Her thoughts were interrupted by a thunderous and discordant blast of chords from the organ. Since Priscilla was the church organist, a replacement had to be found for the occasion. An elderly woman had been brought in from North Horsham to oblige, and it was obvious that her competence on the organ was only slighter better than Priscilla’s often agonizing performances.

Heads had turned toward the rear of the church in eager expectation. Wally, looking like a nervous, aging penguin in his black coattails, peeked over his shoulder for the first sight of his bride. His brother, whom Elizabeth had yet to meet, stood at his side. Neville Carbunkle was a fatter, shorter version of Wally, and he lacked the abundance of winter-white hair and beard sported by the retired sea captain.

Elizabeth was intrigued to notice that Neville seemed to be paying more attention than was appropriate to the gray-haired woman at the organ. Wally was fast approaching sixty and had mentioned that his brother was older by two years. Obviously the elder of the Carbunkle brothers was not going to be outdone by the romantic achievements of his younger sibling.

Turning her head, Elizabeth watched the procession move slowly down the long aisle, headed by an elegant middle-aged woman dressed in dark blue satin.

Earl leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Is that Priscilla’s sister?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered back. “That’s Daphne Winterhalter.”

“Doesn’t look at all like Priscilla.”

“Daphne’s quite a bit younger. Not yet forty, I believe.”

“And a heck of a lot more glamorous.”

Elizabeth inclined her head. “That’s her husband, Rodney. The tall, gray-haired man in the first row. He’s a well-known surgeon in Cambridge. Her daughter, Tess, is one of the bridesmaids. Priscilla’s friend, Fiona Farnsworth, is the other one.”