A Grave Gala (Sugar Martin Vintage Cozy Mysteries Book 2)

by Shéa MacLeod

  “Marquees, darling. They’ll fix everything.”

  I was unclear how a marquee would fix anything. In my experience they were barely big enough to keep the rain of a restaurant entrance. Once Toni explained it was a large tent meant to keep the rain off things, it made more sense.

  “What about music? We could put out a record player. I wonder if it’ll be loud enough?”

  She snickered. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m hiring a live band, of course.”

  “Of course.” I would never get used to this whole life of luxury thing. “What sort of band?”

  “Jazz, I think. Swing maybe. Or that new style... bob something.”

  “Bebop,” I said.

  “Yes, that. It would be fun, don’t you think?”

  “Sure, marvelous. And what about food?”

  “Canapes of some sort, I imagine. I’ll leave that up to Cook. He’s such a gem. I’m glad he agreed to stay. Pimms cups for drinkies, of course. Plus whatever other cocktails Johnson can manage.”

  I’d never had a Pimms cup and said so.

  “Oh, darling, they’re divine. It’s not an English summer without a Pimms cup,” Toni assured me, completely ignoring the fact it was no longer summer. “Now promise you’ll come.”

  “What’s the dress code?”

  “Black tie, of course. Surely you have a ball gown in that wardrobe of yours.”

  “Er, no. None of my adventures have involved anything that fancy. I have a couple nice cocktail dresses,” I said hopefully. The idea of spending money, and probably a lot of it, on the sort of party Toni would throw had me breaking out in a cold sweat.

  “Don’t worry about it. I have just the thing. Brought it back from Paris only to find out it doesn’t suit my coloring at all. Can you imagine? But it would look simply marvelous on you.”

  “Well, I—”

  “It’s settled then,” she said before I could make up another excuse. “You’ll come to the gala. After that dead body business the last time, you deserve a little fun.”

  I sighed. “Fine. I’ll come.” After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

  Chapter 2

  The day of the gala proved bright and sunny, almost unusually so for autumn in England. I hoped for Toni’s sake the weather held.

  My aunt’s old Lucite radio was tuned to a music program. Something sweet with a bit of swing to put me in the mood for dancing.

  I was just putting the finishing touches on my coif—I’d decided on a simple updo that looked nice, but I could manage without too much effort—when there was a pounding on my front door. Tippy let out an excited yip, and his nails made little scratchy tippy-tapping sounds on the polished wood floor.

  Throwing my robe around me, I padded barefoot after him. I flung open the door to find Jack Chambers standing there in a black tuxedo complete with top hat. He looked... well, quite handsome.

  He had a nice face, with sandy hair that had been fashioned into a respectable quaff that would have been more stylish a few years ago. His eyes were bright blue, and if his nose was overly large and his lips a bit thin, well, that just made him more interesting.

  I cleared my throat and blurted rather rudely, “What are you doing here?”

  He shifted from foot to foot. “Toni said you might need an escort.”

  “Oh.” It sounded lame, but I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed Toni thought I was desperate for a date or pleased that it was Jack who’d come to get me. “I mean, that’s great. Thank you. Come on in.” I held the door open.

  He gave me a once over, taking in my undressed state. “Are you certain?”

  “Well, it’s that or stand here on the step looking like a loon. I don’t mind, but the neighbors will talk.”

  He flushed. “I’ll come in then.”

  I stepped back to give him room. He removed his hat, hovering—rather nervously I thought—just inside the door. “I’ll wait here, shall I?”

  I sighed. “Whatever you want. I’ve got to finish getting ready. Give me five minutes.”

  He nodded and leaned down to give Tippy a scratch behind the ears. Tippy gazed up at him in adoration. Jack was Tippy’s second favorite person. I hope I was getting points for keeping him alive and well fed. Tippy. Not Jack.

  I hurried into my bedroom and shut the door. The ballgown Toni had given me hung from the back of the door. The sleeveless bodice fit snugly to my bust, nipped in at the waist, and then flared out into a full, frothy skirt that skimmed the floor. It was made of luxurious pink satin covered over in pale pink Chantilly lace. Little pearls and rhinestones clustered around the waist and neckline to add sparkle. I absolutely loved it. Unfortunately, I was struggling to zip it on my own.

  At last I gave in and shouted, “Jack, can you come here?”

  There was a very long pause. Then finally, “Er, coming.”

  The door swung open hesitantly and Jack cleared his throat. “You decent?”

  “More or less.”

  He popped his head around the half-open door and blushed when he saw the zipper gaping. “Er... ah...”

  “Would you stop dithering and help me get into this thing?” I snapped, equally annoyed and amused by his embarrassment.

  He eased around the bed—the room was impossibly cramped, and he made it feel even smaller—and gingerly fumbled with my zipper. At last he managed to get me properly zipped in. He eased back, eyes darting everywhere but at me.

  “That all?”

  “Sure. You can go. Be out in a minute.”

  He ran like the hounds of Hell were after him. Trying not to laugh, I checked my hair and makeup, added a pearl necklace and matching earrings which I’d found in my aunt’s jewelry box, then plucked a pink ribbon from the dresser.

  In the living room—sitting room, whatever the darned thing was called—Tippy was still keeping Jack company. The minute the dog saw me with the ribbon, he let out a low growl.

  “Don’t blame me,” I said. “It was Toni’s doing. She’ll be very hurt if you don’t wear it.”

  Tippy let out a gusty doggy sigh but let me tie the ribbon around his neck.

  “Toni does realize he’s a boy dog?” Jack said.

  “So?”

  “Boy dogs shouldn’t be forced to wear ribbons.”

  I rolled my eyes as I collected my purse, gloves, and wrap from the side table. “Don’t be daft.” That was one of my favorite new British phrases, and I was glad to have a chance to use it.

  Jack gritted his teeth and checked his wristwatch. “You ready to go?”

  “What’s the rush?” I asked, checking my reflection in the mirror about the fireplace as I wrapped the length of velvet around my bare shoulders. I had to look smart. All sorts of highbrow people would be at this shindig. It wasn’t that I cared much what they thought about me, but I didn’t want them thinking badly of Toni. She’d been so kind to me over the last few months. Other than Penny, she was my only friend. You could hardly count Tippy. He was a dog and merely put up with me. And Jack... well, Jack was Jack.

  “We shouldn’t be late,” he said, tugging his earlobe. “It’s bad manners.”

  I sniffed. “Fat lot you know. All these people show up late so they can make a grand entrance. Bet nobody’s there until after the sun goes down. Just you wait.”

  “Shouldn’t you be there to support your friend?” he said, tugging on my sense of responsibility.

  “Fine. I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.” I tried not to pout about him not mentioning my dress or my hair or how I looked at all. Not a single blessed complement. Would that have been so hard? Weren’t British men supposed to be the height of chivalry and good manners?

  And golly, why’d I care anyway? He was just some guy I had to work with, not... not Cary Grant. I didn’t give two figs whether he thought I was pretty or not.

  I stumbled to a halt when I saw Jack’s car, a lumbering slate-gray Ford Prefect two-door saloon. An early one, possibly 1938.

  “What happened t
o the Bentley?” I blurted.

  “The Bentley is my uncle’s vehicle,” he said, opening the passenger door for me. “This is mine. Bought it brand new before the war. It’s treated me well. Is there a problem?” His voice, like his gaze, was cool.

  “Not at all. Great car,” I said cheerfully. And not at all how I’d imagined showing up to Toni’s swanky party. But I settled myself into the seat while Jack made his way around to the driver’s side. “My father has a Ford.”

  He raised a brow as the motor rumbled to life. “Does he?”

  “He says it’s the most reliable car on the market,” I said. “And he should know. He spends enough time in his shop tinkering with it.”

  Jack smiled but didn’t respond. I sighed internally. Yes, I’d offended him. I shouldn’t have expected the Bentley was his. Just because he was Mr. Woodward’s nephew didn’t mean he was rich.

  And that was the whole problem with Jack. Not his wealth or lack thereof, but the fact I knew next to nothing about him. Yes, he’d helped me with the Chasterly case, and yes, he checked in on me and Tippy now and then to ensure I was meeting the terms of my aunt’s will, and yes, I sometimes wondered if he wasn’t attracted to me on some level, but that, as they say, was that. He’d never made any advances or indicated in any way that he saw me as more than his uncle’s employee and his own burden. It was annoying.

  The car rumbled through the seaside village of Meres Reach where I now made my home. It was still bright out, giving me a good view of the turquoise blue waters as we climbed up through the narrow, cobblestone streets before winding our way up the hillside where Endmere perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. Its many windows sparkled like jewels in a glowing cream-colored seashell. Thick shrubbery lined the narrow lane all the way up before spilling onto a circular gravel drive where a fountain played, and Johnson, the butler, overlooked things with a grim eye.

  One of the young men from the village had been roped into playing parking valet. Jack reluctantly handed over his keys before escorting Tippy and me up the steps and into the house where Johnson took my wrap and Jack’s hat, and Penny, a grin splitting her face, handed us cocktail glasses filled with a frothy pink concoction that matched my gown.

  “Is this the Pimms cup?” I whispered, remembering Toni’s declaration.

  “Pink Lady,” she whispered. “I tried one. They’re ever so tasty.” She put a finger to her lips. “I’ll bring the Pimms around later. Who woulda thought? Pimms this time of year.”

  I sampled the drink. It was sweet and tangy and surprisingly delicious, being so pink. It tasted like... strawberries and cream with just a hint of juniper. Obviously, Toni had been raiding the gin cupboard.

  Penny set her tray down, reached into her pocket, and—much to Tippy’s delight—pulled out a treat. “Don’t worry, boy. I haven’t forgotten you.”

  He gobbled down the treat and gave her a woof in appreciation. Or perhaps it was a request for another treat, knowing him.

  “The party is out on the terrace, Miss Martin,” Johnson said in a pained tone. He did not approve of me. Too common. Especially now he knew I wasn’t rich. Old snooty britches.

  Jack offered his arm to escort me out onto the terrace, while Tippy trotted alongside looking impressed with himself. Gone was any sneering over his pink bow, and instead he preened under the cooing of the lady guests.

  The veranda had been decked out in true Toni fashion, from the colorful Japanese paper lanterns strung from tree to tree, glowing softly, to the copious amounts of crystal glittering on the many white draped tables. Enormous vases were stuffed with colorful flowers which had been brought in from London.

  Surprisingly, the expected marquee was absent. I suppose because the weather was so nice. And if Toni had anything to say about it, it would stay that way.

  I was surprised to see both Alex—Alexander Malburn—and Lil—Lady Fortescue—there. I would have thought they’d want to stay away from the sight of our previous misadventure. Not to mention Toni and Lil didn’t exactly get along. Although with Lord Chasterly out of the way, perhaps their conflict had gone by the wayside. You see, Lil had once had a crush on Lord Chasterly while Lord Chasterly carried the torch for Toni. Toni, on the other hand, gave him the brush off while he did the same to Lil. Of course, the truth of the matter was something else entirely, but that’s another story and nobody needs to hear it right now.

  I didn’t recognize anyone else except for Vivien Moreton—a gorgeous platinum blonde—who I’d never met but who was a well-known English actress. And her date, of course, was the very handsome and popular race car driver, Jerry Miles. He’d just won some race or other and was the toast of the society pages. Not that I read them, but Mrs. Johnson insisted on going over them in detail every time I visited the Post Office.

  “Oh, I say, that Miss Moreton is divine, isn’t she?” Jack murmured, his jaw a little slack.

  I shot him a glare. “If you like blondes, I guess.”

  My own hair was a dark, nut brown and tended toward frizziness. It had taken me nearly an hour to beat it into submission, hence the simple updo. Meanwhile, Vivien’s pale locks were long, smooth, and glossy. The deep side part mimicked Veronica Lake’s long, dramatic iconic hairdo, just as Vivien’s silver gown was very similar to one Lake had worn in a magazine recently.

  “Oh, Sugar, you’re here!” Toni swooped out of nowhere to give me air kisses near each cheek. “And Jack. Brilliant!” She gave him similar treatment before bending to scratch Tippy behind the ears and tell him what a good boy he was. She rose elegantly, the midnight black of her gown studded with white crystals like shooting stars falling into place with a slight whoosh. “This is Lord Peter Winstead.” She indicated the handsome man hovering behind her.

  He was tall—though not quite as tall as Jack—with light brown hair, slightly receding, and a large, prominent nose. His tuxedo was simple, but well-cut and clearly expensive, and he wore a little gold pinkie ring. It was his large eyes that turned him from ordinary to attractive. They were a rich golden hazel, rimmed in lush, dark lashes. He could have given any number of heartthrob movie stars a run for their money.

  “Just Pete, please,” he said, bowing over my hand before giving Jack’s a vigorous shake.

  Toni laughed. “How silly of me. The three of you have never met! Pete, this is my dearest, darling friend, Sugar Martin.”

  I thought she was laying it on a bit thick, but who was I to argue? I gave Pete a smile I hoped was darling.

  “And, of course, the delightful Jack... uh... Jack...” She blinked in confusion, having clearly forgotten Jack’s last name. Toni rarely remembered anything she deemed not useful. It wasn’t that she thought herself above Jack, but he simply didn’t run in her circles so therefore remembering anything about him was too taxing in her estimation. Or so she’d told me. Not speaking of Jack in particular, but people in general. She only filed away what she thought would be important later.

  “Jack Chambers,” Jack offered, apparently taking no offence over Toni’s gaffe. “James Woodward’s nephew.”

  “Ah, yes?” Pete’s eyebrows lifted. “I believe my sister does business with him. Excellent solicitor. And who is this lovely creature?” He turned to give Tippy a charming smile.

  Tippy’s ears perked up and he gave a soft, “Woof.”

  “This is Tippy.” Toni reached down to give him another scratch which sent him into ecstasy.

  “My aunt’s pet,” I explained. “Well, mine now, I suppose. I sort of inherited him.”

  Pete laughed. “Now that sounds like a delightful story—”

  The band struck up a chord.

  “One that will have to wait,” Toni said, rising again. She took Pete’s arm. “You promised you’d help me start the dancing. Catch you later, toots.” She giggled as she sashayed away on Pete’s arm, hips swaying hypnotically. Clearly, she’d been watching American films again.

  “She’s quite a dame,” I murmured.

  “I
sn’t she just,” Jack agreed.

  I glanced up at him to find his gaze glued on my friend. I sighed internally. Tippy sighed externally as if he could read my mind. Although I doubted it. Dogs weren’t known for their telepathic powers, and it was unlikely Tippy would ever sympathize with my unrequited crush on Jack Chambers.

  There. I said it. I had a crush on Jack. How do you like that?

  Toni and Peter took their places on the makeshift dancefloor set up in the middle of the veranda. The conductor tapped his wand, lifted his arms, and then waved them around vigorously. The band played a slow, jazzy tune, perfect for lots of twirling and dipping. And twirl and dip Toni and Peter did.

  They were both marvelous dancers, elegant and poised, attuned to each other’s movements. I was betting they’d danced together many times before. They swirled across the floor dramatically as the crowd let out delighted gasps. The more the crowd cheered, the bigger Toni’s smile got.

  I wondered what sort of relationship Toni had with Pete. I was fairly certain it was nothing serious or she’d have mentioned it, but the way they danced made me think that somewhere in the past at least, there’d been something between the two.

  It would have been wonderful to join them, but Jack made no move, and I was suddenly nervous about asking him to dance. I wasn’t particularly good at it, though I’d learned a few steps for my undercover work. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or Jack. Or Toni, for that matter.

  Vivien Moreton tried to drag Jerry Miles onto the dancefloor, but he wasn’t having it. He was more interested in his Pimms cup and ogling Toni. Vivien shot him a glare which he ignored, so she stomped to the edge of the gathering and pouted.

  An elderly couple—Jack informed me they were Lord and Lady Olivander—got up and tottered along the edge, nearly crashing into the musicians more than once. Every now and then one of them would shout something over the music. “No, not like that,” or “You’re out of step, Winifred.” Meanwhile, Lil and Alex twirled around them, not quite as elegantly as Toni and Peter, but close.