“I’m quite convinced that even with Mr. Billdop in custody there is still a murderer walking about freely,” she said firmly. “And rest assured, I shall be the first to admit my error should it become clear that he is the perpetrator.” Once again, she ignored the mocking sound from behind her, for something the detective had said made her pause and look at him shrewdly. “Inspector, you seem particularly pleased that the Murder Fête is able to go on now that a suspect—however erroneously—might be in custody.” And then she remembered how easy it had been for Inspector Cork to be convinced that the fête should not be canceled despite a murder . . . and how quickly the Scotland Yard investigator had appeared on the scene last night. “I’m certain you’re wanting to return to the festival’s activities as soon as possible, aren’t you, Inspector?”

She ignored the quiet, surprised cough from Bradford and merely smiled at Cork when his eyes widened. An actual tinge of pink swarmed over his cheeks beneath the freckles that had so put her off.

“It was a shame the rain had to interrupt it,” Phyllida went on.

“Oh, er, yes,” said Cork. “Now, I suppose you’ve finished what you’ve come here for?”

Phyllida repressed the urge to correct his grammar and instead elected to answer his question. “There is only one thing remaining—I wish to see Father Tooley.”

Bradford wasn’t quite as circumspect with his reaction this time; she heard a definitely loud and scornful snort. As always, however, she readily ignored him.

“Erm . . . um . . . ma’am,” stammered Cork, clearly still feeling the effects of her previous staredown. “I don’t think that’s quite . . .”

“More specifically,” she went on, “I wish to see his personal effects. There is a document that has gone missing, and I mean to ensure that it wasn’t tucked into his coat.”

“I see,” replied Cork. “Well, that might be more permissible . . . if it were appropriate for us to release his belongings into your custody.”

“Of course it’s appropriate,” Phyllida told him. “I’ve taken the rectory’s maid, Rita, under my wing, and as she is in my care, and Father Tooley’s possessions would likely be sent back to the rectory, it’s quite obvious that no one will quibble if you allow me to be the one to conduct those effects back to his most recent residence.”

Even Phyllida wasn’t quite convinced of the merits of her convoluted argument, but she didn’t reveal even a chink in her armor. Instead, she waited for Inspector Cork to capitulate.

After all, the rain had nearly stopped, which meant the festival could start up again at any moment. He must be chafing at the delay. She wondered if he had been waiting in line for a book from Agatha or for someone else.