Murder With Mirth (Sylvia Shipman Murder Mysteries Book 7) by Blythe Baker

Author:Blythe Baker [Baker, Blythe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

9

“Are you planning to go in that?”

Joan’s scathing remark was what greeted Miles and me when we stepped in through the front door almost an hour later. She had been passing through the foyer, working to fasten a pearl earring to her right ear.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She glared at the both of us. “I realize the pair of you are all wrapped up in your own little romance, but some of us are still aware of what day it is.”

Miles’ eyes widened, and he looked over at me with a stark expression. “The funeral for Mr. Cunningham is this afternoon.”

“Today?” I asked. “I thought it was Saturday – ”

“It is Saturday,” Joan said, planting her fists on her hips. “And if you do not hurry, then we are going to be late.”

She ushered me upstairs without another word, and promptly informed me that I would be wearing one of her black dresses, which had a high collar and cuffs trimmed with white. The buttons all up the back were shining onyx, and she pinned my hair back from my face with silver clasps.

We managed to leave the house just before eleven, which pleased Mother. Father, however, gave me a look with an arched brow as we passed out the door.

“I’ve asked Miles to accompany us,” I told my parents. “As he and I are investigating together and we may observe something useful at the funeral, it will be helpful to have an extra set of eyes to watch for anything suspicious.”

No one raised any objection to the idea.

Miles had chosen one of his suits that he had brought back with him from London, perhaps even finer than the one my father wore.

“That is quite a suit,” Father remarked. “Where does a butler acquire such exquisite fabric?”

“I have a tailor that I am well acquainted with back in London,” Miles said. “He made this for me some years ago.”

Father’s head tilted as he brushed off Miles’ shoulder. “I shall have to ask you to share his information with me. My tailor has become rather sloppy as of late, and I could do with someone who still cherishes the art of a crisp suit.”

Miles smiled. “I would be more than happy to, sir.”

It might well have been the first time that the two men had looked at one another as equals, I thought, and it was just the beginning of many more interactions like it.

Miles drove us to the church where the funeral was to be held. It was a quiet drive there, as if the city itself had fallen under a hush of anticipation.

“Oh, how I despise funerals…” Mother said, glaring out the window. “I never quite know just how I should feel. Should I grieve openly? Or should I be happy that it is not I who has to suffer so acutely?”

“I suppose you can have sympathy for the family, Mother, while still being grateful for the goodness in your own life,” I said. “We need not feel just as they do.

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