Phyllis continued her vigil over the growing congregation. Was that elderly man in the wheelchair actually Michael, with his head shaved to make himself appear bald? What about the man wearing a blue anorak and tracksuit bottoms, who seemed to be taking a suspiciously long time to find his seat? Or even the elderly lady with the large, feathered hat who was limping in now?
Phyllis glanced at her watch. It was past midday so the funeral would be starting at any moment. It was a large congregation for such an elderly person. When Phyllis’s mother died, aged ninety-eight, there had only been three people at the funeral: Phyllis, the vicar and the organ player. Not that Phyllis had expected it to be busy. Her mother hadn’t been an easy woman to love: pious, sharp-tongued and judgmental. But still, Phyllis had hoped that at least some of the regular members of the congregation might attend, if for no other reason than to support her.
“Mind if I sit here?”
She looked up to see the silver-haired man who’d been handing out the order of service looming over her. Phyllis was about to say no, but then the organ burst into life, filling the air with a loud, slightly out-of-tune chord, and before she knew it, the man had slid into the pew next to her. Phyllis shuffled to the other end of the bench as the church doors swung open and the coffin appeared.
The congregation rose to their feet—at least those who weremobile enough did—and Eve Watkins began her final journey through the nave. The coffin was carried by four pallbearers, but a quick scan of their faces told Phyllis that none of them were Michael. There were three figures walking behind: one was Cynthia Watkins, wearing a silly hat and an expensive-looking coat, and the other two were women in their thirties who must be Cynthia and Michael’s daughters. The trio followed the coffin to the top of the aisle and then slipped into the front pew on the right. As they took their places, Cynthia leaned over and whispered something into the ear of the man standing next to her.
Phyllis’s heart began to pound. Was this Michael, brazenly standing in the front row of St Piran’s church while the Cornish police scoured Bodmin Moor for him? If so, it was an audacious move, although criminals had been known to do worse: just look atMurder Is Easy.
“Good turnout, isn’t it?”
The silver-haired gentleman was leaning toward Phyllis and speaking in a low voice. She ignored him, her eyes trained on the back of the suspect’s head, willing him to turn around and reveal his face. He and Cynthia had exchanged a few more words, their heads bowed toward each other conspiratorially.
“I had no idea Eve had so many friends,” the man continued. “Mind you, Cynthia’s promise of a cream tea at the wake might have incentivized a few. People will do anything for a good scone.”
Phyllis sighed loudly, hoping that might discourage the man from talking. Her mother could never stand people making noise in church and had once hit a man over the back of the head with her prayer book after he’d yawned too loudly.
“Of course, I imagine all the gossip has helped attract a crowd too.”
At the wordgossip, Phyllis’s ears pricked up. She had no time fortittle-tattle herself, but like Miss Marple, she knew it was often a useful way to get information.
“What gossip?” she asked, then winced as if her mother might reach out from beyond the grave to give her a clip round the ear.
“Dearly beloved…” The vicar’s voice rang out at the front of the church as he welcomed the congregation.
The silver-haired man slid closer to Phyllis, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They think Eve’s son killed her! His fingerprints were all over her and he hasn’t been seen since.”
Phyllis sighed; she’d been hoping for something new that might help her investigation.
“The police came and interviewed me about it on Friday,” her companion said, and she could hear a tinge of pride in his voice.
“Why did they interview you?”
“I live next door to Eve and was the one who saw Michael run out of the house. I didn’t think anything of it at the time; I’d heard him and Eve arguing shortly before, so I assumed he was just going out to clear his head. Little did I know what had really happened.”
Oh, nowthiswas interesting. Phyllis turned to face the man properly. He must be about the same age as her and was cleanly shaven, wearing a smart suit and black tie. His eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen and fixed on her face.
“Did you say you heard Michael and his mother arguing?”
A few rows in front, one of the congregants let out a pointed cough. The man leaned closer to Phyllis, his breath brushing her ear as he lowered his voice further.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping, of course. But I’d just got back from walking my dog, Bella, and Eve must have had a window open, as their voices drifted out.”
“What were they arguing about?”
“I could only hear the odd bit, but from what I picked up, Eve was furious at Michael. She kept shouting about a letter and some debts, and how he should never have kept it a secret from her. But then Bella started barking for food, so I took her inside, and the next thing I knew, I heard a door slam and saw Michael’s car speeding out of the drive.”
Phyllis found she was holding her breath. Michael was in debt! That must have been why he stole the community center money. And—Phyllis felt her chest tighten as another penny dropped—maybe he killed his mother to get his hands on his inheritance? At last, now she knew the motive:greed.
“Do you know—”
“Shh!”
The pointed cougher turned to glare at them both. The silver-haired man gave an apologetic nod, and when the woman turned back to the front he glanced at Phyllis with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Despite herself, Phyllis felt her cheeks flush, and she turned back to the altar. As she did, her heart dropped.
The man from the front row had disappeared.
