“Ilona adored her,” Fred said, getting to his own feet. “And Ilona is the other person who wishes to speak. Why not put aside your feelings until after the funeral, Sonia? In a few hours this will all be a memory. Rather than rake up old upsets, shouldn’t we all try to get along for this short time and do the right thing?”

  Sonia, who had seemed intent on stalking out of the room, came to a halt near Fred. Instead of doing what Daphne had half-expected and continuing with her snippy comments, the younger woman dropped her head and nodded.

  “This is a dreadful time, Sonia. Stressful and distressing. But if you can be the bigger person in all of this, you’ll respect yourself later on. And if I can do this, so can you.”

  All of this was quite interesting. It was one thing for a funeral director to offer support and comfort but quite another to counsel a grieving client on how to behave. And what had he meant by if he could do this? Sonia returned to her seat. Tracy, meanwhile, was tapping on her phone.

  “You mentioned a person called Ilona?” It was time to take back control. “What do I need to know about her so I can ensure she has the appropriate time to speak?”

  All three looked at her as if she was supposed to already know.

  She didn’t.

  “Ilona is, was, my mother’s closest friend. Probably only real friend,” Sonia said. “And she is a wedding celebrant. Like you. Except she is”—Sonia gestured quote marks with her fingers—“too shattered to officiate. So, if she wouldn’t pull her head out to look after her best friend’s funeral, I had to ask Fred to find someone else.”

  Do you ever say anything nice about anyone?

  “I believe Mrs Drinkwater had a special request.” Daphne summoned a smile. “In the notes I received—and I have to thank you, Fred, for such comprehensive information—Mrs Drinkwater wished to bestow gifts on every person who attended the funeral as a reminder of her affection for them.”

  Something like a choke emanated from Sonia, which Daphne chose to ignore.

  “I understand there will be a table set up after the funeral which will include a selection of items from the shop she owned. I think it is a lovely gesture.”

  It was interesting how each of the other people in the room responded.

  Fred nodded the whole time she spoke.

  Sonia shook her head.

  Tracy put down her phone and ran her tongue over her lips. Her eyes were elsewhere—somewhere far away. Was she imagining some delicious fare from the shop?

  Someone’s phone rang and the moment was gone. Fred apologised and hurried from the room, reaching into a pocket. Tracy had a small smile on her face but was back in the present. “I didn’t know Edwina had made last wishes. Rather nice of the old girl.”

  “Old girl. Really? You are almost the same age,” Sonia snapped.

  Tracy burst out laughing.

  Before things got out of hand, Daphne located the draft ceremony. “Sonia, would you mind taking a look? If there are any changes, I can make them now.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Say whatever you wish.”

  “I’d feel more comfortable knowing you were satisfied with my wording. If you don’t mind?”

  With a sigh, Sonia took the couple of sheets of paper and read. At least the room was quiet while she did, apart from the low tapping sound as Tracy’s focus returned to her phone. Daphne snuck a look at her own, but the signal was too low to even send a message. With luck it was better outside, otherwise she had a long wait ahead. John had dropped her there and was going to see if there was a powered camping site anywhere else to move Bluebell. Which led her to a question.

  “Excuse me, what is the event on in town? We tried to find a powered site for our caravan last night and had to go to the next town.”

  “Oh, that’s just our local agricultural show,” Tracy answered without looking up. “The livestock exhibitors always pile in early to settle their horses and whatnot. Today we begin preliminary judging of the crafts, baking, bottling and so on. Get things ready for the finals.”

  Was Tracy a judge? Her T-shirt made sense if she was. Daphne hadn’t been to a country show in years. Not since… well, since her childhood. Animals. Rides with carnival music. Laughter. Sticky sweet treats. People everywhere. Her father yelling. Furious with her.

  Daphne’s heart thudded.

  “So sorry to disappear like that. Had to take the call.” Fred returned.

  The music subsided. Not that anyone else heard it. She released a breath she’d not meant to hold. Had anyone noticed her hands shake?

  “Shall we finalise the details?” Fred asked. “I think your husband is parked outside, Mrs Jones.”

  Not only was John parked along the grass verge, but a motor scooter was behind him. Daphne was partway along the path to the road when the rider alighted and removed their helmet. A woman.

  John stepped out of the car.

  “Hello-o. Are you Daphne?” The woman flapped both her arms as though to get Daphne’s attention. “I really need to speak with you.”

  The woman was in her mid-forties, dressed in an ankle length black dress and wearing fresh flowers in bright red hair that flowed to her waist.

  “I am Daphne.”

  “Oh, I thought so! My cousin described you and you are exactly as he said.”

  Cousin?

  “Um… how did he describe me?”

  Sure you should ask, Daph?

  The other woman smiled, softening her expression. She wasn’t pretty as such but had a kindness in her eyes which warmed Daphne to her.

  “He said you had cute streaks of colour in your hair, wore fashionable glasses, and know how to carry off a nice suit. He also said you have a beautiful smile.” The woman held her hand out. “I’m Ilona.”

  They shook hands. John rested his arms on the roof of the car.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ilona. I understand Mrs Drinkwater was your friend.”

  “Yes. Edie meant the world to me, and I miss her so much.” Ilona blinked a few times. Close up, the rims of her eyes were red. “I really can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “What can I do to help you? I believe you have asked to speak this afternoon?”

  Ilona nodded. “If I don’t speak for Edie, nobody will. Oh, I know Sonia and Tracy and perhaps Desmond will stand up but I’m the one who knew her. Do you know what I mean? I was her confidante and understood her.”

  “Then you must speak. I didn’t know her, but with such a close friend I would imagine she’d treasure having your unique words heard. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to know first? Anything I can include in my ceremony to help?”

  All of a sudden, Ilona threw her arms around Daphne in a hug. “This is why you are here, dear Daphne.”

  The hug was quick, and Ilona stepped back with a hint of embarrassment on her face. “I don’t do funerals. Never could. Weddings, naming ceremonies. All the good, happy stuff is fine, but I’m too big a sook to manage to help people say goodbye. But I heard you are wonderful with sad times.”

  Not sure I’d like that on my website!

  “Ilona, who is your cousin?”

  “I am so sorry, I thought you knew. Maurice. He met you in Little Bridges.”

  Her shoulders dropped. As much as she liked Maurice, who owned the local newspaper in Little Bridges, hearing the name of the town was an unwanted reminder of how quickly things could go wrong.

  THREE

  TOO MUCH TO BEAR

  “Is that town going to follow us around forever?” Daphne grumbled as she applied makeup in the small bathroom in their caravan. Lunch had been little more than a quick sandwich and there was no time for even one cup of tea. A call from Fred had requested she be at the funeral home earlier than first planned.

  “Little Bridges?” John leaned against a cupboard outside the bathroom. “I wouldn’t let it upset you. Even though it was stressful, just think of how you helped find a killer. Something to be proud of.”

  Not long ago, Daphne was the celebrant at a country wedding which went horribly wrong. Against her better judgement she’d become involved in working out who was behind some dreadful crimes. And it was satisfying but hardly the kind of thing she wanted on her calling card!

  “I suppose something good came of it. And Maurice was kind to recommend me. We could leave after the funeral if you prefer.” Daphne chose a lipstick to match the top she wore. It might seem a bit much for a funeral, but another of Edwina’s requests was that every attendee wore at least one bright colour. Thank goodness Daphne had a lovely hot pink blouse which fit the bill and worked well under the elegant black jacket she’d don at the last minute.

  “Wouldn’t mind taking some photos this afternoon. There’s a gorge not far away with a waterfall. Might get something good enough to print out and frame for the house.”

  Since retiring as owner and principal realtor of Rivers End Real Estate, John had turned his mind to new activities. Genealogy, of course, but also photography plus a renewed interest in fishing. There were few things which filled her heart more than seeing her husband of forty plus years enjoying their nomadic life.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you. A waterfall sounds like a perfect place to relax after a sad funeral.”

  Makeup done, Daphne was ready. Jacket, handbag, and briefcase with her embossed ceremony book were all she needed. There were mourners who deserved to help say goodbye and she wasn’t about to keep them waiting.

  The reception room where Daphne met earlier with Fred, Sonia, and Tracy, was transformed with the comfortable seating pushed back to make space for a long trestle table with smaller tables and plastic chairs dotted around.

  On the table was a tower of small plates and plastic glasses, along with napkins and plastic cutlery. Laid out at both ends were plates of scones, slices, cupcakes, and other baked goods, while the middle had been raised with boxes to form a second level. This overflowed with sealed bottles of preserves, jams, fruit, chutneys, sauces, framed artwork, and small gift-wrapped boxes. There was barely room for another plate, yet at the far end a woman managed to wiggle one more in.

  “Think we might leave the rest in the kitchen.” The woman smiled at Daphne. “Hello, I’m Petra West.”

  “Nice to meet you, Petra. I’m Daphne, the celebrant.”

  “Very good of you to come on such short notice. We are all most appreciative.” Petra wandered around the table checking everything. “This is for after… well, once poor Edwina is… well, you know.”

  “It looks delicious. Is all of this locally made?”

  “Oh yes. Our little community loves local, and Edwina was passionate about us all creating perfect products for the customers. You should try some of the rhubarb and apricot jam on a scone. I had a taste in the kitchen and it is something to behold.”

  Not a fan of rhubarb, or sampling the wares meant for a wake, Daphne was about to politely refuse when Fred arrived, followed by a younger man dressed in a similar suit.

  “Mrs Jones, hello and thank you. I wanted you to meet the pallbearers before we left. The funeral home is providing three of them, including Zeke here. The others are friends of the deceased who volunteered. Zeke, this is Mrs Jones, who will officiate the ceremony.”

  Daphne and Zeke shook hands, but his eyes were on the table.

  Fred continued. “I see you’ve already met Petra. And you spoke with Tracy earlier. Our remaining person is Desmond Rogers who—ah, there you are.”

  “Apologies. The old car didn’t want to start again so it was a case of walk here instead.” Desmond Rogers was in his seventies. Not a tall man, his black jacket barely covered a large stomach which wobbled as he shuffled across the floor with a slight limp. Daphne couldn’t help comparing his face to that of a bulldog.

  “Desmond, this is Mrs Jones, who changed her itinerary to help us out. Desmond is… was, Edwina’s neighbour.”

  Daphne shook Desmond’s hand. “My condolences.”

  “Yes. Sad state of affairs. Heart attack. Expected, but not so soon. Never so soon.”

  Tracy emerged from another room carrying a tray of filled champagne glasses. “Everyone! Time to make a toast. I have no idea where Sonia is, but we haven’t got time to wait around for her.”

  She placed the tray on a table and took a moment to hand out each glass. “Fred. Desmond. Zeke, you’re driving so not for you. Ah, Petra, here’s yours.”

  Daphne retreated close to the door, not wanting to intrude on this moment. Once everybody else had a glass, Tracy proposed a toast.

  “To living life the way you want. To being the person you enjoy being. To Edwina.”

  There was a murmur of agreement, some clinks of glasses, and then silence as champagne was sipped.

  “Be the person you enjoy being, even when it makes everyone else hate you.”

  Daphne glanced around. The words were softly spoken by a person in the hallway. A woman about her own age, shorter than Daphne and with short-cropped brown hair. Her arms were wrapped around her body and she gazed into the room at the group.

  “Hello, dear. Would you care to come in?” Daphne made herself known.

  If the other woman was concerned her words had been overheard, she said nothing, but stepped inside and looked at Daphne with interest.

  “I like your hair,” she announced.

  “Well, thank you.”

  Tracy drifted over with more glasses on the tray. “Mrs Jones, please have some. Hello, Amanda.”

  “I’m fine, thank you for offering,” Daphne said. “Best keep my mind focused on the important time ahead.”

  “Fair enough.” Tracy turned to leave.

  “But I’d like one.” Amanda reached out for a glass.

  Tracy held the tray out of reach and kept walking. Amanda followed, grabbing at the tray. With a crash, it hit the ground, glasses shattering and golden liquid bubbling on the carpet.

  “Look what you did!” Tracy hissed at Amanda. “I was trying to avoid disaster but no, you always find a way to mess things up. This special time here is just for the pallbearers of which you are not one.”

  Petra rushed over with a roll of paper towels and a small bin and began carefully collecting pieces of glass. Zeke squatted to help, immediately cutting himself.

  “Take more care, Zeke! You’ll get blood on the carpet.” Tracy scooped up the tray and stalked to the kitchen.

  “Don’t mind her, hon.” Petra wrapped his thumb with a sheet of paper towel and shooed him away with a smile.

  Amanda watched on with no outward response. Desmond and Fred kept out of it.

  Good thinking. Tensions were running high and in Daphne’s experience, stress could show a side of people they usually hid away. Well, she was learning a lot about the personalities in this room. And the oddest part was how little they actually liked each other, which was not the face they’d all tried to portray. What an interesting funeral this would be.

  John wandered into the Shady Bend Cemetery a few minutes before Daphne’s start time. His purpose was quite different to hers and he had his phone and a notebook ready to record anything of interest. The cemetery wasn’t large and he had no desire to intrude on the funeral, so kept his distance up a small hill, but even so, he was unable to avoid seeing the funeral party.

  Daphne was graveside, along with a growing group of mourners. All wore black but each had a dash of colour. The woman who rode the motor scooter earlier was still in her long black dress but now had a sash of woven flowers around her waist. Others were less flamboyant. A yellow tie here, a blue set of shoes there. Daphne noticed him and waved discreetly.

  After waving back, John turned his attention to the headstones. Here, in this tiny forest town, was there a clue to finding someone from Daphne’s life? A father she’d probably never met. It was his secret mission, and every little town was an opportunity to search. He took his notebook out and read through some of his scribbles from another graveyard.

  There was a noise. A cry followed by a dull thud. And screams. His heart jolted. Something terrible was happening at the funeral.

  How comforting John’s presence was. Funerals were quite new. She’d attended too many in her lifetime and officiated a few, but it was hard work to separate her emotions from the motions. The sorrow and grief around her were profound and as more people arrived, many openly weeping, her heart cried. Seeing her beloved husband at a distance helped. He always gave her strength.

  One of Fred’s staff had given her a lift over and they’d arrived before the hearse, so she was able to spend a few minutes gathering herself and setting up a little spot for the speakers to stand. The grave was a couple of rows from the carpark, overlooked by beautiful flowering trees. A peaceful place to rest.

  Ilona arrived soon after and although she’d offered a sad smile, said nothing as she found a place near the foot of the grave, her eyes glistening.

  Within a few minutes there was a crowd. This funeral had no seating, but there was a small table which held a hundred or so yellow roses. Each mourner collected one on their way.

  Sonia stalked from the carpark. She wore black with no sign of colour and ignored the roses. She walked right around the grave and chose a spot halfway between Daphne and Ilona.

  Fred joined Daphne. “They are on their way. It’ll take a little while with Desmond’s wonky knee, but he insisted. Better slow than sorry.”

  Her ceremony book open, Daphne cast an eye over the words. She was here for these sad folk. Here to lay their dear one to rest. It was a time of loss and mourning but also of celebration of a life well lived. A life which had made a difference.

  The casket approached. Desmond and Petra at the front. Two of the staff in the middle. Zeke and Tracy at the back with Tracy counting their steps aloud. Left. And right. Left. And right.

  Daphne couldn’t recall ever seeing someone at the back direct the pallbearers. But Tracy did give the impression of needing to take charge even if she wasn’t doing a good job of keeping everyone in step.