Wedding Rows

by Kate Kingsbury

  As if reading her mind, Martin murmured, “I suppose we will have to wait for the bride and groom to cut the cake.”

  “That is customary, Martin.”

  “Yes, madam. I hope the ladies remembered to bring a knife. I can’t see one on the table.”

  “I would imagine they are waiting until they are ready to cut the cake.”

  As if in answer to her comment, a slight commotion turned her head. Wally was leading his bride toward the table, while behind him an urgent discussion appeared to be going on in the open doorway that led to the kitchen.

  Marge Gunther, an overly plump woman with frizzy hair, stood waving her hands in agitation, while Rita Crumm, hands on hips, towered over her with a ferocious glare. Florrie Evans, the most nervous member of the group, seemed to be trying to soothe ruffled feathers without much success.

  Martin mumbled something about getting a drink, but Elizabeth paid no attention to him. Obviously all was not well in the kitchen. Fortunately, the newly wedded couple seemed unaware of the commotion. Too wrapped up in each other to pay attention, no doubt.

  Determined to prevent anything from spoiling this big day, Elizabeth headed purposefully toward the militant group of women. They had now been joined by Joan Plumstone, a sour-faced woman whose seemingly sole purpose in life was to cast gloom and despair everywhere she went, and Nellie Smith, the youngest and sole unmarried member of the Housewives League, who’s amorous adventures were outwardly scorned and secretly envied by her peers.

  As Elizabeth approached, she heard Rita Crumm’s strident tones above the clamor of music from the inept band.

  “How can it be bloody missing, you twit? I saw it myself not half an hour ago.”

  “I don’t know.” Marge’s whine was no less audible and Elizabeth put on a spurt.

  “What on earth is going on here?” she demanded, in the most commanding voice she could muster.

  Florrie uttered a little shriek and slapped a hand over her mouth.

  Rita gave the startled woman a scathing glance, then turned to Elizabeth. “There is no need to concern yourself, your ladyship,” she announced haughtily. “I have everything quite under control.”

  Nellie’s laugh was blatantly derisive.

  Rita quelled her with one of her vicious scowls.

  “I would like to know what is causing this dispute,” Elizabeth persisted. She glanced back at the table, where the bridal couple was now poised in front of the cake, looking somewhat confused. “As you can see, Wally and Priscilla are about to cut the cake.”

  Joan moaned, while Florrie muttered nervously, “Oh, dear me.”

  “That’s the point, your ladyship,” Nellie said, with a defiant look at Rita’s enraged face. “The knife is missing, isn’t it.”

  Elizabeth stared at her in confusion. “You mean the knife to cut the cake?”

  Nellie nodded, while Joan moaned again.

  “Well, then, get another knife. There must be others in the kitchen.”

  “Lady Elizabeth, you don’t understand.” Rita stepped forward, her face a stony mask of annoyance. “This is a very special knife. Solid silver, mother-of-pearl handle, embedded with three diamonds. It was handed down by generations of my family, for the sole purpose of slicing a wedding cake. I agreed to lend it to Priscilla for the occasion. Apart from its value, it’s the only knife we have with a blade long enough to do the job properly.”

  “Bessie’s got a bread knife in there,” Nellie said helpfully. “I used it to slice the pork pie.”

  Rita rolled her eyes, making her scrawny features look all the more ridiculous beneath the brim of her black and white straw hat. “You can’t cut a wedding cake with a bloody bread knife!” she howled.

  “Yes, you can!” Elizabeth said fiercely. “Nellie, please go to the kitchen and get the knife. Make sure its clean and take it immediately to Wally. The rest of you please refrain from creating any more fuss. This is a wedding, and we are here to help the happy couple celebrate. They are not going to care, or even notice, what they use to cut the cake. I promise you.”

  Looking extremely put out, Rita gathered her entourage and herded them off to the chairs that circled the dance floor. Nellie darted off and, much to Elizabeth’s relief, reappeared with the bread knife. Having settled the matter to her satisfaction, Elizabeth made her way back to Earl just in time to toast the blissful couple with a glass of scrumpy.

  The speeches went well, though Earl seemed to find them amusing. Elizabeth wasn’t quite sure why, and she promised herself she’d ask him later. Small slices of the dark rich fruitcake topped with brittle royal icing were handed out, then came the flurry of good-byes and good wishes as the newly married pair prepared to depart on their honeymoon in the Scottish Highlands.

  Florrie and Marge rushed around filling everyone’s hands with what appeared to be hastily torn-up pieces of colored crepe paper. Somewhat surprised that someone hadn’t thought to bring genuine confetti, Elizabeth joined everyone in throwing the tattered paper over the bride and groom as they dashed for the car that was to take them to the train station.

  At last the long day was over, and satisfied that the villagers had done their best considering the limitations, Elizabeth leaned back in her chair next to Earl’s and uttered a long sigh.

  Earl surreptitiously squeezed her arm then withdrew his hand. “It was a swell wedding. Wally and Priscilla couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

  Elizabeth gave him a tired smile. “It did go rather well, in spite of the upset over the missing knife.” She frowned. “I must ask Rita if anyone found it. It means a great deal to her. I should hate to think someone stole it.”

  “Well, at least the bride and groom didn’t know anything about it. They were too wrapped up in each other. Lucky stiffs.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “They were rather precious, weren’t they. But then that’s the way it should be for two people in love.”

  “Amen to that,” Earl said softly.

  The gleam in his eyes unsettled her and she looked away, pretending to scan the room. Most of the guests had left, including all three Winterhalters, Daphne, Rodney, and Tess. Polly and Sadie were nowhere to be seen, and had most likely joined some of the other guests who had earlier announced their intention of continuing the celebrations at the Tudor Arms.

  The band, whose members seemed determined to outlast everyone in the room, reached a crashing finale to the song they were playing. A smattering of applause echoed hollowly in the near empty hall. Elizabeth was about to suggest it was time to leave when an ear-splitting shriek rebounded among the rafters of the high ceiling.

  “What the heck was that?” Earl stared in the direction of the kitchen, from where the scream had erupted.

  Elizabeth was already on her feet and heading for the source of the commotion. The door flew open as she reached it and Florrie stumbled out into the hall, her hand over her mouth. “Ooh,” she moaned, “I’m going to be sick.”

  Nellie appeared in the doorway and stared wide-eyed at Elizabeth.

  “What’s happened?” Elizabeth demanded, prepared for the worst.

  She felt a chill when Nellie said in an odd, matter-of-fact voice, “They found the wedding cake knife, your ladyship.”

  Something told her she wasn’t going to like the answer, but she asked anyway. “Where was it?”

  “It’s in the basement.” Nellie’s voice rose to an unnatural high pitch. “It’s sticking out the chest of a dead bloke.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “I’ll call the constables,” Earl said, as Elizabeth headed across the kitchen between the yellow vinyl-covered tables to the cellar door.

  “Oh, would you?” Elizabeth waved her thanks. “There’s a telephone box across the street. Or ask the vicar if you may use his telephone. I think he’s gone home.”

  Close to the cellar, Bessie leaned against the wall, her face chalk white. Oh, don’t go down there, m’m,” she mumbled, when Elizabeth reached her. “It’s such an ’or
rible sight, it is.”

  “I just want to take a look.” Elizabeth sent a glance of apprehension at the steps leading to the cellar. “Who is it? Did you recognize him?”

  “One of the wedding guests, m’m. I don’t know his name.” Bessie mopped her brow with her apron. “I don’t know what’s been going on here, ’onest, I don’t. I thought it strange when we couldn’t find the key to the door. Locked it were, and I know it weren’t locked when we got here. I put the confetti down there so’s no one would get to it before Wally and Priscilla left but then when I went to get it the door was locked and we couldn’t find the key and we were all so upset about not being able to get the confetti but Mrs. Crumm had the brilliant idea to tear up some of the decorations into pieces to make it look like confetti and we all got busy on that and I never gave the key another thought until Florrie found it just now in the jug of milk and…”

  She paused for breath, giving Elizabeth a chance to ask, “You found the key where?”

  “In a jug of milk, m’m. Well, actually, the jug were empty. Florrie was going to wash it out and she heard something rattling and there was the key. Of course, by then it was too late, wasn’t it. Wally and Priscilla had already gone. I should have known then that something was going on.”

  “So you were the one to find the body?”

  Bessie swept a stray lock of gray hair back from her eyes. “Yes, m’m. I went down there to get the confetti, you see, so’s I could take it back to the shop and get me money back, seeing as how we didn’t use it an’ all. That’s when I saw-.” She gulped, and tears filled her eyes. “It was so awful, m’m. There he was, just lying there with Mrs. Crumm’s fancy knife sticking out his chest and all covered in blood, it were. I wouldn’t let no one else go down there.”

  Elizabeth patted the woman’s shoulder. “There, there, Bessie. Pull yourself together. Why don’t you get yourself a nice cup of tea or perhaps some of that delicious scrumpy. I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time.”

  “Thank you, m’m. I think I will.”

  To Elizabeth’s relief, Bessie hurried off and disappeared behind the little knot of women gathered in the doorway. Rita, as usual, was ordering everyone to be calm, while sounding somewhat hysterical herself.

  “Perhaps it would be better if everyone would wait in the main hall,” Elizabeth called out. “The constable will be here soon and he’ll take care of everything. Meanwhile you can get on with the cleaning up. I’m sure you all want to get home as soon as possible.”

  Obviously annoyed at having matters taken out of her hands, Rita sent her a haughty look, but nevertheless shepherded her flock out of the kitchen, just as Earl squeezed past them to come back in.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Elizabeth said, as he strode toward her. “I really wasn’t looking forward to going down there by myself.”

  “Why do you need to go down there at all?” he demanded when he reached her. “The P.C. will be here any minute.” She made a face at him and he shrugged. “Right. Stupid question. OK, let’s go. But I’m going first.”

  Nervous about what might be waiting for her down there, she was only too happy to follow him down the stairs.

  The body lay crumpled at the bottom of the steps. Trying not to notice the knife sticking out from the blood soaked jacket, Elizabeth said unsteadily, “It’s the man we saw earlier. Remember? I pointed him out. I was wondering who he was.”

  Earl grunted. “Well, at least it’s not anyone you know. That’s got to be a relief.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” Elizabeth frowned, then crouched down to touch the floor with her fingers. “Confetti,” she murmured, as she stared at the tiny pieces of colored paper. “Bessie must have dropped it when she saw the body-” She broke off as a gruff voice spoke from the head of the steps.

  “’Ere, ’ere! Wot’s going on down there, then?”

  Elizabeth shaded her eyes against the harsh light of the bare lightbulb. “Oh, there you are, George. I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of bother down here. You had better come and take a look.”

  George ducked his head so that his helmet cleared the door frame. “Is that you, your ladyship? Not interfering with the evidence, I trust?”

  “Of course not, George. You know better than that.”

  “Who’s that with you, then?” George demanded as he clumped down the steps.

  “It’s me, Constable.” Earl lifted his hand in a salute.

  “Ho, yes, Major Monroe,” George muttered, managing to make the name sound like a contagious disease. “Might have known it were you.”

  Elizabeth decided to ignore the subtle disapproval behind the words. “The major and I were trying to identify the victim. I don’t suppose you know who he is, George?”

  The constable reached the bottom of the steps, peered at the victim, shoved his helmet further back on his head with his thumb, and frowned. “Looks like he’s been stabbed,” he remarked.

  “Amazing deduction,” Earl murmured.

  Elizabeth dug him in the ribs with her elbow and was rewarded by a faint, “Oof!”

  Luckily George was squatting next to the victim and seemed not to hear the comment. “Can’t say as I know this bloke,” he muttered. “Was he one of the wedding guests?”

  “Well, that’s rather a difficult question to answer,” Elizabeth said, as George started going through the dead man’s pockets. “We saw him on the dance floor, but I don’t remember him being included on the guest list. The major suggested he might have been added at the last minute. Perhaps some of the other guests might know who he is.”

  “Not many of them left up there now.” Apparently having found nothing useful, George got up with a grunt. “Should have had them all stay put, your ladyship. It’s going to make things difficult with the questioning now.”

  “Yes, well, I would have, George, if I’d known there was going to be a murder taking place.”

  George narrowed his eyes, peering at her in the gloom. “Perhaps you and the major should join the others, m’m. I’ll have to send for the doctor, and the inspector will want to know about this, too.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Elizabeth muttered to no one in particular as she climbed the steps. “He seldom bothers to pay any attention to our little mishaps.”

  “I’d say this is a bit more than a little mishap,” Earl said, following her into the kitchen.

  “You’re right, of course. What an unfortunate end to such a lovely day. Now there will be an investigation and everyone will be upset. Thank goodness Wally and Priscilla left before the poor devil was discovered. At least they don’t have to know about this until after the honeymoon. I should hate for anything to spoil that for them.”

  George’s heavy footsteps sounded behind her. “I’d like to question the guests now, your ladyship,” he announced.

  “Very well.” With a heavy sigh, Elizabeth led him into the main hall, where a small forlorn group of guests huddled in one corner.

  Rita, of course, was the first to speak up. “I hope you’re not going to keep us hanging around all evening, George. Some of us have homes to go to, you know.”

  George gave her a baleful glare. “I won’t keep anyone longer than I have to. Now, first, I need the name of the unfortunate victim.”

  “I don’t see how we can tell you that,” Rita retorted, “seeing as how we don’t know who’s been killed.”

  “It’s the tall gentleman,” Elizabeth said helpfully. “He has blond hair and is wearing a dark gray suit with a blue silk tie.”

  “Oo, I remember ’im,” Nellie Smith piped up. “Handsome bugger, he was. Who would want to kill a nice-looking bloke like that? What a bloomin’ waste.”

  Rita turned on her at once. “Is that all you can think about? How handsome he was? He’s lying down there with a knife in his chest. Have you no respect for the dead, Nellie Smith?”

  “Of course I do,” Nellie said hotly. “I only meant-”

  “And how did you know he had a knife in his
chest?” George demanded.

  Rita tossed her head. “It happens to be my knife, doesn’t it. Bessie told me where it was.” Her voice lost some of its bravado when she added, “I’ll never use that knife again to cut another wedding cake. Not after knowing where it’s been.”

  “I just can’t believe he’s dead,” Bessie said, her voice still quivering. “I was just talking to him in the kitchen an hour or so ago. What a dreadful thing to happen. Thank the Lord Wally and Priscilla got away before I found the body.”

  George looked around. “Seems as if a lot of people got away,” he said darkly. “What I want to know is, what’s the name of the deceased? Someone’s got to know who he is.”

  Neville Carbunkle, who had been hovering around in the background, stepped forward. “Well, I can tell you one thing,” he said. “Wally didn’t know him. I heard him asking someone who he was.”

  George pulled a notepad from his top pocket, then spent an agonizing minute or two hunting for a pencil. Having found one in his trousers pocket, he licked the end of it and started scribbling.

  “The chap he asked didn’t know the bloke, either,” Neville added, “but I did see the… er… deceased having nasty words with the photographer earlier.”

  Bessie smothered a gasp with her hand.

  George turned to her. “Got something to say, Bessie?”

  Bessie fanned her face with her hand. “Well, it’s just… when I spoke to the dead man… well, he wasn’t dead when I spoke to him, of course, but you know what I mean…”

  George loudly cleared his throat. “Just refer to the deceased as the deceased, then we’ll all know what you mean.”

  Bessie nodded, gulped, then said in a rush, “Well, the deceased, who wasn’t deceased yet, asked me for some confetti and I said, What for? ’cause I wasn’t ready to bring it up yet and I told him I was going to bring it up right before the wedding couple left and he said he wanted it to play a joke on Dickie, so I said what sort of joke and he said it was just a bit of fun and I said as how Dickie didn’t like jokes very much and he said he’d like this one and I said-”