Happy Sunday everyone! Today I’m taking part in the blog blitz for Helen Golden’s second Right Royal Cozy Investigation, For Richer, For Deader.
My thanks to Rachel Gilbey of Rachel’s Random Resources for inviting me to join the blog blitz and for the extract I’m sharing with you lovely people today.
Is the Wedding Between Sir Hewitt Willoughby-Franklin’s Step-Daughter and Billionaire’s Son Off?
Rumours are that the recent death of Kelley Lindsell (29), the personal chef of tycoon Rudy (68) and Sheri Trotman (65) at Sir Hewitt’s Fawstead Manor country estate in Fenshire, has spooked Sybil Bransgrove (36) so badly she’s considering cancelling her nuptials.
Meanwhile the bride and her mother, Lady Grace (61), are being supported by family friend Lady Beatrice (36), the Countess of Rossex, who, alongside her business partner Perry Juke, is currently managing the project to refurbish the Manor House and Lodge on the estate.
Not again! Now that Lady Grace has asked Lady Beatrice to liaise with the police during the investigation into Kelley’s death, she’ll have to cooperate with boorish Detective Chief Inspector Richard Fitzwilliam whether she likes it or not. Her only relief will be solving the murder with the help of her friends Perry and Simon and her dog Daisy to get rid of him faster. But with so many wedding party guests staying on-site, any one of them could be the killer. Can they find out who it is before Sybil calls off the wedding…
Setting The Scene
This is the third scene from the third chapter of For Richer, For Deader. In the previous scene Lady Beatrice, the Countess of Rossex, who is seventeenth in line to the British throne, had told Lady Grace Willoughby-Franklin that her and her business partner Perry Juke have found a threatening note next to the body of a dead animal in the sitting room of Fawstead Manor, the recently purchased country home of Lady Grace and her husband TV’s Sir Hewitt Willoughby-Franklin. Lady Beatrice and Perry are there working on the refurbishment of Fawstead Manor in preparation for the arrival of the wedding party for the marriage of Lady Grace’s daughter Sybil to Otis Trotman, the son and heir of the American billionaire Rudy Trotman. Lady Grace is not happy and storms off to find out what is going on…
“What are you doing, Mr Juke?”
Lady Beatrice entered the sitting room, hot on the heels of Lady Grace, just in time to see Perry jump up and stuff his phone into his pocket. He smiled at Lady Grace and walked towards her.
“Nothing, your ladyship. Just having a closer look at the note.”
“Let me see it.” Lady Grace moved around him and headed for the table.
“Please don’t touch anything, Lady Grace,” Lady Beatrice begged as she followed her. “It’s a crime scene, and it needs to be left exactly as we found it so the police can—”
“I’m not calling the police, Beatrice. The Americans are due here in three days, and I can’t have the police traipsing about the place, getting in the way and asking questions. We need this”—she swept her arms around the room—“finished today.”
“But it doesn’t work like that, Lady Grace. If a crime’s been committed, then we have to—” Lady Beatrice stopped talking and watched in horror as Lady Grace picked up the note.
Perry moved towards her. “Your ladyship, you really should…” Lady Grace turned and gave him a withering look. He halted.
“It’s my house, and I will decide what I should and shouldn’t do, Mr Juke.”
Perry bent his head and stared at his brown leather designer loafers.
Lady Beatrice stifled a moan. Well, this is going well. Was there anything they could do to make her understand that this could be serious?
“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s probably just someone having a little joke.” Lady Grace scrunched the piece of paper up and put it in her pocket. “I’ll get Mr Fitch to dispose of that.” She waved her hand towards the dead rat. “And we’ll say no more about it.”
Lady Beatrice suppressed a sigh. She knew her mother’s friend well enough to know that there wasn’t anything more she could do to make Lady Grace understand.
Looking up, Perry opened his mouth, but after a glance at Lady Beatrice, who subtly shook her head, he closed it again.
There was no point.
“Right, now we’ve settled that,” Lady Grace said, “shall we get on?”
They both nodded.
Who Is Helen Golden
Hello. I’m Helen Golden. I write British contemporary cozy whodunnits with a hint of humour. I live in small village in Lincolnshire in the UK with my husband, my step-daughter, her two cats, our two dogs, sometimes my step-son, and our tortoise.
I used to work in senior management, but after my recent job came to a natural end I had the opportunity to follow my dreams and start writing. It’s very early in my life as an author, but so far I’m loving it.
It’s crazy busy at our house, so when I’m writing I retreat to our caravan (an impulsive lockdown purchase) which is mostly parked on our drive. When I really need total peace and quiet, I take it to a lovely site about 15 minutes away and hide there until my family runs out of food or clean clothes.