I was related to many of the guests, albeit at an ultima Thule distance, but I recognized no one, so I got a plate of sandwiches and a glass of punch and ensconced myself by a wall to watch and listen.
“Did you hear that Bonnie’s son was expelled from school?”
“I thought that he was in jail.”
“No, that was his brother.”
“Scarlet is getting married,”
“Is she pregnant?”
“Not this time.”
“The Morgans have declared bankruptcy.”
“Isn’t there a market for fishworms anymore?”
My relatives are not noted for brotherly or sisterly love.
I took a bite of a chicken salad sandwich. Ugh! It tasted terrible. I downed a big swig of punch to kill the flavour of the sandwich. Yech! It was worse, as if someone had spiked it with a Trudeauian litre of motor oil. Was someone trying to sabotage the wedding and reception or had I simply investigated too many crimes? I wished Amanda were here because she is very good at spotting clever villains.
Leaning against the wall near me was a young man, also alone, perhaps a kindred spirit. He was pouring liquid from a flask into his punch glass. I held out my hand. “I’m Elmer Petty. I’m a distant relative of the bride.”
“I’m Les Luckman. I’m a … an old friend … of the bride.” We shook hands. His speech was slightly slurred, suggesting that his punch was considerably diluted. Well, it did taste awful.
People were congratulating the happy couple. Les showed no interest in the reception, so I went by myself.
“Best wishes, Alison. You won’t remember me. I’m Elmer Petty.”
“Of course. You’re the retired-teacher-turned-private-detective. You’re a family legend.” I wondered if John Dillinger’s relatives regarded him as a family legend. “This is my husband, Victor.”
He gave me a peculiar look. “A private detective?”
“Not a very good one,” I assured him.
Someone turned on the p.a. system and began to play music, not funeral music, fortunately, and a few people began to dance unenthusiastically, until the speakers began to emit ear-splitting shrieks.
“Oh, dear! Is someone trying to ruin our wedding?” cried Alison. It was beginning to look that way. I felt sorry for the young couple, but what could I do?
I rejoined Les whose flask was probably now empty. Some drinkers become disgusting drunks, but Les seemed to be a maudlin one.
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” he said.
“You sound as if you were in love with her.”
“Maybe I was – or still am. I was the one who foolishly introduced them. I thought we had something good going. I don’t know why she dropped me for him. We worked together, Vic and I.”
“What did you do?”
