Death at an English Wedding (Murder on Location Book 7) Page 5

  “A sixpence in your shoe?”

  “What?”

  “I thought you might not be prepared for that one. It’s part of the rhyme—at least here in England it is. I’ve got you covered, though.” She handed me a silver coin. “It goes in your left shoe for good luck.”

  I’d never seen a coin like it. “This looks like an antique. Where did you find it?” I balanced on one foot and removed my shoe.

  “The Internet, of course.”

  I tucked the coin into the shoe then worked my foot back into my shoe. The metal felt cold against the sole of my foot. Melissa gave me one last critical survey then nodded. “Perfect.”

  The notes of the processional floated through the closed door that separated the little room from the Parkview chapel. I looked toward my dad. “Sounds like the organist arrived. It’s time.”

  He straightened his bow tie and came to stand beside me near the door. He may have decided to arrive at the last minute, but he’d had the foresight to bring a tux with him. I had been surprised and touched that he’d thought of that detail. Finding a tux a day before the wedding would have been an almost impossible task.

  Grace squeaked and raced into place behind me. Since changing the plans for the seating at the reception had nearly given Malcolm a coronary, we were going mostly with the traditional English way of doing things. Unlike in the States, where the bride entered last, I’d walk up the aisle first with Melissa and Grace behind me.

  Dad extended his arm. “Ready?” He peered at my face. “Not having second thoughts?”

  I ignored the unsettled feeling in my stomach. Nerves, I told myself. Just the normal jittery feeling you get when you were going to be the center of attention at a once-in-a-lifetime event. “No.” In the past I’d been reluctant to analyze my feelings about Alex, but once I’d admitted to myself that I was in love with him I hadn’t looked back. Now was not the time to start doubting myself.

  “Good. Alex seems like a fine young man. I think you’ll do well together.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Malcolm swept open the door, nearly snagging my hem. The wiry fringe of his hair shifted around his high forehead in the draft of the door. “We’re walking in thirty seconds,” he whispered then vanished, leaving the door open. Malcolm had been popping in and out of the room for the last hour. I’d been surprised to find that Ella wasn’t kidding about the bow tie. Malcolm had turned up today in a dark tweed jacket, a cream sweater vest, and a black bow tie.

  Dad leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “He does realize that those people out there aren’t here to see him, right?”

  “I think he’s using the royal ‘we.’”

  “As long as he doesn’t plan on walking up the aisle then we’re good.” My dad’s eyes twinkled with the joke.

  I was about to reply, but the music shifted, and Malcolm appeared again with the suddenness of a jack-in-the-box. “Now.” He motioned like he was directing traffic and hurried us out the door and into position at the back of the chapel. Once we were in place, he splayed his palms and pressed them to the ground as he whispered, “Slowly. Sedately. Measured.”

  I wondered distractedly how many more synonyms he could come up with, but then Dad patted my hand on his arm. I took a deep breath. We walked.

  CHAPTER 5

  I ’d been in Parkview’s family chapel during tours and admired the wood paneling, the intricate carving of the alabaster altarpiece, and the complex ceiling mural of Christ surrounded with angels in its rich swirl of colors, but I didn’t notice any of that now. It was all a blur along with the people in the pews. The queasy feeling intensified, but then my gaze connected with Alex’s. It was as if the sea calmed and the horizon leveled. I breathed out and walked on—sedately, of course—but feeling calm and sure. Alex looked more handsome than ever in his tux, but it was the look of love and happiness on his face that I focused on.

  Dad patted my hand again when we reached the end of the aisle then went to sit near Mom, who wore the hat we’d found for her a few days ago. With a flat brim broader than the width of her shoulders, the ice blue color matched her dress and sat at an angle on her head. A confection of tulle and feathers on the crown bobbed and shivered with her every movement. Throughout the morning, as she’d zipped back and forth around the tiny anteroom, I felt like we’d been invaded by a tiny blue flying saucer topped with feathers. Tears glistened in her eyes, and I sent her a smile then turned to focus on Alex again so that I didn’t get overcome with emotion before the ceremony even began.

  Alex and I hadn’t wanted a long elaborate service. We had decided we’d have one hymn, All Things Bright and Beautiful, and reading from the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. The music and words flowed around us and then we said our vows and exchanged rings. It all happened so quickly, it seemed one moment I was reaching for Alex’s hand, then a few moments later the final prayer was said, and we kissed—the only amendment we’d made to the traditional service. The wedding ceremony in England doesn’t have the “you may kiss the bride” moment, but the vicar had told us it was something that couples often asked to incorporate, so we’d added it. And then we were sweeping down the aisle between the rows of smiling faces as the music swelled.

  At the back of the church, we paused, and Malcolm waved us to the door. “To the conservatory. We’re running two minutes late.”

  The conservatory was empty except for a few waiters moving among the linen-covered round tables. Delicate flower arrangements in pink and gold decorated the tables that were laid with shining crystal and silver. I’d kept the decorations simple because no flower arrangement could compete with the elegant room. The ranks of plants that had filled the room during Victorian times had been moved to the greenhouses, and now Parkview used the long room with its soaring ceiling and massive windows as a dining room.

  Tall Palladian windows lined one wall and overlooked the gardens. On the other side of the room, a series of niches held Roman statues that various inhabitants of Parkview had brought back from their grand tours of the continent. Several massive stone urns trailing ivy—copies of Greek originals brought back from Rome by the third baronet—filled the spaces between the niches.

  Beatrice marched through the tables to us. “Beautiful ceremony. Just beautiful.” She was turned out in what she called her “full regalia,” a tailored double-breasted dress in royal blue with a matching hat and pumps. Her look today was about as far as you could get from her typical weekday clothes of Wellington boots and a trench coat for trooping through the gardens or plain slacks and a sweater for working in the estate office. Sir Harold, on the other hand, wearing a suit and tie, looked as he always did—formal. He wandered along behind Beatrice, his gaze taking in the place settings and the flowers then drifting to the strings of vintage-style lights that crisscrossed the ceiling. “Nicely done. Just right.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the ceremony or the decoration of the conservatory, but that was typical for Sir Harold. He always seemed to have his attention focused inward, usually on his projects, which ranged from increasing the estate’s honey production to researching the original construction methods used to build Parkview. He’d made sure the restoration project that was underway at the estate would be as authentic as possible.

  “So glad you enjoyed it,” I said. “Thank you for offering to let us get married here—”

  Beatrice waved a hand, cutting me off. “It was our pleasure. Truly, it was. We host so many weddings for strangers. It was a delight to have your ceremony here. Now, we can’t stay long. We’re off to London for a few days—important meetings with the tourist board—but we wanted to give you our good wishes.”

  By now, wedding guests were streaming into the room, and Malcolm was hustling back and forth, a worried look on his face as people filtered into seats at the tables. When it was clear that he wouldn’t have an angry crowd demanding place cards, he announced, “Family photographs. Can I have Alex’s mother, father, and
sister? To the terrace, please.” Beatrice repeated her good wishes then Malcolm shooed us toward the set of glass doors. Most of the photos from the wedding day would be informal ones, capturing candid moments, but we also wanted a handful of group photos of our families.

  Our photographer was set up outside so that the lush gardens would be the background of the photo. Alex’s dad and Grace arrived first, then a slender woman with an emerald green fascinator hat positioned so that it dipped over one eye approached.

  “Alex, darling,” she called, “you must introduce me to your little bride.” From a distance, I could tell she was a beautiful woman with platinum blond hair and a curvy figure. As she got closer, I noticed the tightness of the dress, the artificial smoothness of the skin around her eyes and forehead, and the odd protrusion of her lips that made me think of a cartoon duck. She leaned in so Alex could kiss her cheek, but she didn’t have to pinch her lips—they seemed to be permanently stuck in a puckering position. She playfully tapped him on the shoulder. “So naughty of you not to have introduced us earlier.”

  “I would have loved to, but you showed up a few minutes before the ceremony started.” Alex’s voice held a note of disapproval.

  “Oh, don’t pout. I made it with two minutes to spare. You know I never spend a moment longer in a church than I absolutely have to.”

  A muscle worked in Alex’s jaw. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Norcutt,” I said quickly.

  “Call me Lexi, darling. Oh, hello, Grace. Don’t you look like a sweet little princess,” she added. Grace flushed.

  Didn’t Lexi realize that calling a thirteen-year-old a little princess was not a good move? At thirteen, you wanted to be thought of as mature and grown-up. Fortunately, the photographer called for us to move to the stone balustrade. The next quarter hour was spent posing and smiling, first with Alex’s family, then with mine. When my parents came out for their photos, my dad pumped Alex’s hand then gave him a cigar while my mom fluttered around me. “Such a gorgeous ceremony. I knew it would be unique and charming. Just unforgettable.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mom.” I really meant it. My mom had been looking forward to my wedding day for years—more often than I had looked forward to it—and I’d been worried that no matter how nice the ceremony was it wouldn’t live up to her expectations.

  “Oh, I did. It was amazing. Yes, I’ll shush,” she said to the photographer. “I know we have to take the photos.”

  After the photos, we sat down to the wedding breakfast, which wasn’t breakfast at all. It was called that because it was the first meal that we ate as husband and wife. I’d called it the wedding reception because that’s how I thought of it, and since I continually spoke of it that way, Malcolm had begun to use the same term. I think it was to humor me—one of those keep-the-bride-happy-at-all-costs kind of things—but I’d noticed that it had rubbed off on my other friends, and now it was the “reception,” not the “breakfast.”

  Between the toasts and talking with the guests seated on each side of us, Alex and I didn’t eat much. He leaned toward me as the plates for the last course were whisked away. “I think we may need to pick up some Chinese food on the way to the cottage, Mrs. Norcutt.”

  “That sounds odd.”

  “Chinese?”

  “No. The fact that I’m Mrs. Norcutt. It’s just—weird. Good, but strange.”

  A sudden squawking sound cut through the air, and everyone looked to the back of the room where Ella was walking rapidly toward a young woman with straight dark hair that fell below her shoulders. Dark brows slashed across her forehead. She wore a denim jacket and jeans and was pointing at someone at a back table as she shrieked.

  “What’s she saying?” I asked Alex. “Can you make it out?”

  “No idea.”

  Ella reached her, wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders, and propelled her out the door.

  A moment of silence stretched for a second then a wave of conversation rolled across the room, again filling the air along with the clink of silverware on china.

  “I wonder who that was?” I mentally scrolled through the invitation list. We’d opted out of a receiving line, but had circulated through the room before taking our seat at the head table. I didn’t remember seeing the woman with the documentary crew or either one of our families.

  “She didn’t look familiar to me either,” Alex said.

  “And she didn’t look like she was dressed for the wedding.” My mother had been right. Most of the women had worn hats along with their best “frocks,” as Melissa called them.

  Alex said, “Malcolm’s signaling. Must be time for the cake.”

  We cut the cake, smiled for more pictures, and even had time to eat a few bites. I put down my fork. “I’m going to talk to Grace. I want to return the necklace before she has to leave. Malcolm’s keeping us on a pretty tight schedule, and I don’t want to forget.”

  Alex said, “Good idea. Dad is good at staying on time so they’ll be out of here soon.”

  Randall had several days off before he had to return to Chile. He was taking Grace on a trip to Disneyland Paris, and they were leaving tonight after the reception.

  I unhooked the opal necklace then crouched down beside Grace, who was seated at the end of the head table because she was part of the wedding party. “Thank you for letting me borrow the necklace.” I dropped it into her palm. “I wanted to make sure you got it back before you left. Are you excited about the trip?”

  “Yeah, it’ll be fun. We’re going to ride the biggest roller coasters first. We’ve already decided.”

  “Good plan.” I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of distinguished Randall with his hands in the air in a roller-coaster car.

  “Dad loves coasters.”

  “Does he?”

  She nodded. “My mom, not so much.”

  I didn’t find that hard to believe at all, but I kept the thought to myself.

  “Oh, I found a new mystery author,” Grace said. “I mean, she’s not new-new. She’s new to me.”

  One of the things that Grace and I had bonded over was our shared love of mysteries, in particular, Miss Marple.

  “Her name is Dorothy L. Sayers,” Grace said.

  “Really?” I asked, surprised. “I’ve read some of her novels. I would have thought they’d be kind of…hard going.” I didn’t add for a thirteen-year-old.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Some parts are, but I just skip those. Lord Peter and Bunter are so funny. One of the books is about a honeymoon. Have you read it?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Busman’s Honeymoon. Maybe you should get it before you leave.”

  “Good idea. I’ll make sure I download a copy. We’re flying, so I’m packing light. I better get back. I think it’s almost time for dancing.”

  As I walked to my seat, I glanced at the end of the room where the band was arranging music on stands. I slipped back into my seat beside Alex. “The band is setting up.”

  “That’s a pity,” Alex whispered. His breath feathered over my bare shoulder, sending interesting little ripples through me. “I hoped they wouldn’t show up. I was all for making our escape early.”

  “We can’t do that—yet,” I said, and Alex sent me a look that made me wish we were completely alone. “But I think a few dances are all that’s required.”

  “Excellent.” Alex stood and held out his hand. “It looks like Malcolm is motioning for us. Shall we dance and then depart?”

  “Definitely.”

  Of course it wasn’t quite that simple. We actually danced to quite a few songs. Alex and I had our dance, then I danced with my dad, and Alex danced with his mom. Later, I saw Alex’s mom, Lexi, swaying with my dad, who had a bemused expression on his face. Louise, in Carl’s arms, looked happier than I’d ever seen her. She caught my eye over Carl’s shoulder and gave me an exaggerated wink. My mom’s flying saucer hat rotated around the dance floor. I even saw her dancing with Malcolm an
d decided I should overlook his fussiness from now on.

  The music shifted from romantic to upbeat pop rock. Across the dance floor, Alex’s gaze connected with mine. He raised an eyebrow. I nodded. I was dancing with Brent who was saying, “…and then Alex decided it wouldn’t be that hard to jump from one balcony to the other at the ski lodge. If he was going to do it, I was too. Alex, being Alex, did flawlessly.”

  “I bet you did, too.”

  Brent shook his head. “Nope. Broke my leg.”

  I winced. Alex heard the last part of the conversation as he approached. “I knew it would be the balcony story,” Alex said. “Did he tell you that I was grounded from the slopes for the rest of the winter?”

  “I’m sure he was getting to it.” I glanced between the two of them. Clearly, it was a story that had been told and retold and there were no hard feelings about the incident now.

  “And we were in Austria at the time,” Alex added.

  “A punishment worse than death for Alex,” Brent said.

  “I can imagine,” I said. Alex had put winter sports on the back burner for now, but I knew he’d been quite good at snowboarding.

  “Okay enough stories.” Alex tapped Brent on the shoulder. “Cutting in on you. Husband’s prerogative.”

  Brent stepped back with a flourish, and Alex and I danced off the floor. Ella broke off her conversation with a young woman to introduce us. “This is Sylvia McNamee, our organist.”

  Sylvia turned to us. “I was apologizing to Ella, but I should be saying it to you. I’m sorry that I cut it so close today. I had a flat tire and had to get a ride.” She wore a plainly cut navy dress and a tiny fascinator with only one small flower accent. The nondescript nature of her clothes didn’t make her look dowdy. Instead, they highlighted her beauty. Her rich honey-colored hair was swept back in a simple knot, which accented her high cheekbones, creamy skin, and large brown eyes.

  “No worries. It all worked out,” Alex said, and I nodded my agreement.

  “I’ll get out of your way,” Sylvia said to us. “Nice to meet you both,” she added before merging back into the crowd.