“Very well. Thank you for seeing to all of this, Phyllida. I know that I rely upon you for so many things and now this, but . . . I know you are up to it.” She squeezed Phyllida’s hand and, notebook still in hand, went off to join her guests.

Stanley, the first footman, had appeared from somewhere in the house and was opening the door to Inspector Cork and Constable Greensticks when Phyllida returned to the foyer.

“Ah, good morning, Inspector. Constable,” she said. “Would you like to sit in the sitting room or join the guests for breakfast?” Unlike when he conducted the last murder investigation, the detective wouldn’t have to interview her entire staff, disrupting their schedules, as well as providing fodder for gossip—which in turn meant less efficient work.

“Erm . . . perhaps I should go down to the kitchen,” said Constable Greensticks. “Interview the staff down there.” And, Phyllida thought, likely acquire one of Mrs. Puffley’s scones whilst he was at it.

“Indeed, Constable, some of the staff were at the fête last night, but I don’t believe any of them are downstairs at the moment. Most have gone off to St. Wendreda’s to set up for later.”

“I’d best check to be certain, then, Inspector,” said Greensticks. “One never knows.”

As Phyllida always knew, she disagreed with his assessment, but declined to protest. Clearly, the constable was determined to make his way belowstairs regardless, and she didn’t blame him. Mrs. Puffley’s dried apple and cinnamon scones were infamous.

“Yes, yes, go on with you,” said Cork, looking toward the dining room. His nose actually quivered and his protruding eyes popped a trifle more as the delicious aromas wafted from the breakfast spread. “I suppose it would be permissible for me to join the Mallowans and their guests in the dining room and have a spot of breakfast. Since the constable won’t be present to . . . erm . . . notice.”

“Indeed. As well, I have some information that might assist in your investigation,” said Phyllida.

“Why am I not surprised?” replied Cork in a bland voice. Then his expression hardened a bit. “I do hope you aren’t going to interfere with this investigation as you did the last time, Mrs. Bright.”

“Interfere? Is that what you call my solving the crime and identifying the culprits single-handedly, Inspector?” she replied blithely. “How quickly one forgets.”

He gritted his teeth; she could actually hear the click as his jaws came together in a snap. “Mrs. Bright, this is official business—not your . . . your housekeeping domain.”