She left the baker’s wife muttering about the nerve of people using her deliveryman and her boxes—which they bought and paid for with their hard-earned money—and what if the cake inside wasn’t as good as Milton’s—well, of course it wasn’t—and now if someone thought that had come from Panson’s, why, it wasn’t just the box they’d abused, it was Panson’s reputation, it was, and it was fraudulent, it was!

Mrs. Panson was already picking up the telephone as Phyllida closed the door behind her. It wouldn’t be long before the whole of Listleigh was being warned about fraudulent bakery items.

Bradford took the pastry boxes from Phyllida, then opened the front passenger door before she could tell him she intended to sit in the rear. Rather than make a fuss, she slid into the front seat whilst he placed the tarts in the back, then closed the door.

“Well, Mrs. Bright,” he said, giving her a look as he navigated the Daimler down the road. “What did you find out?”

“Mr. Panson is going to need to make more currant tarts,” she said.

He chuckled. “Very well, then, Mrs. Bright. Have it your way.”

“I shall tell you what I learned from Mrs. Panson if you tell me what you saw or heard last night,” she said after a bit of thought.

“I will agree to that if you will admit you are investigating the murder,” Bradford replied.

“Mrs. Agatha insisted that I do so,” Phyllida told him frostily. “She wants the matter settled as quickly as possible. The last thing we need is press camped out at Mallowan Hall again. Or any of us in the news.”

He gave her a curious look but made no immediate comment. After a moment, he said, “When I arrived outside the cocktail party last night, I saw Mr. Rollingbroke there. He was standing near the courtyard.”

“Mr. Rollingbroke? But he wasn’t supposed to be there until the party was over—to pick up Mrs. Rollingbroke.”

Bradford gave her a significant look, then returned his attention to the road.

“He didn’t come inside the courtyard—at least, I didn’t see him,” Phyllida mused. “So he couldn’t have been the one to place the poisoned bitters. I presume that’s why you feel that information is relevant.”

“Obviously,” replied Bradford.

She mulled over that for a moment. It was important to determine who had access to the bar—or who’d at least been in proximity of it—during the evening. The bar counter had been near a small side entrance to the garden, however, where the supplies had been brought in. She hadn’t yet had a chance to question Dobble and Stanley about who had approached the bar during the evening and had been close enough to put the poisoned bitters on the shelf behind.