Foul Play

Rex kneeled down beside Polly while Carter held her head in his lap and tried to put the glass of water to her lips, but she started retching and convulsing uncontrollably.

“Ambulance!” the solicitor cried, and asked everyone to stand back and give Polly some room.

“What can I do to help?” the vicar warbled.

“I’ll take care of her.” Victoria Newcombe crouched on the Berber carpet with a handful of white linen napkins and took Carter’s place. She mopped her daughter’s brow and mouth, unable to control the yellowish-green emissions oozing from the girl’s lips. “Get everybody out of here,” she shrieked. “Polly! Polly!”

Rex cleared the room and suggested to the bartender that the coffee and tea service be moved into the great hall. He opened the bay window to let in some air, since the stench of vomit proved nauseating. The vicar, succumbing to convulsions in turn, flopped into an armchair. Rex rushed to his aid and loosened his clerical collar. “Can I take you outside for some air, Reverend?”

“Just need w-water … oh, let me be, dear boy,” he said hoarsely, feebly pushing Rex away and covering his mouth with a handkerchief.

Rex glanced over to where Polly lay writhing on the floor. “Let’s get her to a sofa,” he suggested to her mother, who sat sideways and crumpled beside her, leaning forward on her hands.

Victoria looked up and he was appalled to see that she too had turned green. “Food poisoning,” she said between gasps. “Prawns.”

Helen and Diana Litton stood in the doorway, holding the guests at bay.

“Did someone call an ambulance?” Rex asked.

“Dudley,” Helen told him. “The nearest emergency room is at Derby City Hospital. Mr. Carter went up the tower to look out for the ambulance. Timmy has been taken ill too. His mother is with him upstairs.”

Polly moaned deliriously from the center of the room, Victoria Newcombe now prostrate on the floor beside her. Rex felt the vicar’s faint pulse.

“I think he’s unconscious.”

“I’ll help clean up,” Diana Litton said. “I’m no stranger to vomit and all the rest of it. I nursed my late mother through years of incontinence. Meredith says she’ll assist. She works as a nurse’s aide.”

“Anything to make them more comfortable,” Rex acquiesced. “Though I’m at a loss what to do. I don’t suppose there’s a doctor in the house?” he asked without any real hope.

“We already asked if anyone had any sort of medical experience,” Helen told him. “Only Meredith.”

“Meredith seems like a capable, level-headed girl. Send her in.”

“I’ve brought towels and disinfectant,” the girl said.

“Good. Mrs. Litton will help you. Any ideas what caused this?”

Meredith’s gaze swept over the victims. “My guess is bacteria in the food.” She considered for a moment. “E. coli and salmonella would cause these types of symptoms, but not usually so quickly. I don’t really know for sure, though. Sorry.”

As Meredith and Diana ministered to the sick, Rex looked around the otherwise deserted room. The half-eaten cake with the two bride and groom figures lying side by side on the top tier presented a pitiful sight. What a tragic end to a wedding, he lamented. And everything had happened so fast.

As he left the room, he ran into Bobby Carter.

“Someone said Victoria has come down with food poisoning,” the family solicitor said.

“So did Reverend Snood.”

“I’ll make sure Victoria sues Pembleton Caterers out of business. They assured us everything would be fresh and of the highest quality. They certainly charged enough. And now this.” Carter looked into the room and took out his handkerchief, which he held up to his nose.

“Perhaps you can be of some comfort to Mrs. Newcombe and her daughter. I’ll go and have a word with the caterers.”

Carter raised his fist. “I’ll have more than a word with those two incompetent crooks.”

“Let me,” Rex coaxed. “You’ll be of more use here.”

He went in search of the caterers and found them in the kitchen in the opposite wing. This room served as their base of operations, attested to by a couple of stainless steel mobile ovens, boxes of cutlery, and reserve piles of white plates. The two middle-aged women sat stiffly with the young waitress at a pine table laden with clean serving dishes, including a fruit bowl with a decorative border of cherries and pears.

“Any news?” asked the wiry-haired caterer who had wheeled in the cake. The other sat in stunned silence, staring into space and chewing on her pinky nail.

“Not good, I’m afraid. Four people are ill, including Timmy. We’re waiting for the ambulance.”

“I don’t know what happened,” the first woman said, helplessly lifting her hands and letting them fall back in her lap. “We’ve been going through the menu and can only think that the seafood might have been off. But I picked it up myself this morning from the fishmonger we always use. It was packed in ice on the way here and put straight into the refrigerator.”

“The prawns smelt perfectly fresh,” agreed the other caterer, whose smooth gray hair was worn in a short ponytail tied back with a black velvet ribbon. “And so did the shrimp. We inspect every item before purchase. The lettuce was thoroughly washed, and … well, we’ll be ruined, that’s all there is to it.”

“How long have you had the business?” Rex asked.

“Five years,” her partner replied. “We’re sisters. Stella and Lydia Pembleton. Rachel here is Lydia’s daughter. She helps out at weekends.”

“Well, let’s not jump to any hasty conclusions. I just came to see if you might have thought of anything that could help explain the onset of symptoms.”

“What could it be but an unfortunate case of food poisoning?” Stella Pembleton asked. “Wait. You think it was deliberate poisoning? I can only hope,” she said with a grim smile. “Foul play would exonerate us.”

“Even in the unlikely event it was deliberate, Pembleton Caterers would be finished,” her sister Lydia countered. “No one would hire us for another event.”

Rachel ran fingers through chin-length, crimped black hair, held to one side by a tortoiseshell clasp. “Imagine something like this happening on your wedding day! Poor them. What a catastrophe.”

“Do you know Polly?” Rex asked the girl, who was about the same age as the bride.

“No, I just came in today to help serve and clear up.”

“How did you get the catering assignment for the wedding?” he asked Stella, who appeared to be the one in charge.

“We advertise online and through leaflets we distribute to bridal shops. We prepare everything fresh and serve it on our own crockery. We provide the glasses too. We’re a one-stop service and offer flowers and entertainment, and even the invitations, through Patel’s Print & Post in Derby.”

Rex heard a siren outside, followed by a commotion in the hall. He glanced at his watch. A good twenty minutes had passed since Polly’s collapse. “No doubt we’ll find out more shortly,” he said. With that, he left the morose trio in the kitchen and joined the bulk of the guests by the front door.

Two green-clad paramedics entered the hall with a stretcher and, directed by the solicitor, disappeared into the living room.

“Has anyone else been taken ill?” he asked Roger Litton, whose red polka-dot bow tie added to the surreal montage of the proceedings.

“Not so far. Diana told me the vicar hasn’t come round yet. I teach Home Ec, you know. Food left out on a buffet table is prone to contamination. I’m thinking the lad who was carving the roast beef might not have kept his hands scrupulously clean.”

“He was wearing white gloves.”

“Was he? I never noticed that. In that case, it was most likely the curried prawns.”

“That does seem to be the consensus,” Rex told him.

“Rex!” Helen grabbed his arm. “Where were you?”

“Talking to the caterers. This outbreak isn’t good news for them.” Especially if anyone died.

Rex fervently prayed that would not be the case. He’d had the feeling since looking out Helen’s window that morning something might go wrong on the young couple’s wedding day. How wrong, he had yet to determine.