OF MARRIAGE AND MURDER

  PHILLIPA NEFRI CLARK

  ALSO BY PHILLIPA NEFRI CLARK

  Temple River

  The Cottage at Whisper Lake

  The Bookstore at Rivers End

  The House at Angel’s Beach

  The Secrets of Willow Bay

  The Lost Girl of Seahaven

  A Travelling Celebrant Mystery

  Of Funerals and Feuds

  Of Retreats and Revenge

  Of Vines and Victims

  Rivers End Romantic Women’s Fiction

  The Stationmaster’s Cottage

  Jasmine Sea

  The Secrets of Palmerston House

  The Christmas Key

  Taming the Wind

  Martha

  Detective Liz Moorland Series

  Lest We Forgive

  Lest Bridges Burn

  Lest Tides Turn

  Lest Nobody Lives

  Lest Angels Weep

  Last Known Contact

  Charlotte Dean Mysteries

  Christmas Crime in Kingfisher Falls

  Book Club Murder in Kingfisher Falls

  Cold Case Murder in Kingfisher Falls

  Plans for Murder in Kingfisher Falls

  Festive Felony in Kingfisher Falls

  Bindarra Creek Rural Fiction

  A Perfect Danger

  Tangled by Tinsel

  Doctor Grok’s Peculiar Shop Short Story Collection

  Simple Words for Troubled Times

  CONTENTS

  1. A Perfect Little Town

  2. A Not so Perfect Family

  3. A Happy Marriage

  4. Sam, Shane, and Steve

  5. A Short Marriage

  6. Three Times a Widow

  7. Suspects Galore

  8. Suspicions Ignored

  9. Bluebell’s Blessings

  10. Twists Indeed

  11. Change of Heart

  12. Not Going Anywhere

  13. A Matter of Who

  14. A Family at Odds

  15. A History Lesson

  16. Hearing and Seeing Strange Things

  17. Unexpected Suspect

  18. The Fallout

  19. A Chance Meeting

  20. A Story of Suspects

  21. More Suspects

  22. An Odd Find and a New Puzzle

  23. One Less Suspect

  24. Bell’s Bistro, Bingo, and Bad Women

  25. A Missing Knife

  26. Worries and Plans

  27. History Lessons

  28. Another Twist

  29. Something to Hide

  30. A Parting Shot

  31. Beginning of the End

  32. Night Notes

  33. A Tragic Twist

  34. Daphne’s Decision

  35. A Killer Revealed?

  36. A Shock Confession

  37. More Than Missing

  38. Not Quite Done

  39. The Arrangement

  40. In the Rear View Mirror

  Of Funerals and Feuds

  1

  2

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  Also by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  A Letter from the Author

  Of Retreats and Revenge

  Of Vines and Victims

  The Cottage at Whisper Lake

  The Bookstore at Rivers End

  The House at Angel’s Beach

  ONE

  A PERFECT LITTLE TOWN

  The township of Little Bridges was pretty at any time of the year with century-old oak trees lining the main street, and shopfronts colourfully painted to give a sense of olde-world charm. On this spring afternoon people wandered about enjoying the warmth after a long, cold winter. In a small park, families enjoyed picnics and ball games and locals stopped for a chat with each other. A peaceful, happy place.

  Until a chilling screech filled the air.

  Daphne Jones didn’t have time to admire the scenery as she pursued a hooded figure across one of the ‘little’ bridges, which was actually quite long, arching high above a slow-moving, wide river.

  “Uh… ah.” She puffed and panted, and as she ran, attempted to remove her jacket, giving up when the big gold buttons which had looked so smart in the dress shop refused to budge. Her legs pumped at the ground and much as she wanted to believe she was breaking a sprinting record, she suspected it was for slowest, not fastest runner. It was far too hot to be doing this in business clothes and shoes with heels. Even cute little ones.

  Reaching the highest point of the bridge just in time to see the hooded figure dash onto the path along the river, she found enough breath to scream at them.

  “Staarp!”

  Daph, you sound like a banshee.

  If she didn’t hurry up, she’d lose any chance of catching the criminal. Why was nobody else around to help? Her husband, John, hadn’t answered her rushed phone message. She flew past a group of young women doing star-jumps and squeaked a plea to call the police but all she heard in return was a comment about how tight her clothes were. Followed by laughter. Well, at this rate she’d be as skinny as they were in minutes. She forced down the hurt feelings. No time for self-pity.

  On the flatter surface of the path, Daphne sped up. Every step squeezed her toes and jarred her ankles, but she wasn’t letting them get away. Not away from her and most certainly not away with murder!

  As the path wound under the trees, the shade brought immediate relief from the heat. But the further she went, the denser the undergrowth.

  “No, no, no!” She was going to lose the hooded figure.

  Heart pounding, she rounded a curve and with a sickening thud ran straight into the person she’d pursued, knocking them both to the ground.

  Daphne got to her knees and then to her feet just before the other person pulled their hood back.

  Daphne’s mouth dropped open. “You.”

  “Me. And now you know who I am.”

  A few days earlier…

  “I have the great pleasure of announcing our newlyweds—Mr and Mrs Tanning! Please put your hands together to congratulate them.” Daphne Jones frowned and crossed out the line she’d quoted in a notebook on her lap. “Needs more oomph. Not quite right, is it, love?”

  When she got no response, Daphne glanced at her husband, John, who was driving. His focused expression was familiar as the car slowed. New town ahead. He needed to concentrate.

  Daphne was terrible with navigation so didn’t offer to find the road to the caravan park. Instead, she closed the notebook and put that and her pen into a large floral-patterned handbag, then set it on the floor near her feet. She’d fix up the speech in no time once she’d met with the bride and groom this afternoon.

  John checked the side mirrors and flicked on the indicator as they approached a large sign pointing down a side street with the words ‘Little Bridges Caravan and Camping Ground’.

  A tingle of excitement fluttered in Daphne’s stomach, and she couldn’t help smiling as the car, towing their caravan, turned the corner. This was a dream come true. Travelling with their own home away from home. Her new career helping people celebrate the happiest and saddest times in their lives. And watching John relax as he unwound from a lifetime of running a busy real estate agency.

  John drove through a wide entry and was soon pulling the car over to one side of a long driveway. He turned off the motor and grinned.

  “Made it, doll!”

  “Of course we did! Another wonderful place to discover.”

  “I’ll pop into the office over there and find out where our site is.”

  Daphne gazed around after he left. It was a quiet time of year for tourists, in between school holidays, which made booking their sites easier than during busy season. With her new line of work, she had a well-planned itinerary right through to the next autumn, and had even managed to factor in a couple of breaks when they’d go home to Rivers End for a week or two.

  Once John returned with hand drawn directions, they followed a dirt road past the office until they reached an open area not far from a long row of trees. He deftly backed the caravan into the allotted space.

  Out of the car, Daphne stretched and breathed deeply of the country air. “Is that the river?” She didn’t wait for an answer. John was already unshackling the car and would be busy for a while setting things up the way he liked, so she headed in the direction where she’d caught a glimpse of water.

  There were no other sites between theirs and a buffer of gum trees. Beyond the gums, a row of willows dipped their branches into a lazy river. The town peeked through trees and bushes on the other side and Daphne couldn’t wait to explore. She hurried back to John.

  “Do you think we should drive to town? Or walk?”

  John had backed their SUV next to the caravan and was working on connecting the power. “Bit busy at the moment.”

  “Yes, but when we’ve settled in. It looks so pretty!”

  He got the plug in at last and finally gave his attention to Daphne. “You are so pretty. Look at you. All excited about being here.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s sort Bluebell out and then we’ll go for a drive.”

  From the first moment Daphne set eyes on their caravan, Bluebell was its name. It might be older in style and not as flashy as some of the new ones they came across, but every inch of Bluebell had been lovingly restored and impr
oved. The interior was as modern as one would wish for with every convenience that could be fitted into the small space. But it was the outside, with its vibrant blue colour and touches of white in contrast, which drew attention wherever they went.

  ‘Sorting Bluebell out’ took an hour. John was particular about his routine after settling at a new ground. Inspect the exterior including the tyres for any sign of wear or damage. Ensure the caravan was secure and properly plugged to power and water. Unravel the matching awning so they had an outdoor area ready to use.

  Meanwhile, Daphne checked inside for anything which might have come loose. From a drawer she took out a handful of special things she always put away when driving. One of these was a snow globe and she turned it upside down then placed it onto the windowsill in the kitchen. The globe was a gift from their dear friends, Christie and Martin, and inside was a miniature version of their own little town of Rivers End.

  She made up a shopping list. They’d used up the remainder of their food before leaving the last town and she needed to find a supermarket.

  “Can’t have John hungry after such a big drive.” She added the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies as an afterthought. Nothing like them to go with a cuppa.

  “Ready, doll?”

  Daphne ran a loving hand over the door as she closed and locked it after climbing out. “We’ll be right back.”

  Little Bridges was a delightful town. Daphne longed to take a leisurely stroll around the shops, but John reminded her she had an appointment. She’d come back tomorrow, after the wedding. They located a supermarket and John added a few items to the list. Daphne made sure he didn’t notice her put the packet of biscuits back on the shelf. He loved her homemade ones much more and she’d bake them after meeting with the happy couple-to-be.

  “I’ll unpack, love.” Daphne piled bags onto the small counter in the caravan. “Then I’ll make us a quick sandwich before getting changed.”

  “No, you get changed and I’ll do this.” John opened the first bag. “I thought I might cook outside tonight on the grill. Maybe take a picnic blanket down near the river to eat.”

  “You are so romantic.” Daphne kissed his cheek. “I might be a bit distracted, though, depending on this meeting.” She squeezed past him to go to the bedroom. “You know I do like to practice a bit before the ceremony.”

  “You can practice all you want. Have you seen the chocolate biscuits?”

  He’d noticed. Of course, he would.

  “All that processed stuff isn’t good for you, John Jones. And not nearly as nice as the ones I make.” She peeked back to the kitchen. He was holding up the packet of chocolate chips in one hand and flour in the other with something which surely wasn’t a grimace on his face. He must be imagining how delicious they were. “Keep those out, love. I’ll make a batch once I’m back.”

  “Um, no need, Daph. You have enough to do today.”

  How sweet of him. “I always have time for you. You and homemade cookies.”

  TWO

  A NOT SO PERFECT FAMILY

  At exactly three minutes to two, Daphne waved to John as he drove away. He’d dropped her outside the home of the bride-to-be, Lisa Brooker. And a monster of a house it was with a number of storeys, columns, and balconies. Almost something out of a glamour magazine. It took up the full width of the end of a dead-end road.

  She straightened her jacket. “Deep breath, Daph.” Meeting her clients always got her heart beating a bit faster. Bookings for her officiant services were usually done through the fancy internet portal on her website, so she rarely met clients more than a couple of days before their wedding. There were always phone and often video calls between first contact and first meeting, but still, she never ceased to be amazed by how different some people were in person than she’d expected. She tightened her grip on the soft-sided briefcase John bought her as a Christmas gift last year and lifted her head. Time to get to work.

  Stained-glass double doors swung open before she’d climbed the half-dozen stairs and a man stepped out.

  “Mrs Jones?”

  “Why, yes. But it’s Daphne. Please, call me Daphne, or Daph.” She reached the man, who was about her age and dressed in a sombre black suit. As if in mourning. She pushed the silly thought away as he extended his hand to shake.

  “Lisa and her mother are in the garden if you’d like to come with me.” He closed the door behind her as she stepped into a foyer with a sweeping staircase to the next level. “I’m Lisa’s father. Bob.”

  The house was perfect. It might have been a display home with movie stars being photographed on its deep sofas. A wide hallway led past open rooms, all in white with timber floorboards and cowhides scattered around. She sniffed. Fresh paint smell.

  “This is a lovely house.”

  “Not looking forward to it being overrun with guests tomorrow.” He walked faster than Daphne and she had to hurry to keep up, her heels tapping on the boards. They cut through a huge country kitchen where two women stopped talking to stare at her. She smiled and offered a small wave which was met with frowns. Oh dear. This wasn’t giving off the vibe of a happy home.

  After crossing a casual living room complete with an enormous television, pool table, and pinball machine, they stepped through a sliding door onto a vast timber deck. It wrapped around the back of the house, disappearing beneath a roof where a built-in spa bubbled away near a tropical themed bar area. Steps led to a path around a resort style and sized swimming pool behind clear fencing. A shirtless man in his thirties was polishing the tiles around the pool on his hands and knees.

  Beyond this, the path split, one way leading to a beautiful, rose-bordered garden where a handful of people worked on creating a reception space.

  “It isn’t good enough, Mother!” A wail filtered through a trimmed thick hedge along the other part of the path. “I wanted lilac. Not purple. Not pink. Lilac!”

  Bob shook his head and muttered, “I want. I want.”

  An open wrought-iron gate split the hedge in two. On the other side, more wedding preparations were underway. About one hundred white chairs, half on each side of a purple carpet, faced a partly built, circular podium large enough for Daphne, and the bride and groom. Behind it, an elderly man attempted to connect parts of a mesh backdrop together. Covered with artificial flowers, it looked more awkward than heavy, but it towered over the poor man who barely kept it upright.

  “Excuse me. Always something to fix.” Bob sprinted to help the other man. “Dad, really? Told you to wait.”

  One thing Daphne had learned from her few months as a celebrant was that weddings really did bring out the best and worst in people. Most of her clients so far were lovely. Nervous sometimes. But always polite and respectful of her role. A role they’d asked her to fill and paid her quite well to do.

  As she stood on the path, alone, gazing at the scene before her, an odd sensation fluttered in her stomach. One that had nothing to do with how quickly she’d eaten her lunch earlier.

  An inkling of unease.

  A box of ribbons and bows sat open on one of the chairs and this was where the bride and presumably her mother stood. Lisa Brooker had her hands on her hips. For some reason Daphne had expected a woman in her early twenties, but Lisa was perhaps ten years older than that. Her face, although pretty, was red with rage as she glared at the older woman holding up a bow.

  “But, dear, this is a pleasant colour and will look nice on the chairs.”

  “Are you quite insane?” There was the wail again. “This is almost the same colour as my previous wedding. I cannot be married again using the same colours!”

  “Then don’t get married again! Stop putting your dad and I through this!” her mother snapped.

  Lisa put a hand on her chest, her voice sad. “I thought you wanted me to be happy. I’ll just elope.”

  “But Lisa⁠—”

  “No but anything. If you want this wedding to go ahead, send them away and find me the right ones. Oh. Hello.” Lisa spotted Daphne. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Daphne Jones, your wedding celebrant.”

  The change in Lisa was immediate. She smiled and hurried to shake Daphne’s hand. “As you can see, things are a mess. People don’t listen to instructions.”

  “I’m sure it will all come together.”