A Groom With a View jj-11

by Jill Churchill

  A Groom With a View

  ( Jane Jeffry - 11 )

  Jill Churchill

  Looking to earn some extra money because her car is always having problems, widowed mom Jane takes on a job as wedding consultant to Livvy Thatcher, a young businesswoman. Jane then enlists her best friend and neighbor, Shelley Nowack, to help her. The wedding is to be held at an old family hunting lodge that was once a monastery, and it proves to be a somewhat spooky venue for the nuptials. After Jane and Shelley arrive at the lodge, the eccentric cast of characters (and eventual murder suspects) begins to gather: a mysterious, laconic caretaker whom Livvy calls "Uncle Joe"; Mrs. Crossthwait, a cranky, elderly seamstress; three bridesmaids; a caterer; and a florist named Larkspur, not to mention Livvy's elderly aunts. Add the bride and her father, an arrogant captain of industry, and the groom, his mother and brother, and the stage is well set for shenanigans. Larkspur tells Jane the story of a hidden family treasure, and later it is Larkspur who discovers Mrs. Crossthwait dead at the foot of the stairs. Did she fall, or was she pushed? To find out, Jane enlists the aid of her lover, Chicago cop Mel Van Dyne, who comes along to help the local police.

  Jill Churchill

  A Groom With a View

  Prologue

  “Do you know Livvy Thatcher?" Jane jeffry asked her best friend Shelley Nowack.

  “Let me in out of the cold and I'll tell you," Shelley said.

  Shelley had run over to Jane's house from her own, which was next door. She hadn't bothered to put on a coat for such a short jaunt and was already freezing. She stepped into Jane's warm kitchen and shivered dramatically. "I've lived in the Chicago area all my life," Shelley griped, "and every January I ask myself why a sane person would stay here on purpose. It's not a cruel accident of fate. I can laugh off fate. It's a deliberately stupid choice."

  “I'm glad you feel that way," Jane said, "because I want to talk about April."

  “You didn't invite me over to discuss taxes, did you?" Shelley asked, frowning.

  “No! I'd never talk to you about anything to do with the I.R.S. It makes the veins in your forehead bulge, which isn't pretty. So, do you know Livvy Thatcher?"

  “Not if I fell over her. Any relation to Margaret?”

  Jane poured Shelley a big mug of hot coffee and led the way to the living room where piles of magazines and library books were stacked all over the floor. "Not so you'd notice."

  “Good Lord, Jane, it looks like your bookshelves exploded! What is all this stuff? Wedding magazines? You didn't suddenly change your mind about marrying Mel, did you?"

  “Nope, we agreed we're better off not even living together. This is to do with Livvy Thatcher. She was at the neighborhood Christmas cookie exchange I had here last month. Another neighbor dragged her along."

  “Youngish? Tall? Bland-looking but awfully well made up?" Shelley asked, pulling up her mental inventory of the guests.

  “Right. She called me yesterday. Asked if she could drop by and talk something over with me. I was afraid she was going to try to sell me something, to tell the truth, but I let her come over anyway. Chalk it up to January boredom."

  “So what did she sell you?"

  “Nothing. She said she'd been really impressed with my party. How well-planned and pleasant it was and how I managed to carry it off during a busy season without looking frazzled."

  “She didn't say that. You're just bragging," Shelley said, flipping through a magazine andmaking a moue of distaste over a particularly ugly gown.

  “She did, too. Word for word. Cross my heart. Then she told me that she's getting married in April and wants me to help her plan the wedding.”

  Shelley glanced up. "You? Plan a wedding? What do you know about weddings?"

  “I had one of my own once, you know. That's how I ended up with three kids."

  “But you didn't even plan that one, I'll bet. The wedding, not the kids. Your mother did. Right?”

  “Yes, but I was there," Jane said.

  “Jane, a wedding is a huge headache. Why would you help with one for a perfect stranger?"

  “Money," Jane said. "And to see if I can."

  “She's paying you?"

  “Lots," Jane said, rubbing her hands together.

  “You don't need money," Shelley persisted.

  “I don't desperately need money, but it can't hurt. Another mysterious piece of machinery fell out of the bottom of my station wagon yesterday. I'm going to have to replace it soon.

  “I really can't believe you're seriously considering it."

  “I am. The week after New Year's kind of got to me," Jane admitted.

  “How so?"

  “After two weeks of being exhaustingly busy, I took down the decorations, the kids went back to school, and after sleeping it all off, I was so bored that I actually contemplated cleaning the basement."

  “That's scary!" Shelley said.

  “I've got one kid in college. Two of them will be home by four o'clock. But in another year and a half, only one will be home. And a couple years after that, none will be here every day."

  “So marry Mel then," Shelley said. "Or work on that endless book you're writing."

  “I hope you're just playing devil's advocate," Jane said.

  “Hmmm. I guess I am," Shelley admitted. "I've given the same thing some serious thought from time to time lately. But planning a wedding! Ye gods, Jane. I wonder if you've ever really been around a bride."

  “Oh, yes. A few relatives. And some of them got pretty nutsy. But this is different. Livvy's one of those overachieving yuppies. She pretty much runs her father's business and just wants a fabulous wedding — only because it's a social requirement — without the bother of making a lot of decisions and having her time taken up."

  “You're sure she means that?"

  “I am. She gave me the name of a caterer, a seamstress, and a florist she likes and said everything else is up to me. She'll supply the guest list, the china and silver patterns she likes, and will pick the day. There isn't even going to be a hassle over renting space because she's having the whole thing at some sort of hunting lodge that belongs to the family."

  “A wedding at a hunting lodge?" Shelley yelped with laughter. "I love it. Bridesmaids influorescent orange. Gun racks for wedding gists. Do you suppose the groom will wear one of those checkered hats with the earflaps?”

  Jane bridled. I think it's a very nice hunting lodge. Livvy told me it used to be a monastery.”

  Shelley slapped both hands over her mouth to stifle a shriek of glee. "Oh, it's too good to be true!" she said when she finally got herself under control.

  “So you agree it's a good idea?"

  “It's a bizarre idea, Jane. A wedding in a monastery-turned-hunt-club. But too much fun to resist. I capitulate. I endorse this heartily. You go, girlfriend."

  “And you'll help me, right?" Jane asked. Shelley instantly stopped laughing.

  One April It was very early in the morning, but the station

  wagon was loaded to the gunwales. Jane had

  all her notebooks full of lists, and a suitcase full

  of clothes for the couple days she'd be at "com‑

  mand central," a.k.a. the hunting lodge né

  monastery. She double-checked her notebooks

  while Shelley stumbled about sleepily putting

  her few belongings in the car. It was only about

  an hour and a half drive, but Jane didn't want to have to waste time coming home for anything she'd forgotten.

  “I still don't quite understand why we have to go up there a couple days early," Shelley said with a fairly ladylike yawn.

  “Because there's a lot to do on site," Jane answered.

 
“ 'On site.' My, that sounds professional," Shelley commented. "I have to admit you've beenpretty cool about this whole thing. I expected a lot more whining."

  “I don't whine," Jane said. "Well, not as often as I might. It's just a matter of being really organized. I appreciate your coming along to help out at the end though."

  “So what's the plan?" Shelley asked as they buckled their seat belts and Jane handed her a map. Shelley held it out in front of her at a significant distance. Jane considered opening a discussion about bifocals, but decided it wouldn't be politic when Shelley was being helpful.

  “Today we just look everything over," Jane said. "I've got a rough sketch of the house plan, but I've never actually been there. I drove out there last week, but couldn't get the guy who lives there to come to the door. I should have called ahead."

  “Somebody lives in this place?"

  “A man Livvy calls 'Uncle Joe.' A family retainer who takes care of the building and grounds. For the time being, at least. The place is scheduled to be torn down this summer to put in a country club. Let's see — what else is happening today? The caterer is coming to look over the kitchens and move in his own cooking paraphernalia and the food, and the florist is also coming out today to figure out where to put all the arrangements. Then there's the seamstress." Jane waved good-bye to her mother-in-law, who was staying with the children while Jane was gone, and pulled out into the street.

  “The seamstress is coming early?"

  “Well, that's the only problem I foresee," Ja admitted. "You see, the bridesmaids' dress aren't done yet. I've nagged and nagged and s] keeps assuring me they'll be finished, but I have my doubts. So I insisted that she bring her sewir machine up to the lodge to finish them so I ca stand right over her and keep on nagging,"

  “And maybe have to finish the dresses you] self?" Shelley said. Then her eyes widened. "Of You think I'll finish them!"

  “It had crossed my mind," Jane said, grinning

  “You're awfully good at sewin than I am." sewing. Much better

  “Jane, you know I don't sew! When have you ever seen me with a needle and thread in hand?"

  “But you're so good at everything," Jane said with gooey sweetness.

  Shelley snorted. "You don't have to bribe me with false flattery. I'm already what did the place look like? I'm a bit wary of lodges of any sort.”

  That was understandable. The previous fall, Shelley and Jane had been part of a committee investigating a resort facility that had put in a bid to provide a camping experience for their local high school. The weekend had quite cluded a double murder and the two womenhad spent a number of harrowing hours in the main lodge of the resort.

  “Nothing like the Titus place," Jane assured her. "It just looks like a monastery that was turned into a hunting lodge. Really big. Old. Sprawling every which way. Additions that look like they might peel off the main building any second. The Thatchers must be very fond of the place to want to have a wedding there."

  “I thought you just said they were letting it be torn down.”

  Jane nodded. "Fond enough, at least, to have one last big party there before making a killing on the country club deal.”

  After an hour, they stopped at what they judged to be the last outpost of civilization that served breakfast and Shelley asked, "Has the seamstress finished the wedding dress?"

  “Oh, yes. And it's beautiful. Mrs. Crossthwait is a very difficult woman, but her work is fantastic. It's just the bridesmaids who might have to wear pattern pieces and swatches. They all agreed to come today for their final fittings."

  “What are their dresses like?"

  “All different. I picked a cherry pink slubbed silk and let them each choose whatever kind of dress suited them."

  “Jane! What a good idea. Bridesmaid dresses usually are to the taste of the bride, not the wearer, and hang around useless in closets the rest of their lives. I still have the revolting yellow pinafore thingie I had to wear in a cousin's wedding just because I can't stand to get rid of something I've only worn once. Can you picture me in a pinafore-style dress?”

  Jane laughed at the image. "I understand these girls — there are three of them — are very different shapes and sizes. One is wearing a little slip dress with a matching shawl scarf. The plump one picked a boxy jacket and A-line skirt and the third is froufrou. Sort of 'plantation prom,' from the looks of the pattern. But at least they'll all have the same color and fabric. And the bride is carrying a bouquet of matching pink tulips."

  “Jane, I hate to admit it, but I'm really impressed. You figured this all out yourself?"

  “I'm not a complete cretin. And it's fun when somebody else is not only paying for it all, but paying me as well."

  “What are these girls like?" Shelley asked.

  “I've never met them. I just sent them samples of the fabric, told them to choose a style and go to the seamstress. It was a breeze… until I called each of them last week to see how their dresses had turned out and realized Mrs. Crossthwait was falling behind in her sewing. I think we're almost there. Check the map.”

  There was a split rail fence running along the right side of the road with heavy woods behind it. The turn into the drive was unmarked and almost invisible. The long drive twisted and turned through the woods and emerged at the erstwhile monastery. It was an old unadorned clapboard building, suiting the simplicity of the religious order by whom it had been originally constructed. It had a vaguely barn-like look due to the scarce and small windows on the first floor, but the second floor, while obviously old as well,was clearly an addition. It had a steep roof with scattered dormers. There was a long wing to the left of the two-story section. It, too, looked like the ground floor was original and the upper story was an addition. The structure had a number of outbuildings and additions as well.

  “It's not where I'd pick to get married," Shelley said. "What would you call this style? Midwestern wooden Gothic?"

  “It looks vaguely Russian to me," Jane said. "All it's lacking is the onion dome.

  As she spoke, an old man came shuffling around the corner of the house, stopped abruptly, and eyed them with suspicion. Jane hopped out of the car and approached him. "You must be Joe," she said, feeling the honorific "Uncle" was inappropriate and having no idea what his surname might be.

  “That's right, missy," he growled. "And who might you be?"

  “I'm Jane Jeffry. The wedding planner. I wrote you that my friend and I would be here today.”

  He scratched his head. "Yeah, I reckon you did. I got everything ready for the big day. Had the plumbing looked over and took all the covers off the furniture like Livvy told me to.”

  Like many old men, he'd lost any sense of pattern he might have ever possessed. His trousers were a faded, but formerly colorful polyester checked pattern, his flannel shirt was brown plaid, and his jacket was a dark striped item that reminded Jane of old-fashioned prison garb. This was topped off by a thatch of wild white hair, a grizzly two-day growth of beard, and a fierce scowl.

  “Could you show us around?" Jane asked, be‑ fore introducing Shelley, who had joined them.

  He gave a curt nod. "This here's the house proper. Reckon that's all you need to see." He opened the heavy front door and shuffled inside, leaving them to follow. The door caught Shelley on the elbow on the back swing and she uttered a very rude remark. There was a dark entry hall with a lot of doors opening to heaven knew what rooms.

  Uncle Joe opened one and said, "Here's the main room where I reckon they'll have the wedding.”

  It was vast and dark. A huge chandelier that appeared to be made of antlers and fitted out with 25-watt light bulbs cast a faint glow. There were two fireplaces, one at each side of the room, and a good deal of substantial old furniture grouped around each. At the far end, there was an impressive staircase with a large landing at the top.

  “Good grief!" Shelley said quietly, goggling at the furniture. "Do you know what this stuff goes for in the antique market? A fortune!
"

  “Shelley, brace yourself," Jane whispered back. "Look at the walls.”

  Shelley glanced around, inhaling with a gasp. There was a virtual herd of mounted dead animal heads. Mostly deer, but a few elk, a matched set of moose heads, and one enormous buffalo taking pride of place above one of the fireplaces. She gaped for a moment, then said, "Well… you didsay it was a hunting lodge, but I never imagined…”

  Uncle Joe had disappeared into the gloom. They heard the faint sound of a door opening somewhere.

  Jane said, "I guess we're on our own to explore further. It looks fairly clean in here, don't you think?"

  “It's so dark it's impossible to tell. What are you doing about seating for the ceremony?”

  Jane peered toward the far end of the room. "That's a nice wide staircase down there, isn't it? Livvy can come down that way — it would really show off her dress and we can shove the furniture that's here back against the walls farther. I have a company bringing in and setting up very nice folding chairs the morning of the wedding."

  “Is this room, huge as it is, going to hold everybody?" Shelley asked.

  Jane sat down on a big leather sofa that enveloped her like a grandmother's hug, and said, "That's the odd thing, Shelley. There aren't that many guests. I only sent out seventy-five invitations and a great many of them were out-of-town-ers who sent gifts but aren't coming. Business associates, I assume. There are only about forty people coming — plus the staff that will be staying here. You, me, the seamstress, caterer, and florist. And the immediate family members, of course."

  “Don't forget Uncle Joe," Shelley said. "Doesn't it seem a bit odd to go to such trouble and expense for such a small wedding?"

  “It's what Livvy wanted," Jane said. "Who am I to argue with a bride?"

  “Where are the rest of the guests staying?"

  “There's a smallish motel quite close. I've reserved the whole place. And most of the family will stay here. Let's look at the bedrooms. If we can find them.”

  They groped their way through the big main room, and found a passageway opening off the left side. Along it were twelve tiny rooms on each side of a long hallway. "These must have been the monks' rooms," Shelley said, opening the closest door with considerable trepidation.