Till Daph Do Us Part

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “What makes him a suspect?” John put his phone down. “There’s no big red flags around him that I’ve seen.”

  “No, just lots of little ones. He might very well have just been over the whole wedding thing, but Bob wasn’t happy about having the event at the house. Said he’d rather have, and I quote, ‘a cabin in the woods’ than their mansion. Lisa annoyed him with her demands and even his father made him impatient.” The hairs stood up on Daphne’s arm and she held it up for John to see. “I have an odd feeling.”

  “About Bob?”

  She shook her head. “Eyes on me. You know I can always tell.”

  “Not mine?”

  “Never yours.” Daphne slid closer to the window and peered through. “Surely nobody is out there.”

  John was on his feet and grabbed a torch. “I’ll go and look.”

  “I’d rather you don’t. You’ll be drenched in seconds and all for a feeling. Which is gone now.” Daphne stretched the muscles in her back, forcing the sensation away. It almost worked. “Too much thunder!”

  After checking the door was locked, John sat again. “You sure? I can wear my wet weather gear and carry a fishing pole in a menacing fashion.”

  “Yes. But thank you.” A giggle rose in her throat.

  “Don’t want you worrying.”

  “All this talk of murders. It was like when Bertie arrived. I was surprised to see him here.”

  “Speaking of Bertie, at least he can be omitted from your list.” John stared through the window with his eyes narrowed.

  “Negatory. I thought the same but despite his age and health concerns, Bertie Brooker is on the list. Aged he might be, but did you know he was once an elite athlete? A runner. His disappearance that day sent lots of guests on a wild goose chase and I, for one, have no idea where he was. Only that it gave somebody the opportunity to murder Steve without witnesses. If our speculation is right about bad blood over Bertie’s business, then he might harbour a grudge strong enough to kill at least one Tanning. Or three.”

  John returned to his seat and lifted the piece of paper he’d been writing on. “I can shed a bit of light.”

  “All ears.”

  “I found an old newspaper article which I can’t fully read, thanks to a paywall. But a visit to the local library might get the information. A decade or so ago there was a fight over Bertie’s business and it did involve a Toby Tanning. Went to court but that is all I could access.”

  “Interesting. What if Bertie is killing off every Tanning who marries his granddaughter. For revenge?”

  “Mustn’t care about Lisa then.” John said.

  “Or cares more about revenge than about Lisa.”

  “Not a nice thought.”

  “Not at all. Mind you, if he does have dementia, as some of his family have suggested, how would he be able to plan and implement a murder which didn’t even look like one?”

  The next roll of thunder was further away. Overhead, the rain wasn’t as insistent and no longer fell in sheets around Bluebell. John put their dinner in the oven. A casserole. Daphne tried to have a cooking day every fortnight where she’d prepare meals for freezing. They had chosen to allocate more than usual space for a combination fridge/freezer to make the most of fresh produce they came across in different areas. Soon they’d head towards Shepparton, known for its canneries where excess or second grade, but perfectly fine, fruit and vegetable products were heavily discounted.

  “Earth to Daphne.”

  She laughed. “I can’t wait for us to go to Shepparton.”

  John’s expression of confusion made her laugh again.

  “Sorry, love. For some reason, my mind was planning our future meals and I do love a bargain.”

  “And you can make the best meals from bargain purchases. I’ve watched you with a sense of pride and amazement over the years. And particularly when we had the kids.”

  A ridiculous tickle behind Daphne’s eyes made her blink fast. Those were wonderful times, but hard times. The real estate agency wasn’t always bringing in a lot of money and making sure every foster child was properly clothed and fed meant being creative. But Daphne grew up having to make do to get by and she used that to her advantage to create a better life for the wonderful youngsters who came into their lives.

  As though he could read her mind, John reached across and squeezed her hand. “You did good. And look at us now with a blue caravan and the freedom to follow the road. I think there’s a special bottle of sherry we’ve not opened, so I’m proposing a glass before dinner.”

  “I second your proposal.”

  John dug around in one of the cupboards and found a bottle and two glasses. “Think we were given this one by Christie and Martin.”

  Christie and Martin were dear friends living in River’s End.

  “I wonder what Christie would make of all this.” Daphne tapped her notebook. “She’d most likely already have worked out who killed Steve, why they killed him, and where they are.”

  “You’re not doing such a bad job, love.” John returned to his seat and handed Daphne a glass filled with golden liqueur. “To solving crimes.”

  They clinked the glasses together.

  “Last suspect and then dinner. It is beginning to smell quite delightful!” Daphne’s tummy rumbled, which made a change from the thunder. “And although I said Lisa is top suspect, I really don’t believe she is responsible. But this one…”

  “The mysterious Lloyd.”

  “You read my mind. There is something about him which makes my skin crawl. The way he stares at me. And how he didn’t respond when I apologised for almost running into him as he alighted from the catering van. Not so much as a smile. And the staring at the reception and near the café.”

  “It made you uncomfortable.”

  “Yes. It may be he simply doesn’t deal with people well. But the damp shirt and fresh apron…something else is going on. I wonder if it was him in the van meeting Lisa this morning.”

  “And I’m curious about the interview at the police station. She was pretty upset when she arrived. It doesn’t make sense why she would kill her own husband the very day of their wedding.” John said. “They were about to go away on their honeymoon as well.”

  Daphne agreed. This town had something ominous going on—or at least, the Tanning and Brooker families did.

  “What I just said about Christie—if we can work out the ‘why’, then the ‘who’ should be obvious. So why would someone kill a young man on the day of his wedding?”

  An Odd Find and a New Puzzle

  The morning sky was crystal clear and the air was free of humidity as Daphne strolled along the river to work on her two ceremonies. She’d slept much better than expected and was woken by the enticing aroma of fresh coffee. Daphne slipped her feet into a pair of sensible shoes, shoved her phone in a pocket, and with her notebook in hand, gave John a quick kiss. He had his hands full putting the outdoor area back up.

  There was a narrow track alongside the water and it made for easy walking, although the ground was still a bit soft underfoot. The river was higher than usual and swept fallen branches and other debris along in a hurry but otherwise there was little to remind her of the ferocity of the storm.

  Talking to John last night about the death of Steve Tanning helped her mind focus on the facts rather than feelings.

  “Although feelings matter.”

  She glanced around. Whew. Nobody overhead her. Not even a squawk from the pair of magpies hunting for worms in the soft ground.

  For a while Daphne dawdled along the track as she whispered ideas to herself. It wasn’t only which words to use, but when and how to use them. Two grieving families. Two different approaches. Her intention with the Brookers was to tread lightly. As she already had a good idea of where each of them stood regarding Steve—unless one was the murderer—their ceremony offered some challenges. Best not to fuel Lisa’s need for attention nor Margaret and Bob’s dislike of the young man.


  Daphne found a tree stump between the track and river and sat there to write her ideas down while fresh in her mind. For the Tannings, she formulated a celebration of Steve’s life. Thanks to the email from Marlene, she had snippets to include. Writing about the good memories was easy. But how to broach what should have been the happiest day of his life without making it about the worst one?

  “Can’t really reminisce about how happy he was to marry his beautiful bride, only to end up face down in her pool.”

  She sighed and closed the notebook. His family hadn’t even attended his wedding so mentioning it was bound to stir some distress. If they had been there, he might still be alive. Whoever was responsible for his death would have been forced to change their tactics with more people around. People who probably would not have joined the search for Bertie.

  Daphne sat bold upright. Was Steve’s death planned, based on knowing his family wouldn’t attend, or was it opportunistic? The answer to this question would narrow down the list of suspects. Presumably, the medical examiner would know the cause of death at some point, and speaking of points, if it was a knife then Matty must have information about the type of knife after his reaction to seeing John’s filleting knife. Weddings have knives. The cake knife—had anyone checked it? And caterers have knives.

  Finding a blank page, Daphne noted her thoughts to come back to later. Perhaps she could pop around to the police station and see if there was any new information.

  She got to her feet and her hands went straight to her behind. Damp, thanks to the soggy tree trunk.

  “It rained all night, Daph. Now look at you!” Thank goodness there was nobody around to see her undignified wet bottom. She turned to go back but a movement across the river caught her eye.

  Surrounded by thick bushes was an old caravan, perhaps a couple of hundred metres away. The only reason Daphne noticed was thanks to a person moving about near it. Her eyesight wasn’t good enough to see much detail but she thought it to be a man. He wore a heavy, long jacket and hat pulled down over his head. In one hand he carried a bucket similar to the one John used for fishing and in the other, a short fishing rod. In a moment he was gone, behind the bushes.

  How interesting. She scanned the area around the caravan. No sign of a car or other vehicle. No houses in sight. But this might be the back of the Brooker property in which case, the caravan would be the one Bertie once lived in.

  Had it been Bertie? Hard to tell under the big coat and hat and the distance. If he lived in the house now, why would he bother with the caravan?

  The alarm on her watch reminded her to get going. When she could see Bluebell in the distance, she took a short cut through the trees. And regretted it the minute she stepped into mud. Back on the grass she stopped to wipe the worst of the wet dirt off her shoes, glaring back at where she’d stood. By the look of the ground she wasn’t the first person to misjudge the ground. There was another set of footprints. Much larger than hers.

  How odd. Daphne took a closer look. The indentation was deep and faced Bluebell. Almost as if somebody stood here for a while. And just like that moment last night, the hairs stood up on the back of her arms.

  John dropped Daphne at the meet up point for the Tanning’s farewell ceremony and nosed back onto the road. He’d been relieved it was at a park—rather than a home—just out of town in the opposite direction from the Brooker’s. When Marlene welcomed Daphne with a smile, the tension left his shoulders.

  But after the chaos of the Brooker wedding…Shaking his head, John slowed the car.

  Just up from the park was an old stone church, its wooden doors open. He found a parking spot under some trees and locked the car. Quite apart from how interesting he found country churches was the benefit of what usually accompanied them.

  Sure enough, an old iron gate between overgrown hedges announced this was ‘St Peters of Little Bridges Graveyard’.

  The town’s public cemetery was closer to the caravan park, the place for modern burials. Thanks to Daphne’s celebrant status and his interest in genealogy, he often visited both public cemeteries and parish graveyards when staying in a new town. And seeing as he was going to wait for Daphne, he might as well use the time to indulge his hobby.

  This graveyard was small and old with few fresh flowers and a lack of tending. Many of the headstones had crumbling corners and some inscriptions were hard to read.

  “That belongs to one of the town’s founders, Richard Brooker.”

  John jumped at the voice close behind.

  “Sorry, son. Didn’t mean to startle you.” The speaker was a tall, elderly man wearing a dog collar. “I’m Father McIntyre.”

  They shook hands.

  “I’m John Jones. McIntyre. Related to the young constable?”

  “My late sister’s grandson. A good boy.”

  “I hope it is alright for me to wander around? I’m a keen student of genealogy and I find beautiful small churches such as yours are often accompanied by local history.”

  “Spend as long as you wish. Is there a particular family of interest?”

  With a gesture towards the headstone in front of them, John nodded. “You mentioned Richard Brooker as a town founder. What is his relationship to the current Brooker family?”

  “Robert senior is his great-great-grandson. I think there are sufficient greats in there. Richard, from all accounts, was an upstanding man of faith. A hard worker who was fair in his business and private life.”

  “Robert senior is Bertie?”

  “Yes. Bertie. And Robert junior is Bob Brooker.” He led John to another headstone. “This belongs to Richard’s one-time close friend and fellow town founder, Joseph Tanning.”

  “One-time?”

  “Quite a history there. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “My wife is at the park for a while so I’d love to hear anything about the families. What stopped their friendship?”

  The priest glanced up at the sun and moved them both to a shadier spot. “Doctor says I have to reduce my time outside. Had some of those pesky skin growths removed.”

  “Not good.”

  “No. I rather love the sun, but there it is. Where was I?”

  “The story of Richard and Joseph.”

  “Ah yes. Richard had several children in his middle years with his first wife before she sadly succumbed to a snake bite one summer. With youngsters to raise and his position in town requiring his full attention, he took a young woman on as a nanny. Before long, he’d married her.”

  “Giving his children stability again.”

  “Or so he thought.” Father McIntyre said. “Joseph Tanning, who was almost the age of Richard, was also a widower and took a liking to the young lady.”

  Oh dear. John had a feeling he was about to be given shocking information.

  “He enticed the new wife away from his friend and moved her into his…dwellings. Outrageous in any era but a terrible scandal back then. It was reported Richard flew into a rage, perhaps rightly so, and demanded her return. At gun point. A dreadful fight ensued and both men were mortally wounded. The wife disappeared, never to return. Within days, the Brooker children had no parents and the Tannings lost their patriarch.”

  A light breeze carried music from the direction of the park.

  “Is your wife the visiting celebrant?”

  “She is.” John smiled. “At the moment she’s helping the Tanning family with their recent loss.”

  “Difficult times. But a Tanning will never be anything to a Brooker than a thief. Sad, really.” The priest gazed at John. “Are you interested in the graveyard for genealogy, or to help your wife find the killer?”

  His surprise must have shown on his face for Father McIntyre burst into laughter and slapped John on the shoulder.

  “You must remember who my great nephew is. He thinks highly of your Daphne.”

  And the young constable shouldn’t be sharing confidential information, even with a priest. But John just smiled. “She was deep
ly shaken by the events at the wedding and wants to be certain the murderer is brought to justice. And she also knows the police have the investigation in hand, so would never intrude.”

  “Their resources are stretched. Always are when it comes to those families.” Father McIntyre sighed heavily. “It has been a pleasure chatting but I have to close up the church and make my way to the back room at Bell’s Bistro. Tuesday is bingo night and the older set—as well as some younger ones—will take me to task if I don’t have everything ready.”

  He began to walk away then turned. “You and Daphne are most welcome to join us. If you care for a spot of bingo, of course.”

  “I’ll ask Daphne. You’ve been most helpful, Father.”

  John got his phone out and spent a few minutes taking photos and writing notes. The details of these events were too important to forget. Events which just might still impact on the present.

  One Less Suspect

  As Daphne and John drove away from the park, she dabbed her eyes. She’d only done a few ceremonies such as this one and the experience had proved more emotional for her than any of the funerals she’d officiated.

  “The Tannings weren’t like I expected, love.”

  “How so, Daph?”

  “Despite their grief, every one of them thanked me for making Steve’s last day a happy one. And for trying to help him at the end. As tough and blustery as Marlene came across at the police station, she is simply someone at the end of their tether and something of a spokesperson for the entire clan.”

  They passed the church, where a priest was locking the front doors.

  “Father McIntyre.” John said. “And before you ask, he is Matty’s great uncle.”

  Of course John would have come to the graveyard. He did enjoy the history of these old towns and made friends so easily it was no wonder he’d chatted to the priest.

  “Did you find anything interesting?” Daphne asked, putting her handkerchief away as her emotions settled. Being back with her darling husband made everything right again.