Daphne had a peculiar feeling in her gut from the moment she arrived at the Brooker residence, and it wasnât from her hurried lunch.
She adores her new career as a travelling celebrant, visiting a different small town every week to marry happy couples or help with sad goodbyes.
But it isnât supposed to be both at the same time!
When a member of a bridal party ends up face down in a swimming pool, Daphne embraces her inner sleuth, believing this death was no accident.
Amid old family feuds, resentful relatives, and missing funds, there are plenty of suspects, and none of them appreciates Daphne snooping in their business. One wants her out of town, one wants her reputation destroyed, but with a heart of gold and a way with words, this celebrant sleuth is not giving up. Unless the killer finds her first...
Daphne had a peculiar feeling in her gut from the moment she arrived at the Brooker residence, and it wasnât from her hurried lunch.
She adores her new career as a travelling celebrant, visiting a different small town every week to marry happy couples or help with sad goodbyes.
But it isnât supposed to be both at the same time!
When a member of a bridal party ends up face down in a swimming pool, Daphne embraces her inner sleuth, believing this death was no accident.
Amid old family feuds, resentful relatives, and missing funds, there are plenty of suspects, and none of them appreciates Daphne snooping in their business. One wants her out of town, one wants her reputation destroyed, but with a heart of gold and a way with words, this celebrant sleuth is not giving up. Unless the killer finds her first...
The township of Little Bridges was pretty at any time of the year with century old oak trees lining the main street and shopfronts colourfully painted to give a sense of olde-worlde charm. On this spring afternoon people wandered about enjoying the warmth after a long, cold winter. In a small park, families shared fish and chips and locals stopped for a chat with each other. A peaceful, happy place.
Until a chilling screech filled the air.
Daphne Jones didnât have time to admire the scenery as she pursued a hooded figure across one of the âlittleâ bridges which was actually quite long, arching high above a slow moving, wide river.
âUhâŠah,â She puffed and panted, and as she ran, attempted to remove her jacket, giving up when the gold buttons which had looked so smart in the dress shop refused to budge. Legs pumping at the ground and much as she wanted to believe she was breaking a sprinting record, she suspected it was for slowest not fastest runner. It was far too hot to be doing this in business clothes and shoes with heels. Even low ones.
Reaching the highest point of the bridge, she saw the hooded figure dash onto the path along the river, glancing over their shoulder.
âStaap!â
Daph, you sound like a banshee.
If she didnât hurry up, sheâd lose any chance of catching the criminal. Why was nobody else around to help? John hadnât answered her rushed phone call. She flew past a group of women, squeaking a plea to call the police but all she heard in return was a comment about how tight her clothes were. Followed by laughter. Well, at this rate sheâd be as skinny as they were in minutes. She forced down the hurt feelings. No time for self-pity.
On the flatter surface of the path, Daphne sped up. Every step squeezed her toes and jarred her ankles but she wasnât letting them get away. Not away from her and most certainly not away with murder!
As the path wound under the trees, the shade brought immediate relief from the heat. But the further she went, the denser the undergrowth.
âNo, no, no!â She was going to lose the hooded figure.
Heart pounding, she rounded a curve and with a sickening thud ran straight into the person sheâd pursued, knocking them both to the ground.
Daphne got to her knees and then to her feet just before the other person, who pulled the hood back.
Daphneâs mouth dropped open. âYou.â
âMe. And now you know who I am.â
A few days earlierâŠ
âI have the great pleasure of announcing our newlywedsâMr and Mrs Tanning! Please put your hands together to congratulate them.â Daphne Jones frowned and crossed out the line sheâd quoted in a notebook on her lap. âNeeds more oomph. Not quite right, is it, love?â
When she got no response, Daphne glanced at her husband, John, who was driving. His focused expression was familiar as the car slowed. New town ahead. He needed to concentrate.
Daphne was terrible with navigation so didnât offer to find the road to the caravan park. Instead, she closed the notebook and put that and her pen into a large floral patterned handbag on the floor near her feet. Sheâd fix up the speech in no time once sheâd met with the bride and groom this afternoon.
John checked the side mirrors and flicked on the indicator as they approached a large sign pointing down a side street with the words âLittle Bridges Caravan and Camping Groundâ.
A tingle of excitement fluttered in Daphneâs stomach and she couldnât help smiling as the car, towing their caravan, turned the corner. This was a dream come true. Travelling with their own caravan. Her new career helping people celebrate the happiest and saddest times in their lives. And watching John relax as he unwound from a lifetime of running a busy real estate agency.
John drove through a wide entry and soon was pulling the car over to one side of a long driveway. He turned off the motor and grinned.
âMade it, doll!â
âOf course we did! Another wonderful place to discover.â
âIâll pop into the office over there and find out where our site is.â
Daphne gazed around after he left. It was a quiet time of the year for tourists, in between school holidays, which made booking their sites easier than during busy season. With her new line of work, she had a well-planned itinerary right through to next autumn, and even managed to factor in a couple of breaks when theyâd go home to Riverâs End for a week or two.
Once John returned with hand drawn directions, they followed a dirt road past the office until they reached an open area not far from a long row of trees. He deftly backed the caravan into the allotted space.
Out of the car, Daphne stretched and breathed deeply of the country air. âIs that the river?â She didnât wait for an answer. John was already unshackling the car and would be busy for a while setting things up the way he liked, so she headed in the direction where sheâd caught a glimpse of water.
There were no other sites between theirs and a buffer of gum trees. Beyond the gums, a row of willows dipped their branches into a wide, slow moving river. The town peeked through trees and bushes on the other side and Daphne couldnât wait to explore. She hurried back to John.
âDo you think we should drive to town? Or walk?â
John had backed their large sedan next to the caravan and was working on connecting the power. âBit busy at the moment.â
âYes, but when weâve settled in. It looks so pretty!â
He got the plug in at last and finally gave his attention to Daphne. âYou are so pretty, doll. Look at you. All excited about being here.â He kissed her forehead. âLetâs sort Bluebell out and then weâll go for a drive.â
From the first moment Daphne set eyes on their caravan, Bluebell was its name. It might be older in style and not as flashy as some of the new ones they came across, but every inch of Bluebell had been lovingly restored and improved. The interior was as modern as one would wish for with every convenience that could be fitted into the small space. But it was the outside, with its vibrant blue colour and touches of white in contrast which drew attention wherever they went.
âSortingâ Bluebell out took an hour. John was particular about his routine after settling at a new ground. Inspect the exterior including the tyres for any sign of wear or damage. Ensure the caravan was secure and properly plugged to power and water. Unravel the matching awning so they had an outdoor area ready to use.
Meanwhile, Daphne checked inside for anything which might have come loose. From a drawer she took out a handful of special things she always put away when driving. One of these was a snow globe and she turned it upside down then placed it onto the windowsill in the kitchen. The globe was a gift from their dear friends, Christie and Martin, and depicted their own little town of Riverâs End.
 She made up a shopping list. Theyâd used up the remainder of their food before leaving the last town and she needed to find a supermarket.
âCanât have John hungry after such a big drive.â She added the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies as an afterthought. Nothing like them to go with a cuppa.
âReady, love?â
Daphne ran a loving hand over the door as she closed and locked it after climbing out. âWeâll be right back.â
Little Bridges was a delightful town. Daphne longed to take a leisurely stroll around the shops but John reminded her she had an appointment. Sheâd come back tomorrow, after the wedding. They located a supermarket and as they wandered, John added a few items to the list. Daphne made sure he didnât notice her put the packet of biscuits back on the shelf. He loved her homemade ones much more and sheâd bake them after meeting with the happy couple-to-be.
âIâll unpack, love.â Daphne piled bags onto the small counter in the caravan. âThen Iâll make us a quick sandwich before getting changed.â
âNo, you get changed and Iâll do this.â John opened the first bag. âI thought I might cook outside tonight on the grill. Maybe take a picnic blanket down near the river to eat.â
âYou are so romantic.â Daphne kissed his cheek. âI might be a bit distracted though, depending on this meeting.â She squeezed past him to go to the bedroom. âYou know I do like to practice a bit before the ceremony.â
âYou can practice all you want. Have you seen the chocolate biscuits?â
Heâd noticed. Of course he would.
âAll that processed stuff isnât good for you, John Jones. And not nearly as nice as the ones I make.â She peeked back to the kitchen. He was holding up the packet of chocolate chips in one hand and flour in the other with something which surely wasnât a grimace on his face. He must be imagining how delicious they were. âKeep those out, love. Iâll make a batch once Iâm back.â
âUm, no need, Daph. You have enough to do today.â
How sweet of him. âI always have time for you. You and homemade cookies.â
As Daphne and John Jones make their way to a wedding that Daphne is going to officiate, she reflects on how much she loves her new job as an officiant for weddings and funerals, Her website has filled her calendar with future nuptials and new places to see as she and John travel in Bluebell, their caravan (a camper to us in the States). Daphne muses that weddings bring out the best and the worst of people.
Unfortunately, this wedding also brings a murder. Keen to find out what happened, Daphne begins to investigate on her own. She has observed the feud between the bride and groomâs families. Apparently, it has gone back several generations and doesnât seem it will be forgotten anytime soon. How many people will end up dead before Daph (as she likes to be called) can climb back safely into Bluebell and drive off, leaving the feud and deaths behind her? Will she be on the killerâs list as well?
Till Daph Do Us Part is set in Australia. Author Phillipa Nefri Clark strives to give readers a true Aussie/British English experience. In my estimation she has done a smashingly good job of bringing readers into the caravan with Daphne and John Jones.
Like all cozy mysteries, Till Daph Do Us Part has an amateur gumshoe on the case. Dogging suspects and digging in the past, Daph wiggles her way into the investigation. The local police are kind and allow her to give them her thoughts and suggestions but warn her to stay away from potentially fatal situations. Of course, she carries on.
This is the first book in the Daphne Jones Mystery Series. The setting and characters are fun and interesting. It is brilliant that Ms. Clark has them traveling in the caravan so the murders take place in different towns and settings, allowing readers to come along on the adventure. This is the first book I have read by this author. She has written several other mysteries, suspense and romance novels. I am anxious to check them out as well.
If you like Murder She Wrote, you will love Till Daph Do Us Part. It is a fun cozy mystery, plotted perfectly and always interesting to have the main character born in my generation, proving retirees can do crazy things including solve murders. I canât wait to check out her other books, including the next two books in this series.
DISCLOSURE OF MATERIAL CONNECTION: I have a material connection because I received a review copy for free from Reedsy Discovery in exchange for a fair and honest review. Copyright © 2021 Laura Hartman