by A. Gardner
Tamsin looks pale, and her face doesn't have as much makeup on it as it normally does. Tamsin glances at her reflection, not saying a word about how the dress covers all of her cleavage. She seems satisfied with her appearance.
"Ready?" Marta says.
"Are you ready?" I ask Marta.
"I am now." Marta smiles as she looks at herself in the mirror. She looks put together like she did every morning I worked with her. It didn't matter how early in the morning it was. Marta was always on time and very precise. She certainly seems like herself at this moment.
The three of us walk toward the chapel. Tamsin and I walk in front of Marta. Tamsin stays quiet, and I can't help but wonder if Marta and Tamsin had a chance to talk while I was gone. I want to know where Tamsin was all of this time and why she never answered her phone. I want to ask her who she met on Friday night, but I can't. The music is too loud, and everyone in the chapel has already turned their heads to see us.
Marta's wedding begins, and I tell Tamsin to follow me. All she has to do is walk right behind me and stand next to me throughout the ceremony. Luckily, we don't have to say a thing. I walk down the aisle, thinking of my own wedding day. If that day ever comes. I'm not sure if it will or won't, but I imagine it might feel something like this. My heart is pounding, and for a brief moment, all eyes are on me. I look straight ahead and let faces on either side of me go fuzzy.
I take my spot at the front of the chapel, glancing up at the stained glass windows near the ceiling. The chapel looks different when it is full of people. The energy and the subtle whispers almost make it feel bigger. Tamsin stands next to me and stares blankly into the crowd.
When it is Marta's turn to walk down the aisle, the crowd stands. I watch the scene play out in front of me like it's a scene from a movie. Marta hangs onto Rupert's arm, doing her best not to cry as she nods at friends and family who have come to share in this special moment. Lewis gawks at his bride as though she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
The vicar proceeds with the ceremony, and Marta's smile is wider and more genuine than I've ever seen it as she looks at Lewis. They really are a perfect match, and for a small moment in time, it's like the events of the past week never happened. I watch beams of light dance through the windows and light up the chapel as Marta and Lewis kiss for the first time as husband and wife.
I've been to a wedding or two, but both my brother and I are unmarried. Marta's wedding is the closest I've come to an actual pulpit in a long time. In fact, it's the first time I've set foot in a church for years. It's not so bad.
Marta and Lewis walk out of the chapel, and Rupert whistles loudly. Sandra glares at him, nose wrinkled. Rupert doesn't notice. Nothing can wipe away his grin. I nudge Tamsin as my brain floats back to reality. Suddenly my chest feels heavy as all of the questions I have for her come crashing back. It's going to be a long afternoon, and I hope Tamsin has a better explanation for her absence than something along the lines of partying at the castle and then losing track of time.
"You're coming with me back to Sandra's house," I whisper to Tamsin.
"Um, okay." She watches as villagers leave their pews one row at a time.
"I assume she won't want to lose track of you again," I respond. I watch her expression, hoping for a hint of where she's been. Tamsin looks from person to person, stopping to stare at someone in particular. Her attention is not on me anymore. Tamsin tilts her head and squints. I follow her gaze and see Lavinia Stevenson glaring back at her.
Lavinia quickly darts to the exit, and her husband follows close behind. As soon as the glare from her shiny suit jacket is out of sight, Tamsin refocuses on me. My muscles tighten as I think of the look on Lavinia's face when I brought up Friday night.
Lavinia was lying. She does know something.
"Tamsin, can I ask you something?"
"Is it what numerous coppers and Marta have already asked?" Tamsin answers. "Because my answer is still the same. I didn't realize I'd missed everything until this morning."
"Where were you?" I ask.
"I…I'm not sure." Tamsin shrugs.
"You're not sure exactly where or you just can't remember?"
"It's all still fuzzy, Poppy." She scratches her head. "I mean, one minute I was…and then…" She takes a deep breath. "Don't worry. As soon as this wedding stuff is over, I'm going straight to the police."
"What's the last thing you remember?" I continue. "Do you remember getting drinks with us on Friday night? Do you remember the dress fitting, the castle, or the day your room at the inn was broken into?"
"Look, Poppy, I know the sort of reputation I have around here," she mutters. "But I didn't just get pissed out of my mind and pass out in a ditch for two days. I honestly can't remember."
"Can you remember Friday night after we left the pub?" I ask.
Tamsin runs her fingers through her hair. The more she speaks, the more her old self shines through.
"I remember our little chat in the loo." Tamsin raises her eyebrows.
"And?" I press her for more information before my opportune moment is gone.
"And I need a shower and a cup of tea before we get into that," Tamsin answers. "Let's go to Sandra's. I have no desire to be left alone either. That and I'm certain Marta will want to give me a good talking to."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After a bite to eat and a cup of tea, the three of us sit in Marta's room before the wedding reception. Sandra is already at Chutney Manor, along with Chef Gautier and his team. Rupert is at Rose's pub, wasting time until he has to waltz around Lord Chutney's home again, and Lewis is downstairs in the kitchen making a few phone calls.
Tamsin does her hair in the mirror. After a little caffeine and a long shower, she's back to being Tamsin again—nowhere near the spacey woman she was just a few hours ago. Tamsin is wearing Marta's lemon yellow robe and reapplying her makeup the way she usually wears it. She glances at her bridesmaid dress in the mirror.
"One more night," Tamsin groans. "I only have to wear that thing one more night."
"And to think I felt sorry for you when you were quiet and confused," Marta adds.
"Now is a better time than any to give us the details," I continue. "You might as well tell us everything. I mean, they've arrested Catherine for Ethan Taylor's murder—"
"Catherine?" Tamsin interrupts. "Really? They arrested Catherine?"
"It was a shock to all of us, Tamsin." Marta hangs her head. She takes a sip of tea. She too is wearing a bathrobe and giving herself a break from her slim-fitting wedding gown.
"No, that can't be right. Catherine would never kill Ethan. Not on purpose anyway. She had nothing against him." Tamsin shakes her head. "You must tell your new husband that something is not quite right with that."
"So you know this for a fact?" I ask.
"The only person in this village that Catherine would want dead is Lord Chutney," Tamsin blurts out. Her eyes go wide after she says it. "But you know, half of the village feels that way too."
"What does Catherine have against Lord Chutney?" Marta asks. "I thought she was one of the few who didn't invest in his leisure center plan?"
"I'm not sure that now is the best—"
"Tamsin Smith, it is my wedding day, and we are due to visit Chutney Manor at any moment," Marta butts in. "Now you tell me what you know. I don't care if you're trying to keep it all hush-hush for an exclusive story. You owe me a wedding gift, remember? Something without straps and cat ears." Marta's cheeks are a fiery red.
"Fine." Tamsin gulps. "But if I tell you everything, you must swear never to repeat it. There's a madman out there who will do anything to stop me from letting this out."
"Agreed," Marta responds.
"Me too." I sit back on Marta's bed.
"You're right," Tamsin admits. "Catherine and her husband, Monty, did not give their money to Lord Chutney. Monty's brother did, however. His entire life's savings. You can imagine how upset they were when Lord Chutney pulled
the plug on the project."
"I remember the rioting," Marta says quietly.
"There are a lot of theories floating around about that," Tamsin continues. "Monty happened to have been the cause of all that. You see, when I had the idea to do a story on the scandal, I presented it to my editor. She loved the idea. As part of my research, I looked into the land Lord Chutney had purchased with everyone's money. He bought it from a company I never heard of, so I looked into it. The company, Foxhill Holdings, turned out to be a fake. However, I did manage to scrounge up a phone number. A woman answered it. A woman whose name I was able to find in the books because her previous job had been as Lord Chutney's private secretary."
"No," Marta gasps. "So the rumors are all true?"
"Lord Chutney never purchased that land because he already owned it," Tamsin replies. "Which means the geological assessment that stopped him from building was also a fake."
"And Catherine's husband figured this all out?" I guess.
"Lord Chutney's former secretary mentioned meeting him once," Tamsin explains. "I tracked her down and convinced her to tell me about Foxhill Holdings on the record. People are much more keen to talk when you meet them in person. It also helped that Chutney was a horrible employer."
"So Monty knew about all of this before he died," I go on. "I assume he was planning on exposing him until…" I gulp, holding a hand to my throat.
"Until he conveniently died in a car accident," Tamsin quietly finishes.
"Why would Lord Chutney do something like that?" Marta throws the question out there, but I know she already knows the answer.
"Because he needed the money." I shake my head. "Of course it's all about money."
"The Chutney's are broke," Tamsin continues. "I hired Ethan Taylor to take a few photos for me of the left wing. It's in a ghastly state. You should see how horrid it looks."
"Catherine must have known all of this too," Marta concludes.
"That's what I was trying to find out." Tamsin looks down at the floor, lost in thought. "I asked her about Monty's accident and if he had any old research lying around somewhere. She wasn't happy about what I was doing. She said it would stir up trouble, and she was right. Now all my research, evidence, proof…it's all gone. Stolen that night my hotel room was ransacked."
"Oh, my." Marta takes a sip of her tea. "This is not the sort of gossip I was hoping to hear on my wedding day." She takes another sip. "I am glad, though, that you were able to make it after all, Tamsin. And you too, Poppy."
The three of us share in a brief silence. It isn't awkward, but it serves as a breath of fresh air. A fresh start between the three of us.
"This brings us to what happened to you," I say.
"Yes." Tamsin nods, lowering her voice. "I remember it now. Friday night you lot left the pub. I was chatting with Destin, and I got a phone call from Lavinia Stevenson."
My heart pounds.
Lavinia was lying.
"What did she want?" I ask.
"She said she had some information for me. A tip is what she called it." Tamsin's gaze wanders out the window as she searches her memories for more. "I met her outside. She insisted on a walk. I assumed she had a tip about something related to my story, though I wasn't sure how she would know about it, but it turns out Lavinia only wanted to chastise me for wearing such a provocative top the night of Lord Chutney's dinner party."
"That sounds like Lavinia," Marta mutters.
"Her tip was that I should cover up next time and behave more like a lady."
"Seems strange that she would go through all that trouble just to tell you that," I comment.
"That's Lavinia all right," Marta responds. "She once told me that only harlots showed their knees to unsuspecting men. That was when I first starting working at the Woodbury bakery, and I wore shorts once during my shift."
"Those little jean ones," Tamsin replies. "Those were adorable on you."
"Those were yours." Marta raises her eyebrows. "You insisted that I borrow them that summer to get Bobby Graham's attention, remember?"
"Oh, that's right." Tamsin smiles.
"Okay, so you did go back to your room that night?" I try to push the conversation back on track.
"See, that's when everything gets confusing," Tamsin admits. "The only clear thing I remember after that is leaving my room and walking down the street. I thought I was in my hotel room, and I was determined not to be late to Marta's wedding rehearsal. The officer who found me told me I was nowhere near the inn and that it was already Sunday."
"So the last thing you remember is talking to Lavinia about your questionable style choices?" My head spins with ideas. If Lavinia did something to Tamsin that night or even saw what really happened, I understand why she lied about it.
"When you put it like that…" Tamsin thinks about her response one more time and then shrugs. "Yes. That is the last thing I remember."
* * *
I get shivers when we pull up to Chutney Manor. Marta is back in her wedding dress, and Tamsin is back to her usual self. She grips her wrist as we walk up to the front entrance. I remember the gash she once had on her arm. It seems to have healed the past couple of days.
"You came back here to get your own pictures, didn't you?" I whisper in her ear.
"You must have been a detective in a previous life, Poppy," Tamsin mutters back.
"No, I just have the habit of asking too many questions, or so I've been told." I study the front lawn, glad to see that Lord Chutney didn't have the nerve to display his antique car collection for all of his guests to admire this time. "It gets me in trouble, but it also gets me out of trouble."
Chutney Manor looks as it did yesterday when Marta and I went snooping around. The lounge is set up with drinks and appetizers, and Marta eagerly searches for her wedding cake upon arriving. A cake table is set up in the dining room, but it is still empty. Marta nervously twiddles her fingers.
"Relax," Lewis says quietly. "Everything will be perfect."
I sneak to the kitchen, looking for Destin and Dandre. I run into Chef Gautier instead. He's sipping his evening coffee as he waits for guests to arrive. The aromas coming from the counter are enough to satisfy my curiosity. Marta will be getting the dinner she always wanted, though there is still no sign of her wedding cake.
"You are here to spy, yes?" Chef Gautier has a twisted smirk on his face.
"Maybe?"
"Sit, Poppy," he instructs me. Even though I no longer work for him, I feel like I have to obey. I follow his instructions and sit next to him at the table. "When do you go back home?"
"Tomorrow," I reply.
"And have you decided what you want to do?" He pauses and looks at me as if he already knows my answer. My answer is a definite no.
"Not exactly," I respond. "I'll be flying back to Oregon. My parents live there, and I have an apartment there."
"So you are still lost." Jean Pierre sits back and crosses his legs. "I was once like you."
"That gives me hope then." I jokingly chuckle. Jean Pierre isn't amused. He keeps a straight face.
"If you are confused about where you are going, you must start back at the beginning." He nods, satisfied with the cryptic advice he's given me.
Chef Gautier sips more of his coffee and hardly moves a muscle when Destin and Dandre stampede through the door with a box in their hands. Dandre stops to catch his breath, but Destin happily presents his findings to his boss.
"We found them, Chef Gautier," Destin says.
"Excellent," he answers. "Now we can begin."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"There aren't words."
Marta admires her wedding cake, refusing to listen to the announcement that dinner is ready to be served. Much to Lord Chutney's dismay, Sandra convinced him that Lewis and Marta deserved spots at the head of the table just this once. The villagers who are attending tonight are waiting for Marta to join her husband and sit down.
"I won't be able to watch when they cut it,"
I add. It's amazing to me that Jean Pierre was able to craft the perfect wedding cake for Marta without even asking her any questions. He really does have a talent for it.
The wedding cake is white, and it's made up of four large tiers. Each layer is perfectly iced, and thin gold leaf stripes wrap around each base making it look more elegant. But what makes the cake look truly magnificent is that it looks like an English garden in full bloom. Looking at it almost makes me feel like I'm standing in Sandra's back garden, surrounded by wildflowers. I gawk at pops of deep purple and soft pinks. All the flowers were picked today around the village of Woodbury.
"Shall we sit, dear?" Lewis asks. Marta turns to look at her husband with almost as much intensity. Her face glows as she takes her seat and waits for the first course to be served.
The dining room is alive with soft melodies and light chatter. I sit in the same seat as before. Rupert is sitting closer to Marta today, and so far, he hasn't caused any trouble. Waiters come with the first course. Seeing their uniforms reminds me of the last time I was here. It reminds me of Ethan and the way he grinned when he served me champagne in the front foyer. My gaze wanders around the room. There's an empty chair across the table.
Lavinia Stevenson isn't here.
I observe the first course and smile. It is beans on toast. Well, Chef Gautier's take on beans on toast, which is a steaming bowl of bean and herb soup accompanied by a homemade slice of toasted sourdough. I recognize the bread from Le Croissant. Destin watches from the doorway as Marta takes a bite. She sighs in approval, and Destin quickly returns to the kitchen.
I savor my bean soup, thinking of Sandra's specialty with each bite that I take. I can't believe how similar they taste. It isn't long before the next course is brought out—the main dish. It's a beautiful dish with a roasted trio of meats and a miniature cheese soufflé decorated with a cream sauce and edible flowers. So far, just like the wedding cake, everything presented to me looks like an English garden.
