Free Birthdays Can Be Murder by Joyce Cato

now.’ She’d welcome a journey anywhere, in fact, that got her away from this madhouse.
    ‘You must be Mark,’ the blonde hurricane said, instantly zeroing in on the elder Greer. A wise choice, of course, for Mark Greer would always be polite to any lady. Of course, older men could also be very silly about pretty little blondes, as the blonde hurricane and, unfortunately, Mrs Sherri Greer, also knew. As a consequence, the irresistible force of Babs found herself facing the unmovable object of Justin’s mother, who stepped very neatly into her path.
    ‘I’m Sherri Greer. How do you do, Miss … er…?’
    ‘Walker, Barbara Walker. I’m sure Justin’s told you all about me?’
    ‘That name sounds familiar,’ Mark said thoughtfully.
    Again Alicia laughed, but since she still had her hand clasped to her mouth, it came out in a series of choked snickers. Once more her brother shot her a killing look, and Alicia nearly bent double. Evidently, there was a good joke going on, but nobody else besides the twins seemed to know the punchline.
    ‘Chase, take Miss Walker’s case up to the green room,’ Justin said, evidently in an attempt to regain the upper hand. ‘Then perhaps you could serve brandy in the lounge.’
    Chase, relieved to have orders to follow, gave a dignified nod. Jenny smartly made way for him on the stairs and, as the butler passed her, glanced down. For an instant the tableau froze.
    Sherri and Mark Greer were staring at the petite blonde, with varying expressions of dismay on their faces. Alicia was propped against the doorjamb to the dining room, evidently awash with mirth. The blonde in designer-everything was looking around the house with avid, hungry eyes, and Justin, in turn, stared at the interloper, a look of raw desire on his face mixed with a combination of exasperation, anger and amusement.
    Jenny shook her head and sighed deeply. Here was yet more tension and strife coming into a house that was already awash with it. She really didn’t like the way things were shaping up.
    She didn’t like it one little bit.

Five
    ‘W HERE DO YOU want these crates of bubbly stacked then, missus?’
    Jenny, up to her armpits in potatoes, turned her head and sighed wearily at a somewhat scruffy-looking delivery man. ‘Don’t ask me, I’m only the cook. It’s the party co-ordinator you need.’
    The party co-ordinator had descended on The Beeches that morning and had made it very clear, very quickly, that she was going to vigorously defend what she regarded as her turf.
    ‘Where can I find him then?’ the delivery man wondered aloud.
    ‘You’ll find her somewhere in the house, organizing something or other. She’ll tell you where to put it, believe me!’ Jenny said, with feeling.
    It was 10.30 in the morning, the meats were marinating, and she, Vera and even Martha were beginning to make a sizeable dent in the huge mountains of vegetables that needed preparing. Nevertheless, Jenny’s timetable was tight, and she didn’t need any distractions.
    ‘A blonde lady told me the crates were to go in the kitchen,’ the delivery man insisted stubbornly.
    ‘There’s no room in here,’ Jenny pointed out reasonably, feeling her patience beginning to wear thin. ‘We’ll be tripping over them all day. Martha, is there a wine cellar in the house?’
    ‘Of course there is,’ Martha said flatly and returned to her carrots, her glee evident. She was enjoying the spectacle of the unflappable fancy cook beginning to show signs of strain, just like the rest of the mere mortals.
    The party co-ordinator couldn’t have chosen a better moment to put in an appearance. She was whippet-lean, dark and business-suited, a forty-something only recently divorced.
    ‘The catering staff will be arriving shortly, and they’ll help with the decorations and so forth,’ she announced, to no-one in particular. ‘Ah, the champagne has arrived, I see.’
    ‘It needs to be stored in the wine cellar. I have to keep the