Weird Wedding at Wonky Inn: Wonky Inn Book 3

by Wycherley, Jeannie

  “She likes to be called Kat. I don’t think she can be one, can she? She’s just too… alive.”

  “So what then?” Charity asked, her voice full of incredulity. Monsieur Emietter shot us a look loaded with daggers. “She’s normal like us—well me at any rate—and she’s going to marry Melchior?”

  “It would appear so.” I deposited my dirty dishes by the sink and Monsieur Emietter scowled at me.

  “We can’t let that happen, Alf. It’s like sending a lamb to the slaughter!”

  “Well what do you suggest we do?” I asked, feeling helpless in the face of her passionate onslaught. “I can’t get in the middle of this.”

  “Well why on earth not? This isn’t an episode of Star Trek. You don’t have a Prime Directive.”

  “A prime wha—?”

  “Never mind. Alf. Seriously. Does she even know what she’s letting herself in for? Are we going to be responsible for turning her into some kind of… monster?”

  And there we had it. The problem in a nutshell. A clash of cultures. A clash of supernatural beings if you like.

  “Charity,” I said slowly, miserably. “If I was—or we were—to wade in between Melchior and Kat, what would that say about me? About us? I’m a witch. My kind have been persecuted for millennia. And that’s the same for Melchior, Sabien and the rest.”

  “But you don’t hurt people,” Charity was so angry now she almost stamped her foot.

  “I don’t. My coven don’t. We live by the precepts, ‘hurt none’ and ‘do only good’, but that’s not the same for all covens and for all witches. There are bad as well as good.”

  “But you,” Charity wagged her finger at me, her face as pink as her hair, “you don’t. You don’t hurt anyone, and you don’t groom people and turn them into witches. But that’s exactly what Melchior is doing here, surely?”

  I could see her point of view, and there was no way I wanted anyone to get hurt, but as far as I could tell from our admittedly limited conversations thus far, Kat was here of her own free will, and to my knowledge she was an adult who seemed to know what she was doing. I was being paid to provide a service. Here at Whittle Inn we just had to host the wedding.

  Didn’t we?

  * * *

  If I’d thought the previous evening had been bad, this night took the proverbial biscuit.

  Right from his appearance soon after the moon had risen, just after eight, I could tell Melchior was in a foul mood. He seemed intent on drinking everyone else under the table, so I kept a careful eye on how much he was putting away, and as soon as I could corner Marc I did so.

  “Can’t you rein Melchior in a little?” I asked, and he followed the direction of my gaze. Melchior was sitting with one of his dark-haired beauties, plying her with red wine. “Kat arrived this afternoon and she’s upstairs now. I don’t want her to come down and find him dancing on the tables with one of his …” I was lost for words for a moment, then tried, “floozies.”

  Marc laughed good naturedly.

  “Ekaterina is here, is she?” His face lit up. “Thank goodness she’s arrived safely. I ought to let Melchior know.” We both glanced over again. Melchior appeared to be having a heated discussion with Thaddeus, who was gesticulating wildly. Marc watched them, his face inscrutable. He didn’t make a move to go over and tell Melchior that Kat was here.

  “Marc,” I said, pulling his attention back to me. “About Kat. She isn’t a vampire, is she?”

  Marc studied me, his eyes thoughtful. Then, reluctantly, he shook his head. “No. She’s not.”

  I waited.

  “Do you think it’s wrong?” Marc fiddled with his glass, swirling the remains of tonic and lemon round the bottom.

  I shrugged. “I don’t think it’s my place to judge, but…” I puffed my cheeks out. “It’s certainly hard to understand.”

  “But if she loves him?” His voice was soft, so quiet I could hardly hear him.

  “Then I say let it be.”

  Marc nodded and drained his glass. “So do I.”

  Kat chose that moment to make her entrance. She descended gracefully down the stairs, wearing white skinny jeans, and a lightweight blue and white jumper. She had washed her hair, and it hung down her back, soft and fluffy and gleaming like angels’ wings. She looked casual but smart at the same time.

  “Wow,” I said, and Marc stood next to me, both of us gazing in admiration.

  One by one, everyone in the room noticed Kat and there were whoops and hollers and cat calls. Several people applauded her as she moved down the stairs smiling sweetly at everyone and waving timidly to a few people she knew. In turn, Melchior’s dark-haired beauties smiled up at her, and made all the right welcoming noises, but their eyes smouldered with resentment.

  It didn’t matter. Kat seemed to have plenty of fans, including Sabien, who walked over to the stairs, where Kat had paused for effect. He offered his hand which she took, and elegantly stepped down into the bar. Her father-in-law bent close to her and whispered in her ear. She emitted a musical laugh and he smiled back at her in evident delight.

  Only Melchior seemed entirely unmoved by his bride-to-be’s arrival. For sure, he smiled along with everyone else, but I observed him as he approached her, with his usual swagger, and I didn’t need my witchy sixth-sense to see there was an evident distance between them.

  He leaned in to kiss her cheek as his father had done before, but instead of enveloping her in a welcoming hug, or saying something to make her smile into his eyes, he pulled back and I distinctly heard him say, “Really, Ekaterina. You couldn’t have worn something a little more sophisticated than this? And have you lost any weight at all?”

  I held my breath, hoping she would put the presumptive little monster in his place, but she simply moved her head slightly, as though frightened his words would hurt her, and avoided his gaze.

  “Take a seat by the fire,” he instructed with a snap. “We’ll discuss the order of events later.”

  She did as she was told and sat largely alone for the next few hours. Occasionally Marc or Sabien would wander over and make conversation, and I would watch her face lift. Then their attention would be called upon by Thaddeus, Melchior or one of the rest of the party and she would nod graciously as they took their leave. For my part I went over and offered her a drink from time to time in between looking after everyone else, but on the whole, she appeared isolated from this crowd she would soon be such a central part of.

  I felt bad for her, and when sometime after one in the morning I looked up from serving drinks and Melchior and his vixens had disappeared leaving Kat to it, I went over and suggested she go up to bed.

  I thought she would refuse, perhaps make an excuse for the behaviour of her fiancé, but when she met my eyes I found fiery indignation there—in the set of her jaw and the line of her lips—and she nodded. “Good idea. I am tired after my long journey. I would like to see more of Vittlecombe in the morning.”

  I smiled at her accent. “Yes! You should head down into the village and talk to Rhona in the general stores, or Gloria in the café. Some of the villagers will be here for your wedding. I’m sure they would love to meet you.”

  “They will be here? Melchior invited them?”

  “No, no,” I replied. As if. “It’s the official re-opening of the inn and I was already having a party that evening, so quite a few of the locals have been invited here, and they’ll be delighted to watch your nuptials. It will be quite a spectacle for them.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Kat cooed.

  It took a litre of coffee before I could properly wake up the following day. I noticed that Charity, who normally opted for minimal make-up was wearing a thick layer of concealer. We sat together at the kitchen table, nibbling on toast, checking where we were with everything, creating lists of things that still needed doing, and assigning ghosts—and each other—to the various tasks.

  Out in the main bar area, and in The Snug and The Nook, the Wonky Inn Clean-up Crew le
d by Florence were hard at it, deep cleaning after yet another night of wild shenanigans. The vampires certainly knew how to party. There was every chance I was going to have to refurbish the downstairs of the inn with new curtains, rugs and cushions once they had left. Spillages and stains were everywhere.

  “I look like death,” Charity complained when I remarked upon her appearance.

  I tapped my own eye-bags gently with my fingers. “Me too. But this will be the first time the inn will have made any money since I took over. Think of that! And I’ll owe you a fortune in overtime.”

  Charity growled at me.

  “No? Okay, well, in that case, just do what I do and forward think.”

  “What is that when it’s at home? Forward thinking?”

  I sat back and rearranged my features into something I hoped approximated blissful calm, and held my arms loosely out in front of myself, touching middle finger to thumb. “Oh you know, you tell yourself ‘it’s only 61 hours and thirty-three minutes to the wedding and then I can have my life back’.”

  “Oh I see.” Charity observed the way I was sitting with a slight curl of her lip and thought about what I’d said. “Does that work? I suppose it helps. It doesn’t make the situation seem so bad. How long is it until the wedding?

  “Sixty-one hours and thirty-three minutes.”

  Charity burst out laughing. “You’re already counting?”

  I dropped my hands and laughed along with her. “I totally am! And listen to this. I’m also thinking, for more than 32 of those hours, Melchior and his hell-bound horde will be safely tucked up in their earth filled coffins. I call that positive forward thinking, don’t you?”

  “You’re not enjoying their company I take it?”

  I shook my head seriously. “Gwyn hasn’t been seen since the hearses arrived, and Mr Hoo disappeared out of my room the other night and I haven’t seen him either. I’ve been fretting about him.”

  “He’s probably hiding out in the woods until all this is over.”

  Lucky Mr Hoo. “I wish I could do that.”

  “He’ll be back.”

  “I hope so. I miss the little wobbly-headed dude.” I sighed.

  Charity smiled warmly and patted my arm. “Stop worrying. You’re doing a great job, boss lady,”

  “Right back at ya, minion.” I winked at her, feeling warm in our close companionship.

  Charity giggled again. “More coffee, Alf?”

  How could I refuse?

  * * *

  George Gilchrist phoned a little later, and I smiled to hear his voice.

  “Keeping busy?” he asked.

  “Unbelievably busy. And sleep is at a premium.”

  “Join the club.” I heard his laugh, he sounded tired too. “I’ve lost count of the amount of overtime I’ve done in the past two weeks. I’m developing a nervous twitch.”

  He said it with humour, but I couldn’t help worrying. “That doesn’t sound too good.”

  “No. I could do with a break, that’s for sure.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, Alf, you’ve been emptying the cupboards at Derek Pearce’s house, haven’t you?”

  “Dandelion Cottage? Yes.”

  “You haven’t found any traces of any other chemicals anywhere?”

  I hadn’t. The house had been relatively clutter free. “No. Even the shed in the garden was empty.”

  “Completely empty?”

  “Yes.” He was quiet on the other end of the phone. “Do you find that odd?” I certainly did. Who keeps absolutely nothing in the shed?

  “I do.” George was hesitant.

  “What’s up?”

  “The forensics came back on the chemicals from the shed, and in themselves they’re relatively innocuous although not really that type of thing you want to be sprinkling on your potato patch. It doesn’t sit right that Derek was storing them at the allotment, that’s my gut instinct.”

  “I see,” I said, biting my lip. Curious. “What about a cause of death?”

  “Inconclusive. Broken neck, but no other injuries.”

  Poor Derek. What had gone on at Dandelion Cottage? And what was the link with The Mori?

  I desperately wanted some answers but tied up here at the inn with this wedding, I was hard pushed for time.

  “Alf?” George’s voice interrupted my thoughts and he sounded as troubled as I felt. “You take care, okay?”

  * * *

  Late in the morning, deliveries began arriving once more, keeping Charity and I busy for most of the day. The sun had started to dip in the sky when the ring of the doorbell announced yet another. This one turned out to be two huge cardboard boxes, both marked fragile, addressed to Ekaterina. The first of these stood nearly six feet tall, although fortunately it was only one foot wide and one foot deep.

  I recruited Zephaniah and Ned and with their help, Charity and I transported the bulky parcels upstairs to Kat’s room. She had disappeared into the village for most of the middle part of the day, and taken her lunch at the café, enjoying a Devonshire cream tea at Gloria’s urging, and then returned to the inn to nap.

  I knocked quietly on the door, hoping she was awake. “Come,” she called almost immediately and when I poked my head around the door I found her curled up on the window seat, reading some magazines she had purchased in Whittle Stores.

  “Hi Kat, sorry to disturb you,” I said. “We’ve had a few deliveries addressed for you. I have a feeling these may well be your wedding outfit!” Despite my misgivings about Kat and Melchior’s relationship, I couldn’t help feeling excited about seeing the wedding dress.

  Kat jumped up with a grin and rushed over to help us get the boxes in. There wasn’t a huge amount of space in the room for three women, two large boxes, a double bed and two ghosts but we managed. Then I ushered Zephaniah and Ned out ahead of me, but Kat called me back.

  “Could you ladies help me do you think?” Kat asked. “The boxes are heavy, and I don’t want to damage anything.”

  “Of course. We’d love to,” Charity jumped in before I could say a word, and we carefully helped Kat peel back the layers of parcel tape that had been wrapped around the boxes. Inside the largest box was a makeshift wardrobe, and a plastic wrapped dress that hung from a rail.

  Working together, we carefully lifted the dress from the rail and lay it down, plastic and all, on the bed. Charity ran to my office to fetch some scissors and then she very carefully slit open the plastic, and pulled the layers aside, so we could get a closer look at the frock.

  As she stepped back, the three of us uttered a collective gasp.

  Although I was taken aback by the colours, I don’t think I had ever seen anything quite as magnificent. The dress was predominantly black but with a corseted bodice that gleamed in bright red satin. The skirt appeared to have a gathering behind it, rather like a bustle from the old days, and fell in stepped layers of black silk over a black satin underskirt. On the edging of every layer of the skirt, tassels created from tiny black beads had been attached, guaranteed to catch the light as the person wearing the dress moved. Similarly, the bodice of the dress was criss-crossed with strings of black beads, hanging in arcs like an extravagant necklace, falling from the low-cut neckline.

  When we carefully turned the dress over, the rear of it had been similarly elaborately laced and decorated. The whole thing weighed a tonne.

  In the bottom of the huge package were several black lace petticoats. Charity plucked one out and inspected it. “These look like they’ve been hand made,” she marvelled. “I’ve never seen lace as beautifully worked as this.

  “It’s all exquisite.” I breathed in wonder, running my fingers over the fabric, slightly envious.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me at all, if Melchior had arranged for all of this to be handmade. He’s very generous,” Kat said, stroking the satin bodice.

  With Sabien’s money, I thought.

  “I’d like to try it on. Would you ladies help me?” Kat asked and without batting an eyelid b
egan pulling off her clothes.

  It was definitely a two-or-three-woman job. Getting into the petticoats was easy enough, but after that, the sheer weight and complexity of the dress made for some challenging moments. Buttons, hooks and eyes, and lacing—all were relentlessly fiddly, and I noted my fingers—totally lacking in nimbleness—were better at sanding doors than attending to such fine detail. Fortunately for me, Charity was unfailingly patient and had marvellous dexterity. I was reduced to the role of observer, and utterer of helpful phrases such as ‘perhaps that one ties there?’ and ‘that seems a little loose’ and ‘Oh, that one’s snagged’ and ‘you’ve missed a hook-and-eye there’.

  When Kat was finally dressed, Charity and I stood in awe while she twisted and turned—with some difficulty it had to be said—in front of the wardrobe mirror, the dress rustling and jangling as she shifted. It was a stunning work of art, and it fitted like a glove, as though it had been moulded to the shape of Kat’s body. She looked incredible but at the same time, the sheer weightiness of it, and its tight fit, prevented much in the way of movement. Kat was a prisoner in a wedding dress that she could neither get on nor take off by herself. It struck me that this was one more way that Melchior had control of her.

  “You look incredible.” Charity beamed at Kat.

  Kat smoothed the skirts down and caught my eye in the mirror. Perhaps she recognised my thoughts from my expression because she frowned.

  Charity’s stomach rumbled, and I looked up in surprise. Outside it was full dark.

  “I do beg your pardon, Kat,” Charity said. “We skipped lunch today because we ate a late breakfast.”

  Kat looked horrified. “Oh my goodness. I am so sorry to have kept you. You should go and eat.”

  “The others will be up soon,” I said. “I ought to make sure the bar is ready. I can’t leave Florence on her own down there.” Not with Melchior constantly complaining about her smell.

  “Go, go!” Kat urged.

  Charity glanced at me. “There’s the other box.”