Wedding Rows by Kate Kingsbury Page A

then said cautiously, “I could run them up in the sidecar of my motorcycle, if you like.”
    Bessie’s face shone with relief. “Oh, would you? Thank you, m’m. I’d be ever so grateful, really I would. I still have to pack up the linens and the cutlery.”
    “Right. Let’s get this in . . . here. ” Elizabeth delivered the last word on a groan as they heaved the box into the tiny sidecar. “It only just fits,” she said, as she wiggled the box to make sure it was secure.
    “Thank you, m’m. I’ll get back inside and finish clearing up. Some of the ladies came to help me and I don’t want to leave them working on their own.”
    Elizabeth climbed aboard the motorcycle, kicked the engine to life, and tucked her pleated skirt securely under her knees. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, shouting over the roar of her engine. “I’d like a word with you before you leave.”
    Bessie nodded, waved her hand, and scurried back to the hall.
    Mindful of her precious cargo, Elizabeth rode cautiously up the hill to the High Street. Housewives loaded down with heavy shopping bags waved to her as she passed, and she nodded in response, too anxious to raise a hand from the handlebars. It was with a sigh of relief that she finally braked to a halt in front of Bessie’s Bake Shop.
    Two of Bessie’s assistants rushed out to help her unload the cumbersome box and wrestle it into the shop. The heavenly aroma of freshly baked bread and buns was almost irresistible, but anxious to talk to Bessie before she left the hall, Elizabeth reluctantly returned to her motorcycle.
    To her surprise, she saw George and his long-suffering partner Sid hovering around the vehicle when she emerged onto the street. The two constables were deep in conversation, which they broke off the minute Elizabeth arrived within earshot.
    They greeted her in unison, and just a little too hastily. She knew at once they had been talking about her. “Am I parked in the wrong place?” she asked, knowing perfectly well that unlike North Horsham, there were no restrictions in the High Street in Sitting Marsh.
    “No, no, your ladyship,” Sid hastened to assure her. “It was just that me and George—”
    “Were discussing the weather,” George interrupted loudly.
    Sid sent him a puzzled look. “No, we weren’t. You were saying as how—”
    “Don’t you have something urgent to do at the station?” George said, glowering at Sid.
    Sid raised his eyebrows. “It’s Sunday, ” he said, his voice rising in protest.
    “Ho, ho,” George said, sounding a little like a bored Father Christmas. “A policeman’s work is never done, isn’t that right, your ladyship?”
    “Quite,” Elizabeth murmured. She knew quite well it was only a matter of time before Sid blurted out what George was trying so hard to keep quiet. “I admire dedicated men such as you two. Always on duty. Makes one feel so terribly secure.”
    George eyed her warily, while Sid beamed. “That’s so nice of you to say, Lady Elizabeth. I was just saying to George, I was—”
    George loudly cleared his throat. “I’m sure her ladyship has better things to do this afternoon than stand around listening to your idle chatter, Sid.”
    “Not at all,” Elizabeth said brightly. “I’m always interested in what Sid has to say. He can be so terribly informative at times.”
    “Don’t I bloody know it,” George muttered.
    Sid preened. “I do me best, your ladyship.”
    Elizabeth smiled at him. “You certainly seemed concerned about something just now. I do hope I don’t have a flat tire.”
    Apparently oblivious of George’s fierce glare, Sid’s hearty laugh rang out. “Oh, no, m’m. Nothing like that. George was just saying he hoped the inspector got here and arrested the murderer before you got in the way again.”
    This time George’s frantic coughing failed to cover up Sid’s words. Elizabeth gave him a frosty look. “Why, George, I thought you always appreciated my