“I understand you were at Mr. Whittlesby’s house for tea on Wednesday, and that your husband attended with you,” Cork said, taking the reins once more.

“Oh, yes, Rolly insisted on coming along since it wasn’t an official club meeting, just a social event. Of course, when it’s a real meeting, only the members are allowed to attend because we talk all sorts of technical writing things like grammar and plot twists that are simply snoozing for a non-writer.

“Even though Alastair is the president, I usually have the meeting at our house because we don’t have all those people in and out like he does, and so Rolly can pop in near the end if he likes. He says he feels like an honorary member. Lettice was there, too, of course, and Eugene Whittlesby, along with the rest of us, although Eugene stayed only long enough to get a drink and then he left. He didn’t seem pleased to see us.”

“Right, then. Did Mr. Whittlesby have one of his special cocktails Wednesday, do you know?” said Cork.

“Oh . . . well, I daresay he did. He offered one to Rolly, but Rolly just prefers a Manhattan—you know, we had such a marvelous time the last trip to New York. Why, we saw H.M.S. Pinafore on Broadway, and—”

“Right, Mrs. Rollingbroke. Thank you. I think we’re finished here,” said the detective, flickering a glance at Phyllida as if to obtain her agreement.

She had several other questions for Mrs. Rollingbroke and she thought it would be prudent for someone to interview Mr. Rollingbroke as well, but for the moment, Phyllida was content to move on. The only other person from the local Murder Club who hadn’t been interviewed yet was the vicar, and she was quite curious about his reactions.

Phyllida slipped out of the sitting room carrying Mrs. Rollingbroke’s empty tea cup. When she returned to the sitting room a few moments later with a pot of tea and a clean cup for the vicar, she found Mr. Billdop perched on the edge of the sofa, clasping his plump white hands in his lap.

“I’ve never been interrogated by the police before,” the vicar was saying. His cheeks were ruddy with anxiousness. “How does one go about it?”

“Apparently, one begins by drinking the tea so conveniently and attentively served to him,” said Inspector Cork, not even attempting to hide his exasperation with Phyllida’s continued presence.

She bestowed a demure smile on him and, in a subtle reminder of how she’d seen to his own comfort, said, “Would you like some more coffee, Inspector?”

“Oi, Mrs. Bright, I do believe I’ll float away if I have any more to drink,” he said meaningfully. “Surely you have some matters to attend to in the kitchen?”

She ignored his comment and commenced with pouring tea for the vicar, who thanked her profusely.