Phyllida was interrupted from a tart reply about the remnants of Myrtle’s hair being everywhere by the arrival of Mrs. Agatha, Miss Sayers, Mr. Chesterton, and Mr. Berkeley.

“Good morning, Phyllida. I see you have everything well under control here,” said the lady of Mallowan Hall. There was a hint of laughter in Agatha’s voice, for upon her entrance, Myrtle had come charging up to her, tail wagging wildly. “Yes, you are quite adorable, aren’t you?” As Agatha bent to scratch the wriggling four-legged bundle of curls, Phyllida smothered an acerbic comment.

She and Agatha had become friends during the Great War, when women were eagerly conscripted for all sorts of jobs. At the time, both were single women, and since they were about the same age, their rapport was natural. Agatha had worked in the dispensary at the hospital—which was how she’d learned so much about the poisons she used in her books—and Phyllida had worked as a nurse at the same hospital before going to the front lines. They were great friends and had got along tremendously for more than ten years. The fact that Phyllida had chosen to take the position as housekeeper at Mallowan Hall had not altered their relationship in the least, although they did take pains to keep from being too familiar around each other in front of the other servants or guests.

One thing housekeeper and mistress did not agree upon was an affection for dogs. Mrs. Agatha had a wire terrier named Peter, and when Bradford had brought Myrtle to live with him in the garage apartment, both of the Mallowans had taken to the beast with rapturous affection.

Phyllida had not.

“Mr. Bradford promises to remove it well before the food arrives,” she told Agatha primly, knowing he was listening. “But of course we will have to sweep again due to the dog hair.” She shot the chauffeur a dark look and was rewarded by him ignoring her.

“I have no doubt everything will be in strict shipshape with you at the helm, Phyllida.” Agatha straightened, leaving Myrtle to find another victim.

Phyllida quickly sidestepped the slathering, drooling, panting beast once more, and so the mop transferred its attentions to Miss Sayers.

“You’ll be sitting at the head table there, G. K.,” said Agatha. She was speaking to Mr. Chesterton, who had agreed to be the Grand Master for the Murder Fête, as it was a charitable event being sponsored by the Detection Club.