A Groom With a View

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Authors: Jill Churchill

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BOOK: A Groom With a View
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Looking to earn some extra money because her car is always having problems, widowed mom Jane takes on a job as wedding consultant to Livvy Thatcher, a young businesswoman. Jane then enlists her best friend and neighbor, Shelley Nowack, to help her. The wedding is to be held at an old family hunting lodge that was once a monastery, and it proves to be a somewhat spooky venue for the nuptials. After Jane and Shelley arrive at the lodge, the eccentric cast of characters (and eventual murder suspects) begins to gather: a mysterious, laconic caretaker whom Livvy calls "Uncle Joe"; Mrs. Crossthwait, a cranky, elderly seamstress; three bridesmaids; a caterer; and a florist named Larkspur, not to mention Livvy's elderly aunts. Add the bride and her father, an arrogant captain of industry, and the groom, his mother and brother, and the stage is well set for shenanigans. Larkspur tells Jane the story of a hidden family treasure, and later it is Larkspur who discovers Mrs. Crossthwait dead at the foot of the stairs. Did she fall, or was she pushed? To find out, Jane enlists the aid of her lover, Chicago cop Mel Van Dyne, who comes along to help the local police.
Jill Churchill
A Groom With a View

 

Prologue
“
Do you know Livvy Thatcher?"
Jane
jeffry asked her best friend Shelley Nowack.
“Let me in out of the cold and I'll tell you," Shelley said.
Shelley had run over to Jane's house from her own, which was next door. She hadn't bothered to put on a coat for such a short jaunt and was already freezing. She stepped into Jane's warm kitchen and shivered dramatically. "I've lived in the Chicago area all my life," Shelley griped, "and every January I ask myself why a sane person would stay here
on purpose.
It's not a cruel accident of fate. I can laugh off fate. It's a deliberately stupid choice."
“I'm glad you feel that way," Jane said, "because I want to talk about April."
“You didn't invite me over to discuss taxes, did you?" Shelley asked, frowning.
“No! I'd never talk to you about anything to do with the I.R.S. It makes the veins in your forehead bulge, which isn't pretty. So, do you know Livvy Thatcher?"
“Not if I fell over her. Any relation to Margaret?”
Jane poured Shelley a big mug of hot coffee and led the way to the living room where piles of magazines and library books were stacked all over the floor. "Not so you'd notice."
“Good Lord, Jane, it looks like your bookshelves exploded! What
is
all this stuff? Wedding magazines? You didn't suddenly change your mind about marrying Mel, did you?"
“Nope, we agreed we're better off not even living together. This is to do with Livvy Thatcher. She was at the neighborhood Christmas cookie exchange I had here last month. Another neighbor dragged her along."
“Youngish? Tall? Bland-looking but awfully well made up?" Shelley asked, pulling up her mental inventory of the guests.
“Right. She called me yesterday. Asked if she could drop by and talk something over with me. I was afraid she was going to try to sell me something, to tell the truth, but I let her come over anyway. Chalk it up to January boredom."
“So what did she sell you?"
“Nothing. She said she'd been really impressed with my party. How well-planned and pleasant it was and how I managed to carry it off during a busy season without looking frazzled."
“She didn't say that. You're just bragging," Shelley said, flipping through a magazine andmaking a moue of distaste over a particularly ugly gown.
“She did, too. Word for word. Cross my heart. Then she told me that she's getting married in April and wants me to help her plan the wedding.”
Shelley glanced up. "You? Plan a wedding? What do you know about weddings?"
“I had one of my own once, you know. That's how I ended up with three kids."
“But you didn't even plan that one, I'll bet. The wedding, not the kids. Your mother did. Right?”
“Yes, but I was
there,"
Jane said.
“Jane, a wedding is a huge headache. Why would you help with one for a perfect stranger?"
“Money," Jane said. "And to see if I can."
“She's paying you?"
“Lots," Jane said, rubbing her hands together.
“You don't need money," Shelley persisted.
“I don't
desperately
need money, but it can't hurt. Another mysterious piece of machinery fell out of the bottom of my station wagon yesterday. I'm going to have to replace it soon.
“I really can't believe you're seriously considering it."
“I am. The week after New Year's kind of got to me," Jane admitted.
“How so?"
“After two weeks of being exhaustingly busy, I took down the decorations, the kids went back to school, and after sleeping it all off, I was so bored that I actually contemplated cleaning the basement."
“That's scary!" Shelley said.
“I've got one kid in college. Two of them will be home by four o'clock. But in another year and a half, only one will be home. And a couple years after that, none will be here every day."
“So marry Mel then," Shelley said. "Or work on that endless book you're writing."
“I hope you're just playing devil's advocate," Jane said.
“Hmmm. I guess I am," Shelley admitted. "I've given the same thing some serious thought from time to time lately. But planning a wedding! Ye gods, Jane. I wonder if you've ever really been around a bride."
“Oh, yes. A few relatives. And some of them got pretty nutsy. But this is different. Livvy's one of those overachieving yuppies. She pretty much runs her father's business and just wants a fabulous wedding — only because it's a social requirement — without the bother of making a lot of decisions and having her time taken up."
“You're sure she means that?"
“I am. She gave me the name of a caterer, a seamstress, and a florist she likes and said everything else is up to me. She'll supply the guest list, the china and silver patterns she likes, and will pick the day. There isn't even going to be a hassle over renting space because she's having the whole thing at some sort of hunting lodge that belongs to the family."
“A wedding at a hunting lodge?" Shelley yelped with laughter. "I love it. Bridesmaids influorescent orange. Gun racks for wedding gists. Do you suppose the groom will wear one of those checkered hats with the earflaps?”
Jane bridled. I think it's a very nice hunting lodge. Livvy told me it used to be a monastery.”
Shelley slapped both hands over her mouth to stifle a shriek of glee. "Oh, it's too good to be true!" she said when she finally got herself under control.
“So you agree it's a good idea?"
“It's a bizarre idea, Jane. A wedding in a monastery-turned-hunt-club. But too much fun to resist. I capitulate. I endorse this heartily. You go, girlfriend."
“And you'll help me, right?" Jane asked. Shelley instantly stopped laughing.
One
April
It
was
very
early in the
morning, but the station
wagon was loaded to the gunwales. Jane had
all her notebooks full of lists, and a suitcase full
of clothes for the couple days she'd be at "com-
mand central," a.k.a. the hunting lodge né
monastery. She double-checked her notebooks
while Shelley stumbled about sleepily putting
her few belongings in the car. It was only about
an hour and a half drive, but Jane didn't want to have to waste time coming home for anything she'd forgotten.
“I still don't quite understand why we have to go up there a couple days early," Shelley said with a fairly ladylike yawn.
“Because there's a lot to do on site," Jane answered.
“ 'On site.' My, that sounds professional," Shelley commented. "I have to admit you've beenpretty cool about this whole thing. I expected a lot more whining."
“I don't whine," Jane said. "Well, not as often as I might. It's just a matter of being really organized. I appreciate your coming along to help out at the end though."
“So what's the plan?" Shelley asked as they buckled their seat belts and Jane handed her a map. Shelley held it out in front of her at a significant distance. Jane considered opening a discussion about bifocals, but decided it wouldn't be politic when Shelley was being helpful.
“Today we just look everything over," Jane said. "I've got a rough sketch of the house plan, but I've never actually been there. I drove out there last week, but couldn't get the guy who lives there to come to the door. I should have called ahead."
“Somebody lives in this place?"
“A man Livvy calls 'Uncle Joe.' A family retainer who takes care of the building and grounds. For the time being, at least. The place is scheduled to be torn down this summer to put in a country club. Let's see — what else is happening today? The caterer is coming to look over the kitchens and move in his own cooking paraphernalia and the food, and the florist is also coming out today to figure out where to put all the arrangements. Then there's the seamstress." Jane waved good-bye to her mother-in-law, who was staying with the children while Jane was gone, and pulled out into the street.

 

“
The seamstress is coming early?"
“Well, that's the only problem I foresee," Ja admitted. "You see, the bridesmaids' dress aren't done yet. I've nagged and nagged and s] keeps assuring me they'll be finished, but I have my doubts. So I insisted that she bring her sewir machine up to the lodge to finish them so I ca stand right over her and keep on nagging,"
“And maybe have to finish the dresses you] self?" Shelley said. Then her eyes widened. "Of You think I'll finish them!"
“It had crossed my mind," Jane said, grinning
“You're awfully good at sewin than I am." sewing. Much better
“Jane, you know I don't sew! When have you ever seen me with a needle and thread in hand?"
“But you're so good at everything," Jane said with gooey sweetness.
Shelley snorted. "You don't have to bribe me with false flattery. I'm already what did the place look like? I'm a bit wary of lodges of any sort.”
That was understandable. The previous fall, Shelley and Jane had been part of a committee investigating a resort facility that had put in a bid to provide a camping experience for their local high school. The weekend had quite cluded a double murder and the two womenhad spent a number of harrowing hours in the main lodge of the resort.
“Nothing like the Titus place," Jane assured her. "It just looks like a monastery that was turned into a hunting lodge. Really big. Old. Sprawling every which way. Additions that look like they might peel off the main building any second. The Thatchers must be very fond of the place to want to have a wedding there."
“I thought you just said they were letting it be torn down.”
Jane nodded. "Fond enough, at least, to have one last big party there before making a killing on the country club deal.”
After an hour, they stopped at what they judged to be the last outpost of civilization that served breakfast and Shelley asked, "Has the seamstress finished the wedding dress?"
“Oh, yes. And it's beautiful. Mrs. Crossthwait is a very difficult woman, but her work is fantastic. It's just the bridesmaids who might have to wear pattern pieces and swatches. They all agreed to come today for their final fittings."
“What are their dresses like?"
“All different. I picked a cherry pink slubbed silk and let them each choose whatever kind of dress suited them."
“Jane! What a good idea. Bridesmaid dresses usually are to the taste of the bride, not the wearer, and hang around useless in closets the rest of their lives. I still have the revolting yellow pinafore thingie I had to wear in a cousin's wedding just because I can't stand to get rid of something I've only worn once. Can you picture me in a pinafore-style dress?”
Jane laughed at the image. "I understand these girls — there are three of them — are very different shapes and sizes. One is wearing a little slip dress with a matching shawl scarf. The plump one picked a boxy jacket and A-line skirt and the third is froufrou. Sort of 'plantation prom,' from the looks of the pattern. But at least they'll all have the same color and fabric. And the bride is carrying a bouquet of matching pink tulips."
“Jane, I hate to admit it, but I'm really impressed. You figured this all out yourself?"
“I'm not a complete cretin. And it's fun when somebody else is not only paying for it all, but paying me as well."
“What are these girls like?" Shelley asked.
“I've never met them. I just sent them samples of the fabric, told them to choose a style and go to the seamstress. It was a breeze… until I called each of them last week to see how their dresses had turned out and realized Mrs. Crossthwait was falling behind in her sewing. I think we're almost there. Check the map.”

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