Murder of the Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

the land, and he converted the carriage house into a garage. The wings were added in the 1980s by Mr. Newcombe’s parents, who passed away before he married Victoria.”
    â€œWhat happened to Mr. Newcombe?” Rex asked Meredith, recalling the conversation between Bobby Carter and Mrs. Newcombe.
    â€œNobody knows.”
    The four occupants of the Renault got out and made their way to the front steps of the fort. A date-stone embedded in the brickwork above the door was inscribed with 1855 and two Latin words: Quo Vadis , which Rex translated poetically as “Whither goest thou?” for the benefit of his companions. He explained that Latin had no interrogation point, the question being implied in the “quo.”
    â€œIs it a motto?” Meredith’s boyfriend asked.
    â€œI suppose it could be a philosophical one. Do you know where you’re going in life, Reggie?”
    â€œHaven’t a clue. What about you?”
    â€œIt’s taken me long enough to get where I am.”
    â€œWhere’s that then?”
    â€œQueen’s Counsel at the High Court of Justiciary in Edinburgh.”
    â€œSounds impressive,” Reggie said with a respectful nod. “So’s this place in a fakey sort of way.”
    Red carpet squelched underfoot as they mounted the steps. The woman at the door took Meredith’s coat and beret. Rex made sure to dry his shoes carefully on the mat before entering the great hall, which extended the breadth of the fort.
    A massive stone fireplace at either side created an illusion of warmth and welcome, mitigating the starkness of the brick walls that cried out for gleaming suits of armor and a pair of crossed halberds to complete the effect of a medieval castle. Instead, tapestries of pastoral scenes, looking suspiciously like replicas to Rex’s critical eye, adorned the four soaring walls, while floral rugs, on which gathered tight knots of people, covered the flagstone floor.
    The guests had not yet availed themselves of the groupings of faux antique sofas, as they waited for the rest of the invitees to arrive. Amber, the sourpuss maid of honor, chatted with Polly, but her eyes were fixed on Dudley Thorpe as on an irresistible pair of shoes she could never afford. Rex sensed drama afoot.
    In the back right-hand corner of the hall, a cylindrical tower built of curved blocks of stone signaled a spiral stairway. A centered archway led into its murky depths, gaping dark and sinister as a grotto and secretive as a shell. Rex fancifully imagined a dung-eon lurking beneath the flagstone floor, with rusty implements of torture attached to dank walls impregnated with ghostly cries.
    In the opposite corner, a DJ station stood empty, two mammoth speakers facing into the hall. A girl in a short black dress, black stockings, and white apron, offered guests flutes of champagne from a silver tray. Reggie and Meredith took theirs and eagerly went off to explore.
    â€œDon’t mind if I do,” Rex thanked the server, whisking a glass off the tray and clinking it with Helen’s. “No doubt there’ll be plenty of toasts later on, but, for now, Slàinte .” He downed half the contents. “That’s better,” he said. “Though a beer would have done just as well.”
    â€œThe bar and buffet are through here,” announced the woman who had opened the front door to them, making Rex wonder whether she had overheard his comment.
    He followed into an adjoining room. Spacious, yet with a low beamed ceiling, the reception area was decked out in silky chintz fabric and rococo furniture. A tri-panel Chinese lacquer screen, depicting stylized peacocks, stood in front of the far door to deter guests from venturing beyond that point. Pink and white floral arrangements graced the marble-top tables, while soft romantic hits played in the background. Against the French doors across the salon, a long table draped in white linen held the wedding