Death at an English Wedding (Murder on Location Book 7)

by Sara Rosett

  I said hello, and Malcolm swiveled his upper torso around to us. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in, Kate. And, Alex, too.”

  Malcolm’s sweater vest of the day had a green-and-gray pattern. He always wore a sweater vest under his tweed jacket. He was as tall as Alex, who was over six feet. But while Alex was lean with wide shoulders that narrowed to a flat stomach, Malcolm’s paunch pressed against the wool of the vest. I wondered if the layers were because he was cold. Stately homes were not known for their toasty rooms. It was only September and the office had a distinct coolness to it. Ella informed me that if they had a big event Malcolm added a bow tie. I’d never seen him wear one, though, so she might be pulling my leg.

  Alex said to Malcolm, “I got your message about the ushers. If you have a few minutes, we can talk about it and another issue that’s come up.”

  “Of course. Always a delight to discuss the wedding with you.” Malcolm’s tone conveyed the opposite of his words, but he nodded, causing his fringe of pale brown hair that frizzed out around his ears to tremble. His hair was receding from his forehead, and in the time I’d known him, I’d noticed that as his hairline marched backward, he let the fringe of hair that remained grow longer. “Just let me finish this.” He disconnected the blender and poured a slushy lime-green substance into a tall plastic glass. Malcolm raised the blender and looked back to us. “Would you like a smoothie? I have more than enough for everyone to have a sample. It’s my own blend of kale, sweet grass, spinach, and fruit.”

  Behind his back, Ella mouthed the word, “No,” with an emphatic shake of her head.

  I stifled a grin. “No, thank you. Kind of you to offer.” Malcolm’s formal way of speaking always seemed to rub off on me. With his fussy adherence to tradition and his prim manners, I felt like I was dealing with someone from another era and was happy that Alex was along today and had promised to take the lead on the conversation about the seating chart.

  “I make it a practice to never drink anything green,” Alex said, and Malcolm inclined his head, silent disapproval in every line of his body. Malcolm plunged a straw into his concoction then gestured for Alex to take a seat at his desk. I dropped into a seat beside Ella’s desk.

  “So how’s everything, wedding-wise?” she asked, her attention focused on a printout.

  “Coming along. Why are you frowning so fiercely at that stack of papers?”

  She quickly closed a file. A neon pink sticker with the words Flower Arrangement Options was stuck to the front. “Is it that noticeable?” Her gaze darted around the room’s empty desks then settled briefly on Malcolm.

  “Well, yes,” I said. “You don’t usually look so stressed. Is everything okay?” Ella had a cheerful personality, especially when it came to her work at Parkview.

  “Everything is fine with the wedding.” She scanned the room again, and for a second I thought she looked almost afraid, but then she smiled brightly. “It’s nothing about that.”

  “Can’t talk about it now?”

  “No.” Her phone buzzed with a message. “I have to go to the entry hall. The guests for Greenways Cottage have arrived, and I’m covering for Carl.” She locked the file in a drawer.

  “How is Carl?” I asked. Carl Buxby handled all of Parkview Hall’s lodging from the guest rooms in the house, which were available to book for overnight stays, to the holiday cottages that were scattered around the estate grounds and the village. “I heard he’s in the hospital.” Louise, my friend and the owner of the White Duck pub, heard all the gossip around Nether Woodsmoor. She said Carl had passed out last week. The staff at Parkview couldn’t bring him around, so they called for an ambulance. I looked toward Carl’s desk, which was covered in its usual mass of binders, printed pages, and magazines. An assortment of pens, paperclips, and “while you were out” messages were scattered across the stacks. It surprised me that Carl, who always looked immaculate in person, thrived in such a disorganized work area.

  “Doing much better now that they’ve sorted out that he fainted because he has an irregular heartbeat.”

  “That sounds bad. He seems so healthy. It’s hard to imagine him in the hospital.” As far as I could tell, Carl spent all his leisure time on the numerous bike trails that wound through the countryside. I often caught sight of him on the path behind my cottage, his aerodynamic helmet nearly touching his forearms as he hunched over his bike. Village gossip was that he was in his mid-forties and had moved to Nether Woodsmoor after a divorce.

  “Apparently he’ll be fine as long as he takes his medicine. He should be back at work in a few days.” She closed a window on her computer then pushed in her desk chair. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

  “No, go. Do what you need to.” I heard the words “. . .that will never do,” from Malcolm. I said to Ella, “Time for me to weigh in with Malcolm, I think.”

  I shifted to sit in the other open chair in front of Malcolm’s desk as Alex said, “I don’t see why there’s an issue. It’s what Kate and I want.”

  “It’s not appropriate.” Malcolm pinched his lips. Since the glass with his green smoothie filled to the brim still sat on the corner of his desk, I assumed the subject of open seating caused his sour look, not his drink. He steepled his fingers and leaned toward us, his tone similar to what one would use with schoolchildren who don’t understand the value of learning their times tables. “You see, one of the reasons people choose to be married at Parkview is the sense of tradition and pageantry. A certain formality is expected.” He reached for the handle of a file drawer. “In fact, according to the event contract—”

  “We don’t need to see the contract. I’m sure it is one of the things covered, but I’m equally sure that Beatrice would not mind if we did things a little differently. Blame it on us being Americans, if you like.” Alex smiled as he said the last words, but his tone held an unyielding quality—a rare thing for Alex—that caused me to look at him out of the corner of my eye.

  Malcolm’s lips squeezed tighter. I imagined Alex’s use of “Beatrice” instead of her formal title “Lady Stone” is what deepened the disapproving look on his face. I’d only heard him refer to Beatrice by her title, even though she asked everyone to call her by her first name. “I don’t think Lady Stone would approve of that sort of change.”

  Alex’s smile became fixed, and I realized he was angry, a state so rare with him that I jumped in quickly. “Really? You don’t think she’d like it? Because I think she wouldn’t care at all. In fact, let’s give her a call.” I took out my cell phone. Her number was in my contact list because when we had filmed at Parkview I had to call her frequently. I didn’t feel the least bit intimidated about dialing her number.

  Malcolm shifted his chair forward with a jerk, and I thought he was about to reach for my phone, but he restrained himself. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” he said before I could select her name. He smoothed his hand over his flyaway hair, which was standing out around his ears.

  “Excellent.” I dropped my phone into my jacket pocket.

  Malcolm patted a stack of papers into alignment. “Since you’re so set on it…I suppose we could make an exception, this once.”

  After we left the business office, Alex didn’t speak until we were halfway down the drive. “Officious little twit.”

  I held my hair back from my face as the wind tried to tease it out of my hand. “I agree, but apparently he’s a good event coordinator. And it’s settled. We got what we wanted. That’s the main thing.”

  We passed through the open gates at the entrance, then Alex merged onto the road. “That’s true.” His hand relaxed on the steering wheel as he followed the curve of the road. He shook his head. “I can see how this wedding stuff can stress you out.”

  “I feel a little better. If one conversation with Malcolm can put you on edge, then I don’t feel so bad for being annoyed with him so much. Where are we going? That was the turn for the village.”

  “It’s a surprise,” Alex said.
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br />   CHAPTER 2

  “A nd that’s all I’m telling you about it. No hints,” Alex said as we drove along the lane. “So, new topic. I got an email from my dad today. He’s arriving the day before the wedding.”

  “That’s cutting it close, isn’t it? Since he’s coming from Chile won’t he need to adjust to the time zone here?” Alex’s dad worked in the diplomatic corps and was currently assigned to the U.S. Embassy in Chile. Alex was American, but had grown up moving around the world, following his dad from one government post to the next.

  “No, he’ll be fine. He’s used to international travel. He’ll sleep on the plane.” I felt Alex look at me out of the corner of his eye. “Any change in plans from your dad?”

  “No.” I sighed. “Still not coming.”

  Alex reached across the gearshift for my hand. “I’m sorry. I thought he might change his mind if you called.”

  I lifted one shoulder. “He’s not like your dad. He hates to fly. Not in an I-don’t-like-it way. It’s true anxiety.” I looked at the trees, their gold and brown leaves flashing in the wind. “I didn’t really expect him to come.”

  Since my parents’ divorce a few years ago, I hadn’t seen much of my dad. His parenting style had always been of the laissez-faire type. He was content to let me range where I wanted in my friendships, hobbies, and reading—especially my reading. He’d always had a love for books and encouraged me to read widely. His attitude was quite a contrast to my mother’s helicopter-style parenting. His abrupt announcement that he wanted a divorce and he was leaving his management job to buy out an independent bookstore owner in Kansas City had been a shock on one level—I guess you never expect your parents to get divorced—but on another level I wasn’t completely surprised. I’d known my mom and dad were intensely unhappy.

  Alex said, “Maybe I shouldn’t have encouraged you to phone him.”

  I shifted in the seat, angling toward Alex. “Don’t think that. It was a good thing. I want to stay in touch with him more. I was upset with him after the divorce, but that’s in the past. We’ve worked it out. He came out to see me in California when Mom went off the rails, and we patched things up.”

  Alex said, “Well, it does sound as if he left you holding the bag, so to speak. With your mom, I mean.”

  It was true. Dad exiting our life as casually as though he were checking out of a hotel room had thrown my mom into a tailspin. Not having the most stable of personalities, Mom had leaned a little too heavily on prescription medication, so I left graduate school and moved home. Thankfully, after counseling and rehab, she’d regained her equilibrium. I’d been able to take the location scouting job in England without worrying about her constantly. “I did resent my dad for a while, but now—” I shook my head. “I couldn’t stay mad at him. He did what he did, and that’s that. All those things—that chain of events— brought me here. If I’d finished grad school, I probably wouldn’t have moved to Nether Woodsmoor and met you.”

  Alex looked away from the road and smiled at me, and I felt a fluttery sensation in my stomach that had nothing to do with the abrupt dip and twist in the road.

  “That’s very adult of you. Was your dad’s answer a flat no?” Alex asked. “When you called and asked him to come to the wedding, I mean?”

  “No, he sounded…regretful. I think he would like to be here.”

  “Then how does he feel about boats?” Alex watched the road as it curved through a belt of trees.

  “I don’t think he has strong feelings about boats. What are you thinking? A cruise ship?”

  “Why not? There’s still time. He can get from New York to London in six or seven days. If he can be away from the store that long.”

  “I hadn’t thought of a cruise.”

  “My mom does it all the time. She’s extremely fond of cruise ships. She likes them almost as much as high-end hotel rooms on the Riviera—French or Italian Riviera, doesn’t matter which, as long as it’s part of the Riviera. Or she’ll take the Caribbean in a pinch. But back to your dad. He could be here in a week or so without going through airport security or breaking ten thousand feet.”

  “I’ll mention it to him. Maybe send him an email or something.”

  “Tell him to call me if he wants details on any of the ships. I can ask my mom for a recommendation. She’ll know which deck, even which cabins, to pick.”

  “What about your mom? When does she arrive?”

  “She’s in London that week. She’ll come up for the day of the wedding then take the train back to London that night.”

  “She’s not even staying one night?” I asked.

  “It will work out perfectly. A few hours is the maximum amount of time she needs to exercise her maternal inclinations. Then she can get back to shopping and lunching and tanning.” Alex glanced at me. “Sounds shallow, I know, but I’m not exaggerating.”

  I hadn’t met Alex’s parents yet. A trip to Chile wasn’t exactly easy to work into our schedule when we were starting a business and planning a wedding—not to mention the expense of two tickets to South America. But his mom seemed to spend most of her time in European resorts, which were much closer. However, the few times Alex had floated the suggestion that the three of us meet before the wedding, his mom always replied, “Sounds lovely, but it’s not possible at the moment…perhaps later.”

  Alex’s parents were also divorced, but his mom was the one who left. Alex didn’t talk about his mom often, and when he did, she was one of the few subjects that caused his easy-going nature to disappear. Her flighty disposition was the reason Alex was so involved in his younger sister’s life. With his dad constantly posted around the world, Alex gave Grace’s life the stability that a thirteen-year-old needed. The close location of her school to Nether Woodsmoor was one reason Alex lived in the village. Grace could come “home” to his cottage during school holidays.

  “Your mom doesn’t want to spend some time with Grace?” I asked.

  “No, she does not. Speaking of Grace, she says she has the perfect thing for your ‘something blue,’ but wouldn’t tell me what it is. I told her you might already have something picked out for that. I’d suggest you get something quick, if you don’t have something already.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “You’ve obviously not been on the receiving end of gifts from a thirteen-year-old girl. I have an extensive collection of lumpy winter scarves that you are free to borrow anytime. One is red with orange stripes, and another has purple dots on baby blue.”

  “That’s where those came from?” I’d wondered about his taste in winter scarves, which didn’t go with his usual casual style of a solid-colored shirt, jeans, and his broken-in leather jacket.

  “You’ve been warned.” Alex eased off the gas, his gaze on the trees on the side of the road. “Watch out, or you might end up with some sort of itchy blue scarf wrapped around your neck when you walk down the aisle. She’s thrilled you asked her to be in the wedding. She mentions it every time I talk to her.”

  Alex and I had decided to go with a small wedding party—extremely small. He had asked Brent, one of his oldest friends, to be his best man, and I asked my friend Melissa to be my maid of honor. Grace, as a junior bridesmaid, completed the group.

  “I’m glad she wants to be a part of it.” When Grace had learned Alex and I were dating, she wasn’t happy about it. I was extremely glad she’d come around to the idea of us as a couple.

  “Here it is.” Alex turned the car onto a road that cut in between a gap in the trees, then slowed as we traveled down the narrow lane. Oaks tinged with autumn colors crowded against both sides of the strip of asphalt. We emerged into a clearing where a cottage of honey-colored stone glowed in the sun. Ivy softened the flat facade of the building, tracing across the stone, then around the window, and finally reaching to the steep roof. The dark leaves of the ivy bobbed in the breeze. Alex stopped the car in front of the white door.

  “What is this place? I’ve never seen
it.” We couldn’t be more than a few miles from Nether Woodsmoor. “I thought I knew all homes and estates around here.”

  “This was a storage building, for carts, I believe. Part of Parkview’s extensive stables and outbuildings. Until about nine months ago it was boarded up and vacant, but then Beatrice decided to ‘freshen it up,’ she said. She’s calling it Cart Cottage.”

  To stay ahead of Parkview’s astronomical upkeep, Beatrice had renovated several cottages on the grounds and some in Nether Woodsmoor to attract people on holiday. Charging admission to tour Parkview and hosting events like weddings were other streams of income for the stately home. “Quaint and cozy. I doubt they’ll have trouble booking it.”

  Alex said, “I was thinking it would be a good place to spend the first part of our honeymoon.”

  “Oh, Alex, I love that idea.” Our honeymoon, a three-day trip to Venice, was a gift from Alex’s dad, but the departure dates hadn’t lined up exactly with the wedding date, and our flight wasn’t scheduled to depart until several days after the ceremony. Movers were arriving the day after the wedding to shift my things to Alex’s cottage. Ivy Cottage was bigger and would be perfect after we returned from our honeymoon, but we wouldn’t be able to stay there immediately after the ceremony. Before the honeymoon plans had been booked, Beatrice had scheduled workmen to repair several cracks in the cottage’s stone walls, thinking it would be the ideal time for the work to be done since we’d be out of town. The repair work did need to be done, so Alex and I had decided we’d spend the days between the wedding and the departure for the honeymoon in a bed and breakfast or a hotel.

  “No, wait, don’t decide yet,” Alex said. “You haven’t seen the inside.” I followed him to the front door where he worked an oversized antique key out of his pocket. “No room service, no spa, no minibar.” He fit the key into the lock. “We could have that if we stayed in a posh hotel.”