The Brides' Club Murder: the 3rd Jasmine Frame novel (Jasmine Frame detective)

by P R Ellis

  ‘I am sure Valerie ordered the same amount as usual for the number of guests,’ Petula replied and then glancing at Jasmine added, ‘except she may not have allowed for Sindy as she was a last-minute addition.’

  Jasmine was determined not to be blamed for Samantha’s lack of a drink. ‘I only had a couple of glasses,’ she stated.

  Samantha staggered towards them. ‘Well, I think it’s a poor show and it’s hours till the Ball starts.’

  Tammy stepped forward to support Samantha. ‘I know Sam. Why don’t we go back to our room? I might have something for you.’

  Samantha hauled herself upright and gave Tammy a big grin. ‘You’ve got your own private stash?’

  ‘One bottle, that’s all,’ Tammy replied.

  ‘You’re a darling.’ Samantha flung her arms around Tammy’s neck and placed a smacker of a kiss on her cheek. ‘Let’s go my beauty.’

  ‘Anyone else like to join us?’ Tammy asked, or perhaps it was more of an appeal.

  Flamboyancé had clambered to her feet and was dragging Robbie from his chair. ‘No, we’ve got things to do,’ she said grinning. Robbie gave in to her tugging and they headed out of the room.

  ‘I could do with a nice cup of tea,’ Gerald declared, ‘Shall we return to our room my love.’ Melody nodded and they too set off.

  ‘I’ll go and check on Emma,’ Donna said joining the exodus.

  ‘And I think we could do with a rest, too,’ Petula added pushing Sally in her wheel chair towards the exit.

  ‘That just leaves you,’ Tammy said to Jasmine, ‘Will you join us. Can you at least help me get Samantha upstairs, again?’

  Jasmine was disappointed that her opportunity to question the rest of the group had been curtailed, so was pleased at the invitation. She and Tammy positioned themselves on either side of Samantha and escorted her from the now empty room.

  They took the lift to the first floor but by the time they got there the other guests had already disappeared into their rooms. Half supporting Samantha, Tammy fumbled in her small handbag for the room keycard. She placed it against the lock of their room but nothing happened.

  ‘That’s strange. Why doesn’t it work?’ Tammy said.

  Jasmine stepped forward. ‘Let me have a go.’ She took the card and held it first with one side and then the other against the lock but the door refused to open.

  ‘Either there’s something wrong with the card or the lock or it’s the wrong one,’ Jasmine said. ‘Are you sure this is your keycard, Tammy?’

  ‘I only had the one,’ Tammy said but she looked in her bag again nevertheless. ‘Well, I’ll be jiggered.’ She drew out another keycard and held it to the door. The lock clunked and when Jasmine pressed on the handle the door opened.

  ‘This is obviously mine,’ Tammy said waving her card, ‘Where did that one come from?’

  ‘Hmm, I wonder,’ Jasmine said. She put it into her own bag making sure it wasn’t mixed up with her own room card. ‘I’ll return it to reception and see if they can explain it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Tammy said as Samantha started to slide to the floor. Tammy grabbed her and Jasmine leapt to her side to support her. ‘Just help me get her onto the bed.’

  They manoeuvred Samantha into the room and let her flow into a puddle on her bed. At that moment she seemed to revive a little.

  ‘Where’s that little drinkie you promised, Tammy darling?’

  ‘Okay, okay. If you’re sure you want more.’

  ‘Of course I want more. I’m determined not spend any of this weekend sober,’ Samantha said, her slurred words showing that she was fulfilling her objective.

  Tammy moved to the other side of the room where a suitcase lay on the floor against the wall. She opened it and withdrew a bottle of sparkling wine.

  ‘It’s not champagne, but I don’t suppose you’ll notice the difference, will you Sam.’ She stripped off the foil and wire and twisted the cork. It came out with a pleasing pop, as she belatedly made a grab for a tumbler on the bedside table. She poured the foaming wine into the glass and handed it to Samantha.

  ‘Will you have some Sindy?’ Tammy asked.

  ‘Just a drop,’ Jasmine replied. She wanted to remain as sober as possible but it was proving difficult to refuse when one of the purposes of the weekend seemed to be to drink as much alcohol as possible.

  Tammy collected another glass from next to the kettle and teapot on the dressing table. She poured the wine and handed the glass to Jasmine.

  ‘I think there’s another glass in the bathroom. Otherwise I’ll have to use a tea cup.’ She moved towards the en-suite. Jasmine noticed Samantha’s head bobbing and rescued the glass before it was spilled. She placed the glass on Samantha’s bedside table as the bride sank back onto the pillow and began to snore.

  Tammy emerged from the bathroom with a clear plastic tumbler half full of sparkling wine.

  ‘Oh, she’s gone already,’ she said noticing Samantha’s somnolent form.

  Jasmine chuckled, ‘I don’t think she needed the extra after all.’ She sipped her own wine. Despite what Tammy had thought, its sweetness told Jasmine it wasn’t a champagne.

  She put the glass down beside Samantha’s. ‘I’ll leave you to have some quiet time,’ she said.

  Tammy smiled. ‘That’s probably a good idea, although with her snoring away I’m not sure about the quiet.’

  Jasmine glanced at her watch. ‘There’s a while before the ball starts isn’t there?’

  Tammy looked at her wrist too. ‘Oh yes. We meet at seven for the pre-dinner drinks. We’ve got a few hours to sleep off the lunchtime binge and then repair our make-up for the evening.’

  ‘We keep our dresses on?’ Jasmine smoothed her hands down her dress.

  ‘Of course. The Belles are a feature of the ball. We’ll parade in showing off our wedding gowns.’

  ‘I’ll leave you, then. Thanks for the wine.’

  Jasmine walked out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her. She stood in the empty corridor listening. She was sure she could hear a bed creaking rhythmically from the room next door, Robbie’s and Flamboyancé’s. She smiled. It seemed that Flamboyancé was getting her wish. The rest of the wing was, however, peaceful.

  She took the few steps to the door of Valerie Vokins’ suite. There was still police tape stuck across the door frame but the door was closed. She took the keycard that Tammy had found, from her bag and held it to the door-lock. The click of the lock operating seemed loud enough to waken everyone in the Pang Wing. Jasmine glanced around but there was no movement. She put a hand on the door-handle and pushed. The door opened. She pulled it closed again, gently so as to make no noise and re-locked it.

  How had Vokins´ missing keycard got into Tammy’s bag? That was an interesting question. Surely if Tammy had taken it from Vokins’ room she wouldn’t have revealed it now, unless the alcohol had made her forget. But, Jasmine thought, Tammy was one member of the group who still seemed in control of her senses. Perhaps she had picked it out accidentally, or someone else had slipped it into her bag.

  Jasmine returned to her own room pondering.

  15

  Tom Shepherd drew his Mondeo to a halt behind the police car and switched off the ignition. The two uniformed police officers stepped out of their car as Tom opened his door and got out.

  ‘DS Shepherd?’ the driver, a tall, slim man, asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Tom replied, offering his hand to be shaken. It was gripped firmly but briefly. ‘Thanks for meeting me.’

  Tom noticed that the other officer was a young, female, police special who made no move to speak to him.

  ‘You want to look round this bungalow?’ the male officer asked. ‘I understand the owner is deceased.’

  ‘That’s right. It’s a Mr Vernon Vokins. He was at a function just outside Kintbridge for the weekend and was found dead yesterday evening,’ Tom explained.

  ‘Why do you need to look in the house?’ the officer asked.

&nbs
p; ‘The death is suspicious. It was made to look like a suicide. We have a brief window while the conference delegates are all at the hotel to find out who was responsible. I’m wondering if Vokins left some clues to his killer at his home. I have his key.’

  The PC shrugged, accepting that Tom’s request was reasonable for an officer from another force. ‘Okay. We’ll hang around outside and fend off any neighbours who show an interest.’

  Tom took the key from his jacket pocket and advanced up the path to the front door of the bungalow with the two police officers a few paces behind him. He noted the immaculately trimmed lawn and borders of the garden and the excellent state of repair of the home. He put the key in the lock and was pleased when the door opened easily. He stepped on to the doormat inside and listened. There was no beeping of an alarm about to go off which relieved him as no code had been found in Vokins’ possession to turn it off if there had been.

  Tom moved from the hall into the first room he came to which turned out to be a lounge/dining room with a door into a kitchen. The living room was comfortably furnished while seeming a little austere. Tom decided that was due to the dark wood of the shelves, suite and dining table and the lack of any pictures on the wallpapered walls. Nothing was out of place and there were no books or magazines left scattered around the furniture. He moved into the kitchen which had also been left in an immaculate state of cleanliness, with nothing on the work-surfaces at all. He returned through the lounge, crossed the hallway and stepped into the master bedroom. The bed was made and there were no clothes or other belongings that were not neatly laid in drawers or hung in the wardrobe. Tom was getting an impression of an obsessively tidy resident, which matched with reports of Vokins’ character.

  Back in the hallway, Tom tried the room next to the bedroom. That was the small but shining and sparkling bathroom. There was one more door in the hallway. Tom pushed it open and stepped into a room whose purpose initially seemed uncertain. There was no bed, but there was a large wardrobe on one wall, a dressing table and chest of drawers on another and a desk set against the window. The wardrobe doors were mirrored and there was another large, full length mirror on the wall opposite. The ceiling was peppered with small fitted lights, a dozen or more, which, Tom presumed, ensured that there would be no shadows cast. The floor was covered with thick-piled carpet in a neutral pale beige that matched the curtains and the plain walls. That was where the wall could be seen as most of the available space was covered by photographs in simple frames. All the photos were of brides and weddings. As Tom leaned to examine the photos carefully he was not surprised to see that the same person appeared in each one although she was in a variety of wedding dresses. Tom was pretty confident that it was Valerie Vokins.

  He slid one of the wardrobe doors open and was faced with a wall of white – wedding dresses in their clear plastic covers. There was no doubt that this was Vokins’ marriage boudoir. Tom wasn’t interested in the clothes. He knew what Vokins’ interest was. What he was looking for was some hint to the identity of Vokins’ murderer.

  He moved to the desk. Not surprisingly, it was bare but when Tom pulled on the central drawer a laptop computer was revealed. Tom opened the drawer to the right and found a small card file. It contained a slim set of cards. Tom drew the first card out and started to read. A smile spread across his face. This could be what he was after. He put the box back down on the desk and opened the other drawers in turn. There was a variety of stationery, writing implements and other office items, each placed in its proper place but nothing else drew his interest.

  Tom went to the rest of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers and the dressing table, finding various items of female dress, cosmetics and jewellery and items that he had learned from Jasmine were to be found in a transvestite’s boudoir – false breasts, wigs, pots and tubes of heavy foundation cream. None of it interested him. He returned to the desk, scooped up the laptop and the card file and returned to the entrance.

  The two officers were standing just inside the door, keeping out of the biting November wind.

  ‘You found something then,’ the full-time officer said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Tom replied, ‘I’ll give you a receipt for the computer and this card box. The cards look interesting and there may be something useful on the laptop. This isn’t a scene of crime but we may need to come back for a more thorough search. I think I’m done for now.’

  The officer nodded. ‘That’s fine. If the guy who lived here has been murdered then I expect our lot will be interested.’

  ‘Your boss will receive a full report from my boss. Now I’d better get back to Kintbridge. I hope our investigation is turning up things there.’

  16

  Jasmine let herself into her room and lay down on her bed, first making sure that her dress was lying flat and uncreased. She wondered why she felt exhausted. Surely spending a few hours trying to look as though she was enjoying herself shouldn’t have taken it out of her so, but it had. Perhaps it was concentrating on maintaining her cover while listening to all the conversation going on around her that had been the cause of her fatigue. She analysed what she had learned, which was precious little. There were still no clues to the identity of Vokins’ killer as far as she could tell. Perhaps more would be revealed during the Butterfly Ball. Oh god no, she thought, more hours of flouncing around in a wedding dress with all the other Belles, to say nothing of dozens of trannies in ball gowns. She closed her eyes hoping that a few minutes’ rest would fortify her for the evening.

  Her mobile burbled from inside the small bridal handbag. She sighed and reached over the side of the bed to grab the bag and dig the phone out. She saw it was Tom.

  ‘Hi, Tom,’ she said hoping her tiredness didn’t show in her voice.

  ‘Hi, Jas. Can we speak?’

  ‘Yes. I’m in my room, recovering.’

  ‘Recovering? From what? Oh, you mean the wedding ceremony.’

  ‘Weddings. We each went through a ritual binding us to the group.’

  ‘That’s sounds fun.’

  ‘It was weird.’

  Tom chuckled. ‘I take it you didn’t enjoy it much.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Oh, the reception after was okay, plenty of food and booze to keep everyone happy. Well, all except Samantha.’

  ‘What’s up with her?’

  ‘I think she’s trying to drink the hotel dry as a way of getting back at Vokins.’

  ‘Trying to cover her guilt?’

  Jasmine paused a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so. She hasn’t shown any sorrow at Vokins supposed suicide, more the opposite really, but unless she is a very clever actor she has been too drunk most of the time to avoid making any slips if there were any to make.’

  ‘So that’s one off the list.’

  ‘Perhaps. I could be wrong. Anyway. What are you calling for? Not just a chat I bet.’

  There was another chuckle down the line. ‘No Jas, although I do need to make sure you’re doing alright. I want to share a few things with you.’

  Jasmine sat up, suddenly alert. ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’ve been over to Basingstoke this afternoon, visiting Vokins’ home. I was met by a couple of officers from the Hampshire Constabulary but they let me dig around his place.’

  ‘You were able to get in?’

  ‘Yes, I had his key.’

  ‘Did you find anything useful?’

  She almost heard the grin on Tom’s face. ‘I think I did. Vokins has one of those special rooms for all his trannie gear – his wedding dresses, etcetera. It was where he kept all his records of the Wedding Belles’ events and members.’

  ‘Oh, that sounds interesting.’

  ‘It is. I have his laptop. Haven’t got into it yet but he also kept an old-fashioned card file on the members.’

  ‘Well, I suppose he was old and presumably hadn’t gone completely digital.’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s a bit of luck because the cards are a gold mine.’

  ‘Reall
y?’

  Tom’s voice became more excited. ‘Vokins kept a record on every member of the Belles. Not just names and addresses and all that but little facts he’d learned about them, rows they’d had, gossip, things he could use against them.’

  ‘That’s amazing,’ Jasmine could hardly believe that anyone could be so organised and vindictive. ‘What sort of stuff did he have on them?’

  ‘I’m still going through them, but he certainly thought that Preston. . .’

  ‘Donna.’

  ‘That’s right, was fiddling the books. He refers to duplicate accounts that he was keeping, presumably on the computer. And he records where Edwards, that’s Petula, exceeds her authority as his deputy, at least that’s how he sees it.’

  ‘You can understand why they all hated her, can’t you.’

  ‘Yes, but which of them hated him enough to kill him?’

  Jasmine sighed. ‘Hmm I don’t know, but I do have one bit of news.’

  ‘Oh?’ Now it was Tom’s turn to sound interested.

  ‘The keycard to Vokins’ room has turned up.’ Jasmine found she was excited at having something to report.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In Tammy’s hand bag. The one that accompanies her wedding outfit.’

  ‘Tammy. That’s Walsh, the black guy’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So, he’s chief suspect.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. She pulled it out and was surprised when it wouldn’t work on her own door. I think someone slipped it into her bag at some point before or during the ceremony and the reception.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Perhaps the killer’s getting nervous. We know he or she is an amateur. Perhaps they’re not confident of their suicide cover-up.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Tom paused. ‘I suppose it does mean we can cross another suspect off the list. That’s Nolan and Walsh you’ve eliminated.’

  ‘I think so.’ Jasmine wasn’t sure she was prepared to put all her weight behind that conviction even though it seemed a sensible conclusion.