The Brides' Club Murder: the 3rd Jasmine Frame novel (Jasmine Frame detective)

by P R Ellis

  ‘How long?’ Jasmine asked, realising that she had no idea of the length of time this pantomime was going to continue.

  ‘Half an hour, forty minutes.’ Donna said, ‘Depends on how the Rev draws it out. Whether he gets into the spirit of it or not.’

  ‘Any idea who it is?’ Flamboyancé asked.

  Donna shook her head. ‘I’ve got no idea. Petula didn’t either.’

  Minutes passed until the door opened and Gerald entered. ‘Donna. Your turn,’ he said. Donna flustered, looking around for her bouquet that she had put down while drinking the champagne. The large diameter of her dress made manoeuvring difficult but at last she picked up her flowers and squeezed out of the door. A few moments later Jasmine recognised the tune of Trumpet Voluntary.

  ‘Another old favourite,’ Flamboyancé said.

  Jasmine was curious. ‘Is that what you like about this? Doing all the traditional marriage stuff.’

  Flamboyancé looked at her as if she was mad. ‘Do I? No way. I’m here to have a lark, dress up and make up.’

  ‘And annoy Valerie,’ Samantha added. ‘I’m all for that.’

  ‘Except she isn’t here anymore,’ Tammy said. They all fell silent for a few moments, but Jasmine guessed that nothing would keep Freddie/Flamboyancé sombre for long.

  Flamboyancé jumped off the table and did a pirouette. ‘Well, I’ll just have to annoy Petula instead.’

  Tammy smiled and turned to Jasmine. ‘What about you, Sindy, why have you spent all the money on that dress you’re wearing and the weekend?’

  Jasmine froze for moment. What reason could she give for her presence? She didn’t want to be amongst crossdressers dressed up as a “blushing bride” when there was little or no chance of her ever becoming one. Now all three of the brides were looking at her.

  ‘I suppose it’s always been a dream,’ she started, ‘to be a pretty girl, a princess, a bride. It’s the most feminine you can be, isn’t it; someone that everyone will adore and admire. I thought, let’s make my dream come true – well, sort of.’ She hoped she’d made it sound convincing. It didn’t convince her.

  Tammy nodded. ‘I suppose that’s what most of us thought when we did it for the first time – except Flambo of course who just does it to make a scene. The older guys, Valerie and Petula, and Donna. . .’

  ‘Hey, she’s younger than me,’ Samantha interrupted.

  ‘Yeah, well, she acts older,’ Tammy retorted. ‘They just love all the traditional trappings – the classic dresses with corsets, traditional music, a vicar reading the vows. . .’

  ‘Sausages on sticks, pineapple and cheese cubes, vol-au-vents. . .’ Samantha said.

  Flamboyancé laughed. ‘Don’t you like those old-fashioned nibbles?’

  ‘Well, it’s what we always get,’ Samantha replied, ‘I think Valerie asks for them.’

  ‘I can’t believe the hotel would still serve them otherwise,’ Tammy added.

  ‘So these things are always the same?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘That’s how Valerie liked it,’ Samantha said, ‘And Valerie always got her way.’

  ‘Even though none of you liked her and you all had issues with her.’

  The three cross-dressers looked at each other, then Tammy spoke. ‘I suppose we put up with her because she did all the planning, and give her her due, things always ran well.’

  ‘But Samantha,’ Jasmine went on, ‘After what Valerie did to you, breaking up your marriage, I’m surprised you were prepared to face her again.’

  Samantha’s cheeks coloured under her foundation. ‘Oh, I wanted to face her again. I wasn’t going to let her think she’d got away with it. Playing all innocent when she knew that she was dropping me in it with Jill. I was determined to make the most of this weekend.’

  Gerald stepped into the room. ‘Samantha?’

  Samantha grabbed up her bouquet and stalked out. Moments later the chords of Queen’s “I want to break free” crashed through the walls.

  ‘I think she’s making her point,’ Tammy said.

  Flamboyancé nodded and sang along with the song. Jasmine carried on asking questions. ‘With all that you’ve said, I can’t understand why Valerie committed suicide.’

  ‘Neither can we,’ Tammy shook her head. ‘She was a miserable bitch at times but I’d never have said she was depressed.’

  ‘More likely to get murdered, I would have thought,’ Flamboyancé said, dancing around the room.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Jasmine asked, trying not to sound too keen for the answer.

  ‘You said it yourself, Sindy,’ Flamboyancé replied, ‘She had something she didn’t like about everyone. Did you know that she kept a record on every member – annoyances, misdemeanours, little secrets she’d discovered?’

  ‘Like what?’ Jasmine asked.

  Flamboyancé giggled. ‘Oh, I expect mine extends to page after page, with all the things I did to annoy her, to say nothing of having a male lover who I do unspeakable things with while dirtying the sheets in our hotel room.’

  ‘Donna’s little mistake with the accounts, is one I expect,’ Tammy said. ‘She also recorded what happened when we’d all had a few drinks. Little indiscretions. Gerald snogging with Emma.’

  ‘What!’ Jasmine struggled to contain her surprise. ‘But Gerald and Melody. . .’

  ‘It was before they were a couple, I think,’ Tammy looked thoughtful, as if not sure of the timing.

  ‘How do you know that Valerie kept all this information?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘Petula told us,’ Tammy said. ‘She visited Vernon and he accidentally left the box open with all the cards in it. Petula managed a quick look before Vernon realised.’

  Jasmine had a thought. ‘Did Petula find out what Vokins had on her?’

  ‘She didn’t say,’ Tammy replied, ‘She just passed on those little snippets.’

  Had Petula told the truth, Jasmine wondered. Was she encouraging the other members of the Belles to oppose Vokins and perhaps incite one of them to murder? Or was Petula’s story a pre-planned diversionary tactic for her own act of killing? She had learned a fair bit about the victim and the Belles but Jasmine didn’t feel any closer to naming the killer – they all could have done it and had motives. The thought made her catch her breath. Perhaps they did, Murder on the Orient Express style. Except, she reflected, the actual murder seemed to be the act of one person.

  ‘Are you alright, Sindy?’ Tammy asked.

  Jasmine shook her head. ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘You froze as if you’d just remembered you’d left the oven on.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. I just, um, wondered, why had Valerie decided to kill herself here, during the weekend?’

  ‘Made sure everyone knew she’d gone,’ Flamboyancé said, heading towards the door. ‘Come on Gerald. Surely Sam’s finished her bit now.’ As if in answer the door opened, and Gerald appeared and stopped suddenly, shocked to find Flamboyancé in his way.

  ‘It’s Tammy next, isn’t it,’ he said looking from Flamboyancé to Tammy.

  Tammy moved, remembered her bouquet, turned back to pick it up from the table then brushed passed Flamboyancé to join Gerald in the corridor. A piece of music started up that Jasmine didn’t recognise, it had a hip-hop dance beat that she felt like dancing to.

  ‘What’s Tammy’s music?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s from a Will Smith film where he gets married at the end,’ Flamboyancé answered.

  ‘A bit different.’ Jasmine’s feet moved with the rhythm.

  ‘A good choice. Nice one Tammy,’ Flamboyancé added, joining Jasmine in a dance.

  ‘But you’ve chosen Handel. A bit trad isn’t it for you.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s great for a queen making an entrance.’

  ‘Did you choose it because you’re the only member of the group that’s gay?’

  Flamboyancé shrugged then grinned. ‘S’pose I did. What of it?’

  ‘Well, what do the others make of you? Don�
��t you feel a bit, sort of different?’

  The music faded away and Flamboyancé leapt onto a table flicking her dress up behind her. She sat, kicking her white and red streaked legs like a little girl.

  ‘I like stirring things up and I get bored of meeting gay boys in their jeans and t-shirts. Sam and Tammy are a bit of fun, and the others are OK. Pet’s a bit dry and Vokins, well, it was just fun winding him up.’

  ‘And what about Robbie? He doesn’t dress up?’

  ‘Nah. He doesn’t mind tagging a long and I make sure he gets what he wants when we’re alone together.’ Flamboyancé winked. ‘He’s happy playing the groom. Only chance he’s going to get to be one, unless they legalise gay marriage.’

  ‘So you didn’t mind Vokins’ homophobia?’

  ‘Didn’t stop me having fun.’ Flamboyancé stopped swinging her legs and stared at Jasmine. ‘What’s with all the questions, Sinds? You’re bit of a strange one yourself, the youngest of all of us and a latecomer. Pet’s right – how did Vokins let you join so late?’

  ‘I…I told you. It was a late decision.’

  ‘But that doesn’t explain how you persuaded Vokins to let you come well after the closing date. He hated making last minute alterations.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. I contacted him and he accepted me.’

  Flamboyancé jumped off the table and stood a few inches from Jasmine examining her face.

  ‘I know what. You’re a gatecrasher. Tagging along with us but you never contacted Vokins at all. But no, that wouldn’t work. If Valerie had been here she wouldn’t have let you join in, even with your gorgeous dress.’ She stepped back a little looking Jasmine up and down. Jasmine couldn’t think of a counter-argument. ‘No, you could only have got in if you knew that Valerie was dead. Got it! You’re a journalist. Somehow you picked up on the news of Vokins’ suicide and decided to get an inside story.’

  Jasmine shook her head, speechless, struggling for an answer.

  Flamboyancé’s eyes scanned up and down her figure. ‘Are you really a cross-dresser? Are you a man or a woman?’ She let out a loud guffaw, ‘Oh, it’s all too ridiculous. I’m just joking Sindy.’ She spun around just as the door opened.

  ‘Your turn, Flambo,’ Gerald said, leaning on the door. ‘Come on, let’s keep this show going.’

  ‘See you in a tick, Sinds,’ Flamboyancé said, skipping after Gerald.

  14

  The arpeggios of the Arrival of the Queen of Sheba began and Jasmine let out a sigh of relief. She was on her own for a while. Flamboyancé had been called away just in time. Would she have decided that her “joke” was actually pretty close to the truth if they had been together for a bit longer? Jasmine wondered if Tom Shepherd had any idea how thin her cover story was. From what she had learned about Vokins’ obsessive organisation, a late booking was an extremely unlikely story. She would have to watch carefully to see if Flamboyancé remained suspicious of her or indeed if any of the others had begun to wonder.

  Handel’s music faded away and Jasmine realised she would have just a few more minutes while Flamboyancé made her vows, whatever those were. A few minutes to prepare herself for a ceremony she did not look forward to; a ceremony where she would be the centre of attention. She picked up the mirror and examined her face. The patch on her lip where Katie had done her electrolysis seemed to be redder than ever under the foundation, or was it just her imagination? Her make-up looked alright, but she only had a lipstick in the tiny handbag that matched her dress so there was nothing more she could do anyway.

  What was Viv doing, she wondered. Perhaps he was searching for properties for them to look at; a new home for them to share. She felt regret that she was missing the weekend with him while taking part in this daft charade; but then she remembered the reason she was here – to solve a crime. She just had to get through the next few minutes and then she would be able to observe and talk to the suspects again.

  It hardly seemed as though much time at all had passed when the door opened and Gerald beckoned to her. She hurried to him.

  ‘Last but not least, Sindy. Are you ready?’

  Jasmine nodded. Gerald hooked his right arm and she rested her left hand on his forearm. He took a slow step forward and Jasmine fell into step beside him. They passed through the open double doors into the main room and paused. The room was the full width of the Pang Wing with windows on both sides and floor to ceiling curtains pulled back to let in the bright autumn sunlight. The carpet, curtains and walls were varying shades of yellow and terracotta giving the room a summery and cheerful aspect. There were rows of chairs in front of them with an aisle down the middle. Most of the chairs were empty. There was just Melody sitting in the second row on the left and Emma opposite her on the right with Robbie in the row in front of her. On the far right beyond the chairs, Sally sat in her wheel-chair with a laptop in front of her. She looked across the room at them and her finger moved over the keyboard. Handel began playing again. The three members of the congregation rose to their feet.

  Gerald guided Jasmine around the back row of the chairs to the start of the aisle and they commenced their procession. Gerald moved slowly which pleased Jasmine, balancing on her high heels. She continued to look around. On the left, beyond the congregation seats, the five brides were now sitting in a line facing across the room, and each had their eyes firmly on her. Then for the first time she looked ahead to examine the Vicar. She hadn’t known what to expect of someone playing the part but what she saw caused her to hesitate, Gerald tugged her and she stumbled slightly as her heel caught on the carpet.

  She looked again, her eyes wide with surprise. It couldn’t be. Surely not? But it was unmistakeable – the height, the big bust, the massive hair. It was Honey Potts in a cassock, a surplice and a round, white collar. Two thoughts competed in her mind. The first was – what the devil are you doing here? And the second was, don’t show that you recognise me.

  It had been just three months since she had seen Honey Potts, she-male, prostitute, live sex performer, singer, drag star, murder suspect and murder victim’s lover. Jasmine had met Honey Potts before and after her operation to remove her testicles, the moment when as far as she was concerned she ceased to be a man physically. All that had happened during the hunt for the killer of Crystal Newman, a case she solved at some considerable harm to herself. Honey had proved to be innocent of the crime if not of much else. What was she doing back here in Kintbridge, at a respectable hotel, attending a conference of mostly respectable cross-dressers? There was no chance of an answer now as the gap between them narrowed swiftly. Jasmine just hoped that either Honey would not recognise her or if she did she wouldn’t blurt out a greeting. Honey was looking straight at her with a slight clerical smile, her hands clasped penitentially together with a folded sheet of paper between her fingers. There was no sign of recognition.

  Gerald stopped and Jasmine halted too. He dropped his hand and Jasmine released his arm, dropping her hands to lie chastely at her groin. Robbie stepped up to her side. She glanced at him and they exchanged a smile. What could be more bizarre than going through a pseudo marriage ceremony with a gay man wearing a pale grey morning suit, that she had met only this morning, presided over by a fake female priest with a penis who she had recently seen doing a striptease.

  ‘Dearly beloved,’ Honey began. Jasmine looked at her wondering whether she should laugh or cry or run screaming from the room. She remained standing still with a passive, emotionless expression.

  ‘In the presence of our companions,’ Honey intoned, ‘we have come together to witness the marriage of, um,’ she glanced at the sheet of paper, ‘Sindy, to her desires. To ask for our blessing. To share her pleasure and celebrate her beauty.’ Honey paused, looked up from the words she was reading and caught Jasmine’s eyes. There was an intake of breath. She’s recognised me, Jasmine thought, trying not to react. Honey took a breath and looked back at her script. ‘This wedding is a gift to herself that we might share her joy of be
ing a bride, marvel at her dress and relish in heart, body and mind the glory of femininity.’

  Honey stopped reading and looked around the room at the other Belles and their partners. She raised her voice to say, ‘I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why this person may not be welcomed into the fellowship of marriage, to declare it now.’ Honey paused waiting for a reply. Jasmine hoped that Flamboyancé wouldn’t leap to her feet and declare that she was an imposter and interloper, there on false pretences, but as was the norm, there was no interruption.

  Honey looked down at Jasmine and dropped her voice. ‘The vows you are about to take are to be made in the presence of the other Wedding Belles who are the judge of all and therefore if you know a reason why you should not be wedded to your dreams, you must declare it now.’

  It’s total nonsense, Jasmine thought, it doesn’t mean anything; but as she glanced to her left at the line of the other five brides, she saw that they were all standing sombrely with their eyes fixed on her. Even Flamboyancé seemed to be taking the ceremony seriously.

  Honey breathed and began again. ‘Sindy, will you love yourself as a bride and respect the other members of the Wedding Belles, love them, comfort them, honour and protect them and be loyal to them as long as you remain a bride?’

  There was silence. Honey nodded to Jasmine her lips moving. What is she trying to say? Jasmine wondered. She felt an elbow in her ribs belonging to Gerald and then she realised.

  ‘I will,’ she said hurriedly.

  Honey sighed with relief. She straightened up and addressed the congregation. ‘Will you, friends of Sindy, support her in her wedding now and throughout the weekend?’

  Unison voices said ‘We will.’

  Honey looked again at Jasmine. ‘Sindy, repeat after me. I, Sindy, take upon myself.’ She stopped. Jasmine repeated the words in a barely audible whisper, wondering to what she was committing herself.

  Honey continued, phrase by phrase pausing for Jasmine to repeat. ‘to have and to hold; from this day forward; for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish myself in feminine forms of dress whether it be full costume or frilly knickers worn at least once a week, according to the laws of the Wedding Belles and in their presence, I make this vow.’