Alfie sat in Windermere Cottage’s brightly tiled kitchen, elbows on the large wooden table, hands round a mug of coffee, and gazed out over the fields. There was something deeply soothing about the view, and the quiet.
In the far distance, a cow was lowing. In the past, the sound would have unnerved him, but now he actually liked it – his bovinophobia had disappeared, ever since seeing the miracle of a calf being born. A calf that had been named after him, which Betty said was appropriate given that it was skinny, had long legs and was “totally cute.”
That, of course, was before the disaster of the dinner party, when Betty’s view of him had changed radically. He had retreated to London, hurt, humiliated, and he might never have come back, had it not been for that frantic phone call from Marge.
But Oscar was right. This was where he should be. Here, in this peaceful – with a stifled exclamation, he tore his gaze away from the window. He wasn’t supposed to be sitting here admiring the view, he was supposed to be checking the wedding photographs. Emma had handed him the memory stick before she set off to examine the wedding video frame by frame.
He opened the laptop and set to work. Was it possible to take this many photographs in a single day? He recoiled slightly at an image of the bride and her bridesmaids showing substantial amounts of bare flesh as they helped one another into their dresses, followed by one of Heather in a can-can pose, fastening a blue garter round her thigh.
He didn’t need to see any of this. All he had to check was Bunburry parish church. Where every single guest seemed to have been snapped at the church’s picturesque wooden lychgate. There were the Saviles, Rosemary elegant in a turquoise silk suit and fascinator, David in a morning suit, top hat in his hand. This definitely wasn’t the everyone-muck-in wedding he imagined his parents had had. More men in morning suits, probably the mayors, the judge and the lord-lieutenant, women in vertiginous heels, with wide-brimmed hats that could double as flying saucers.
Some of the guests looked happy, some of them looked bored, and some of them looked pompous, but none of them looked like a would-be murderer.
He moved on to a picture of the groom and his best man. Greg was unsmiling, tense. Wedding nerves, or something more sinister? The five bridesmaids emerged from a wedding car in their pink dresses, Olivia clearly posing for the camera. Alfie had to admit she was photogenic even though he didn’t find her attractive. Heather seemed to have chosen her bridesmaids for their fragile femininity, and he could quite see that Emma would never have fitted in. She didn’t do fragile: she exuded competence. There had been a determined set to her mouth when she left to check the video. She was no longer upset by the attack on Liz’s business – instead, she was on a mission to unmask the perpetrator. Alfie could almost feel sorry for whoever it was. Almost.
He scrolled through the photographs. The bride and her father arriving, not in a horse and carriage, but in a Daimler. The bridesmaids arranging her train. Bride and groom exchanging vows. Bride and groom exchanging rings. Bride and groom kissing. Bride and groom being showered with confetti. There was no sign of the “sweet little marquee” Olivia had mentioned, nor of anyone acting suspiciously.
And there on the screen was the very image Olivia had mentioned. Heather sitting at the feet of an elderly man in a wheelchair, the train of her wedding dress draped artistically around her. The guests, groom and bridesmaids stood behind them, brightly coloured cocktails held aloft, as Heather balanced the salver of gold-enhanced pieces of fudge in one hand, and popped a piece of the confectionery into the old man’s mouth with the other. The camera had captured the very moment Morgan Sutcliffe was poisoned.
Alfie scanned the picture intently. Olivia and the other bridesmaids were busy looking photogenic. The guests had obviously been instructed to say “cheese” or possibly “cheers,” and were beaming at the touching scene between grandfather and new grand-daughter-in-law. Greg stood behind his bride. Did his smile look a little forced? Triumphant? Alfie couldn’t tell.
But he could see the resemblance between Greg and his grandfather. A slight curl of the mouth, a slight jut of the jaw that suggested they were used to getting what they wanted. Did Greg want his inheritance early?
He glanced at his watch – time to go to the hospital to meet Philip.