride and groom," Barry says, holding up his drink. He doesn't wait long before gulping down the entire contents of his glass. Barbara rolls her eyes.

  "And might I say"—Rupert cuts in. I gulp—"the food looks marvelous. Not one tainted prawn in sight, I might add."

  The table falls silent.

  "Was that comment aimed at me, Rupert?" Lord Chutney lifts his chin as he straightens the collar of his suit jacket.

  "I meant it in a general sense, Harry." Rupert grins and takes a sip of water. "Marta, dearest, pass the peas, please."

  "I'm afraid I don't like what you're implying," Lord Chutney continues. "Perhaps you would be happier if I banned you from the manor?"

  "I'm shaking in my boots." Rupert chuckles, unintimidated by Lord Chutney's threat. He's the first person to grab a tomato tart. He takes a large bite and nods. "Still my favorite."

  "Are you even listening to me?" Lord Chutney frowns, refusing to put any food on his plate. Rupert keeps his eyes on his plate as Lord Chutney stands up and tosses his cloth napkin on the table. "I will not sit here and be treated this way by a commoner. Good day, everyone."

  Lord Chutney acknowledges everyone at the table, except Rupert. He swiftly marches out of the dining room and heads for the front door. Sandra leaps up, glaring at her ex-husband. Her cheeks turn as fiery as Marta's hair.

  "Nice one, Rupert," Sandra shouts.

  "What?" Rupert shrugs. "Don't blame this on me. That man chose to walk out on your daughter's luncheon. I can't help that."

  "You can help holding your tongue," Sandra argues. "Why is it so hard for you to keep your mouth shut?"

  "Why is it so hard for you to see that that man is all wrong for you, Sandra?" Rupert pushes his food aside and stands up to make a point.

  "How would you know what's good for me?" Sandra stamps her foot.

  Marta looks from her mom to her dad. She isn't as upset as I thought she would be. In fact, she subtly leans toward the hallway to see if Lord Chutney is still lingering by the front door. Lewis and his parents remain silent. Barry continues eating as he watches Rupert and Sandra intently, as if they're acting out a scene from a soap opera for his personal entertainment.

  "Trust me, I know what's good for you," Rupert insists. "And that man is all wrong." He points toward the exit.

  "I can't believe you would embarrass me like this. You swore that you would be on your best behavior this week. This is your best behavior? I hate to think how you plan on behaving at our daughter's wedding tomorrow."

  Marta glances at her dad.

  "I'll tell you what's embarrassing," Rupert continues. "You're seeing a man who swindled half the village. Friends. Neighbors. Good people have suffered greatly because of Harry, and you have the nerve to parade around on his arm like some sort of tart."

  "Rupert," Sandra scolds him. "How dare you say that when we have company?" Sandra takes a deep breath, but her forehead still looks hot enough to fry an egg. She clenches her jaw. "Maybe Lord Chutney is right? Maybe it would be best if you didn't attend the reception tomorrow night at Chutney Manor."

  "Mum," Marta interjects.

  "I'm sorry, Marta, but I don't know how much more of this I can stomach."

  "You can't forbid me from attending my only daughter's wedding reception," Rupert argues. "No, I will be there no matter what Harry says."

  "Lord Chutney," Sandra corrects him. "Why can't you call him Lord Chutney like everybody else?"

  "He doesn't deserve a title." Rupert crosses his arms, standing firm on his position.

  "Mum and Dad, please," Marta finally intervenes. "We have guests, or have you two forgotten?"

  "I'm sorry, Marta." Sandra clears her throat. "You all will have to excuse me. I'm afraid I've just lost my appetite." Sandra leaves the dining room, and the sound of her footsteps marching up the staircase echoes through the room.

  "She'll be fine." Rupert sits back down. "Now that Harry is gone, there will be extra helpings." He carries on with his meal like nothing happened.

  "That's the spirit." Barry chuckles as he cuts into his roast lamb. "His loss is our gain, am I right, ole chap?" He continues laughing, even though his mouth is full.

  "Lewis, you never told me your father was such a pleasant man," Rupert responds. "Shall we?" Rupert raises his glass as if giving us all permission to continue on with our meal.

  "Shall we, indeed," Barry agrees. "As always, I look forward to pudding."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Marta shakes her head as the two of us walk into town. She hugs her sweater tight as a strong wind rushes by us. It's the middle of the afternoon, and the sky is gray. I'm getting used to it, and it makes me want to sip coffee in Marta's back garden while wrapped in one of Sandra's quilts. But there's no time to relax. We are on the hunt for Tamsin. She still hasn't answered Marta's calls. Even Tamsin's parents haven't heard from her in a couple of days. Marta didn't seem surprised by this.

  "I think he did it on purpose," Marta says. "Did you see the look on his face during pudding?"

  "I'm surprised it actually worked," I respond. "I mean, it didn't take much at all for Lord Chutney to stand up and waltz right out of there."

  "Mum didn't chase after him." Marta grins. "Did you notice that?"

  "Yes, but she spent all night in her room. That's not a good thing."

  "But Dad seemed to enjoy himself," Marta responds. Her continued attempts to get her parents back together never cease to amaze me.

  "You really think they still love each other?" I ask.

  "I know they do." Marta exhales loudly as she glances at the Woodbury bakery in the distance. I'm stuffed from lunch, but the aroma of Catherine's pastries still tempts me.

  "I don't want to be the negative one here, but don't get your hopes up," I add. "You never know what the future holds."

  "My thoughts exactly, Poppy." Marta stops just short of Catherine's. "Well, shall we?"

  "You better have a plan. Catherine slammed the door in Tamsin's face. What makes you think she'll tell you what's been going on?" I run through that day when I had spotted Tamsin in the alley beside the bakery. If anyone knows the sort of trouble Tamsin is in, it's Catherine. Though my gut tells me that Catherine will deny everything for the sake of self-preservation.

  "I do have a plan," Marta answers. "We've looked everywhere. Asked around town. I even called Tamsin's parents. No one has seen her or heard from her today. Catherine is our last hope, apart from visiting Tamsin's flat in London."

  "That's assuming she actually still lives in London," I point out. With the amount of lies Tamsin has spewed, I'm not sure what to believe.

  "We have to tell Catherine the truth and hope she helps us." Marta says it casually as though being honest with Catherine is all it'll take to gain her trust.

  "Are you sure?" I question her. "Because then we'd be giving away everything we know in exchange for…well, possibly nothing."

  "What else are we supposed to do? Wait around and hope that Tamsin doesn't turn up dead? In the meantime, I'm short a bridesmaid." Marta pauses and waits for me to agree with her. I know that, whether or not I do, she's made up her mind.

  Marta walks into the bakery and forces a smile. Maisie is standing at the front counter filling a tray with blueberry muffins hot from the oven—an extra wave of bakes for the rush of tourists that come through on the weekends. Marta eyes her favorite spot in the entire establishment. The place where Catherine stores her famous scones. There aren't many left this afternoon.

  "Afternoon, Maisie," Marta says. "Is Catherine in?"

  "She's in the back," Maisie
replies. "I'll go fetch her."

  Maisie happily bounces toward the back room and returns with her boss. I clear my throat, preparing myself as best as I can. Catherine wipes her hands on her apron. She's splotched with flour, which means she's probably in the middle of mixing some sort of dough. Marta keeps a smile on her face, although I'm not so sure how long it will stay there.

  "Marta," Catherine says. Her eyes widen. "I didn't expect to see you here today."

  "Yes, I know."

  "Is there something I can get you?" Catherine glances back at her dwindling scone supply. "I'm almost out of scones for the day, but for you, I can bake up another batch if you like?"

  "Thanks, but we're not here for scones," Marta responds.

  "You're not?" Catherine raises her eyebrows, and Marta looks to me for support.

  "Uh, no," I add. "We're here for information."

  "Yes." Marta gulps. It's not very often that she's the one doing the inquiring. "Perhaps we better sit down for a moment."

  "Ladies, I'm very, very busy at the moment." Catherine looks from me to Marta.

  "This won't take long," Marta assures her.

  The three of us take a table in the far corner of the tearoom. I take a deep breath as I admire the décor for what could be the last time. Particularly if Catherine kicks us out after this conversation the same way she did to Tamsin. I drum my fingers on the floral tablecloth as Marta nervously fixes her hair.

  "If this is about the reception," Catherine says quietly, "I'm sorry, but my answer is still no. I just can't—"

  "This isn't about food," Marta interrupts. "This is about Tamsin."

  Catherine leans back in her seat and immediately breaks eye contact with the two of us. She rests her hands on the table, twiddling her thumbs as she waits to hear what we have to say next.

  "What about her?"

  "She's missing," Marta answers.

  "Well, that's unfortunate." Catherine doesn't look surprised. "I haven't seen her, if that's what you came here to ask me." She scoots her chair back and begins to stand up, but Marta stops her.

  "Not entirely." Marta grabs her arm, and Catherine sits back down.

  "What?" Catherine eyes us both suspiciously. "Do you think I have something to do with it?" Catherine raises her voice. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Marta, but Tamsin is just the sort to skip out on responsibilities. I'm sure she'll turn up pissed out of her mind. Some people never change."

  "I know she's not the dependable type, but I'm worried," Marta argues. Marta looks to me again, and I nod, encouraging her to say the things she came here to say. But I'm still not sure if it's a good idea. "Tamsin is mixed up in something dangerous, and I know that you know about it."

  "What?" Catherine's posture stiffens.

  "I think Tamsin is in trouble, and you might be able to point us in the right direction," Marta confesses.

  "Me?"

  "Yes, you." Marta clears her throat and looks at me. It's my turn to try to convince her to cooperate.

  "I saw you and Tamsin talking a few days ago," I admit. "She was asking for your help with something, and you told her to stop digging around or she would end up like 'poor Monty.'"

  Catherine leans forward. Her expression changes in a flash. Her welcoming demeanor turns cold, and she purses her lips together as she looks me up and down. She narrows her eyes and glares at me as if I'm a health inspector coming around to close her bakery.

  "You've been spying on me?" Catherine whispers. "Who are you? How many times do I have to relive the horrors of my husband's accident? Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

  "I'm not spying on anyone," I insist. "It was just a coincidence."

  "So you coincidentally overheard a private conversation between Tamsin and me in the middle of an alleyway?" Catherine practically hisses. She's behaving the same way she had when Tamsin came around asking questions. I'm surprised she hasn't kicked us both out of her shop already.

  "Catherine, please." Marta's expression also changes. She reverts back to the sharp stare she always has at Le Croissant. "You are the only one left who can help us. Just tells us what Tamsin was up to."

  "It's not that simple." Catherine eases up a little. "You don't understand. I can't get involved. I warned Tamsin that she was playing with fire, and she chose to ignore my advice. I don't know how I can help you find her."

  "Did she say anything about where she was going, or what she's been up to since coming into town?" I ask.

  "Take one wild guess." Catherine rolls her eyes. "Where do all the problems in this village seem to come from?"

  "We know Tamsin was writing a story about Lord Chutney," I continue. Catherine shifts uncomfortably in her chair. "Do you have any idea what it was about?"

  "What do you think?" Catherine leans back and crosses her arms. "She was doing a story on the one thing people in this village either don't want to talk about or talk too much about."

  "What do you have to do with Lord Chutney's investments?" I go on. "Were you one of the people who gave him money?"

  "No," Catherine blurts out. "No. I certainly was not."

  "Then what was Tamsin after?"

  "I don't have to sit here and listen to this." Catherine stands up, but Marta grabs her arm again.

  "Catherine, if you're mixed up in this too, it's going to come out sooner or later." Marta's words are firm.

  "I have nothing to say on the subject." She exhales loudly and yanks her arm away.

  "Things will only get worse," Marta warns her. "Especially if Tamsin ends up like Ethan Taylor. I know you don't want that, but another murder just means another murder inquiry."

  "I think you both should leave," Catherine responds. "Now."

  Marta and I stand up and reluctantly exit the bakery. It went about as well as I imagined, with Catherine denying everything and eventually telling us to leave. We aren't any closer to figuring out where Tamsin might have gone or who might have been after her. All we know is that Chutney Manor keeps coming back to haunt us.

  "She's hiding something," I say as soon as we step out onto the sidewalk.

  "Of course she is," Marta agrees. "She has information about the Lord Chutney scandal, and I daresay that information came from her late husband. But how did Tamsin find out about it, and who knows what Tamsin discovered?"

  "You don't think Catherine did something, do you?" I inquire.

  "If you would have asked me that yesterday, I would have told you no." Marta shrugs. "I don't know what to think right now."

  "Well, if Tamsin was sneaking around at Chutney Manor this morning, don't you think we would have noticed something?"

  "I hope so," Marta replies. "Maybe Chef Gautier and the others noticed something today? We can ask them tonight. I also need to have a talk with Mum about Lord Chutney's whereabouts the night of the dinner party."

  "Looks like you won't have to wait long," I add, glancing down the street. Sandra rubs her hands together as she walks toward us. She is wearing a more casual outfit, and she has a fluffy scarf around her neck that looks as if she might have knitted it herself.

  "Mum?" Marta says, meeting up with her.

  "Oh, hello, dearie," Sandra replies. "I just fancied a quick drink at Rose's. Any luck looking for Tamsin?"

  "No." Marta hangs her head. I nudge Marta's shoulder. "Um, any luck speaking to Lord Chutney about what happened today?"

  "No," Sandra answers. "He's a very busy man."

  "Does he do that sort of thing often?" I chime in, attempting to help Marta out. "Storm out in the middle of a meal, I mean."

  "Of course not." Sandra skeptically studies me.

  "Sorry, I was just wondering." I bravely decide to go one step further. "It's just, I don't remember seeing him in his seat at the dinner party earlier this week. At least, not for the entire meal."

  "Of course he was, Poppy," Sandra argues. "Why I was sitting next to him all evening, and he didn't budge. Not even when Rupert hurled his insults. Lord Chutney is a very good host. H
e never leaves his guests unattended."

  "My mistake," I apologize.

  "Today was an exception," Sandra asserts. "I can't believe Marta's father acted the way he did. He knows better."

  "He was only teasing him, Mum," Marta says.

  "You don't tease a man like Lord Chutney. Your father knows that." Sandra straightens her scarf. "Now I'm going for a lovely glass of wine and a chat with Rose before dinner. I will see you back at the house."

  Sandra walks past us and toward the inn down the street.

  "Do you think that's the truth?" I mutter.

  "Unfortunately, yes." Marta sighs. "Lord Chutney couldn't have been the murderer…as much as I want him to be. Not if he was in his chair all the way through dinner. Mum wouldn't lie about a thing like that."

  "Then we really are back to square one," I declare, shaking my head.

  Marta sighs again as she heads back to Sandra's house. She pulls her cell phone from her pocket, answering a call. She stops suddenly, and I almost run into her. Marta's eyes go wide as she looks back the way we came.

  "Are you sure, Lewis?" Marta asks again. "You're positive?" She grips her phone tighter. "We just spoke to her." Another pause. "No, I don't think so. Okay, bye." Marta finally hangs up and stands frozen in the street.

  "What is it?"

  "That was Lewis," Marta answers. "They've found Ethan's killer, and they're about to make an arrest."

  "What?" My heart races. "Who is it?"

  Marta rubs her eyes before she looks at me.

  "The police think it was Catherine."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Catherine's arrest is all the village can talk about. I don't blame them. Catherine has no connections to Ethan Taylor, and she seems like the least likely suspect. Destin and Dandre sit back, enjoying a pint of ale after a long day of working in the kitchen. Jean Pierre took an evening coffee straight to his room when he returned to Rose's Inn. Tomorrow is Marta's big day, but her wedding is far from everyone's minds.