Murder of the Bride by C. S. Challinor Page A

Carter.
    â€œSomeone said Victoria has come down with food poisoning,” the family solicitor said.
    â€œSo did Reverend Snood.”
    â€œI’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.
    â€œPerhaps 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.”
    â€œLet 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.
    â€œAny 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.
    â€œNot good, I’m afraid. Four people are ill, including Timmy. We’re waiting for the ambulance.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œThe 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.”
    â€œHow long have you had the business?” Rex asked.
    â€œFive years,” her partner replied. “We’re sisters. Stella and Lydia Pembleton. Rachel here is Lydia’s daughter. She helps out at weekends.”
    â€œWell, 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.”
    â€œWhat 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.”
    â€œEven 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.”
    â€œDo you know Polly?” Rex asked the girl, who was about the same age as the bride.
    â€œNo, I just came in today to help serve and clear up.”
    â€œHow did you get the catering assignment for the wedding?” he asked Stella, who appeared to be the one in charge.
    â€œWe 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