A Nosey Parker Cozy Mystery. Fiona Leitch

doorway of the function room. The double doors had been thrown open and Cheryl stood there, smiling beatifically at the assembled guests. She was dressed to the nines in a fitted cocktail dress of deep scarlet silk, while her hair had been seriously coiffured and hair-sprayed to within an inch of its life. She was still rocking that 80s kind of vibe, but there was no denying that she did it well. My cheap chain-store dress and ugly shoes felt even more uncomfortable under her gaze and I could not wait to go home and put my pyjamas on.

      She paused for a moment longer, milking her dramatic entrance, then opened her mouth to speak.

      Her words were lost as she suddenly disappeared from view, bulldozed and tossed to one side by a screeching harpy in a khaki boiler suit.

      Chapter Two

      For a split second nobody moved; we were all wondering what the hell had just happened. And then came the sound of bitch-slapping from the foyer.

      I yanked off my stupid uncomfortable shoes and ran outside to see Cheryl lying on the ground, her hands thrust upwards and attempting to choke the madwoman sitting astride her – a madwoman who was still managing to wheeze threats at her.

      ‘Mel?’ Tony arrived seconds after me, and stood staring in astonishment.

      ‘Is that really Mel?’ I said, amazed. I hadn’t seen Tony’s ex-wife for years, and the last time I had she’d possessed a head of wonderful red curly hair. The harpy’s hair was bleached blonde and cut very short and spiky.

      ‘You can’t marry him!’ the harpy screeched. ‘You don’t love him! I won’t let you ruin his life!’

      ‘You already did that, you cow!’ snarled Cheryl, who was having trouble breathing under Mel’s not inconsiderable frame. I had to admit she had a point.

      This was entertaining but getting out of hand. No one else was going to stop it – they were all still too gobsmacked – so I waded in. I’ve had the training, after all.

      ‘All right, ladies, that’s enough,’ I said, as I tried to prise Cheryl’s fingers away from Mel’s throat. When that didn’t work – she had a strong grip for someone with such well-manicured hands – I chopped her hard on the inside of the elbow with the side of my hand, making her yelp and let go. Then I dragged Mel to her feet and positioned myself between the two women.

      I glared at Tony and the crowd (who were mostly male) gawping at us.

      ‘It’s all right, lads, don’t bloody help or anything, will you,’ I said, rolling my eyes. Tony shook himself and helped Cheryl to her feet.

      ‘She can’t marry him!’ cried Mel, straining to get to the furious and not-so-blushing bride-to-be again. I shook her and made her look at me.

      ‘Mel,’ I said. ‘Mel! Calm down. Do you remember me? Jodie?’

      She looked at me and slowly recognition dawned. ‘Aren’t you the one who went off and joined the police? What are you doing here?’ A look of relief washed over her. ‘Are you investigating them? Are you—’

      ‘Just calm down,’ I said. ‘I’m going to let go of you so we can talk properly, okay? I don’t want a repeat of whatever that was.’

      ‘I want the police here RIGHT NOW!’ shouted Cheryl. She was understandably shaken, but I couldn’t help feeling she was almost enjoying being the centre of attention, or help noticing that her lacquered hair had barely moved under the onslaught. She must’ve sprayed it with liquid Kevlar.

      Tony looked at me helplessly. I seem to have that effect on men; at some point in our relationship they always look at me helplessly. I sighed.

      ‘Let’s not be hasty, Cheryl,’ I said. She glared at me but I carried on before she could start shouting at me. I don’t normally take an instant dislike to people but I really could not warm to her. ‘It’s the night before your wedding, all your guests will be arriving tonight, and you’re meant to be having a party. Do you really want to spend the evening at the police station? It’ll take hours for them to take statements. Your whole night will be ruined.’

      Tony looked at me gratefully and I forgave him for being a helpless wuss. My kind heart will be the end of me one day.

      ‘Jodie’s right,’ he said. ‘Let’s just go and have a drink and forget about it, yeah? No harm done.’

      Cheryl looked for a moment like she was going to open her mouth and unleash such a stream of verbal abuse that it would make a navvy blush.

      ’‘Ello, ’ello, ’ello, what’s going on here then?’ The man’s voice stopped Cheryl in her tracks. We all turned to stare at the small group of guests who had just arrived in the foyer and were looking on, bemused, obviously wondering if they’d missed the evening’s entertainment.

      I took in the appearance of the man who had stolen what was, by rights for an ex-copper, my line. He was in his early sixties, dapper and well dressed in casual but expensive-looking clothes. A Ralph Lauren polo player gambolled discreetly on the breast pocket of his shirt and the chunky diver’s watch on his wrist did not look like a cheap knock-off from the local market. He radiated self-assurance and good humour, particularly if it was at someone else’s expense. Behind him stood another, younger man, good-looking in a cocky kind of way – the sort of bloke you knew deep down you couldn’t trust, but who could probably persuade you otherwise just long enough to get into your knickers. A sardonic smile, almost a sneer, crossed his face as he looked at Cheryl, who had gone uncharacteristically silent.

      ‘All right, Chel?’ His voice had a mocking, slightly belligerent tone to it. ‘My name weren’t on the invite but I’m sure you didn’t mean nothing by it.’

      ‘We did send you one,’ said Tony awkwardly. ‘The post round here…’

      The older man smiled – he was clearly very amused both by Tony’s obvious discomfort and by the tableau in front of him – and inclined his head towards Mel.

      ‘Is this the floorshow? I don’t think much of your strippergram.’

      Oh, so he was a dick. Good to know up front.

      ‘That’s really not helping, Mr…?’ I said, in my best police officer’s voice. These things never leave you.

      ‘Laity. Roger Laity.’ He held out his hand to shake, but my hands were still occupied with holding onto Mel. ‘Uncle of the blushing bride.’

      ‘Well, Mr Laity, if you and the rest of the group could make your way into the function room, rather than stand there making funny comments, that would go some way towards salvaging your niece’s party, don’t you think?’

      He looked at me appraisingly. I got the impression that he expected me to blush or falter under his gaze but then, he really didn’t know me. He turned away and patted Tony on the back condescendingly: you can stand down now, son, the real man of the family has arrived. Tony looked like he wanted to wash and possibly disinfect the spot his uncle-in-law-to-be had touched, and I felt a rush of sympathy for him. All he’d wanted was a nice wedding.

      ‘Come on, babe,’ said Tony, tugging at Cheryl.

      The bride-to-be bestowed a murderous glance on Mel, who deserved it, to be fair, and on me, who didn’t, and then allowed Tony to take her hand and lead her away. But she stopped and turned to me, hissing, ‘Get that … that thing out of my sight or I really will call the police!’

      We waited while Tony, Cheryl, and their guests left the foyer and then I led a now docile Mel out of the hotel and into the grounds. We found a bench in a secluded spot near a pond full of koi carp, and sat down.

      ‘So what was all that about?’ I asked. Mel looked remorseful.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, miserably. ‘I tried to talk