“Yes, fine,” Nova said, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“Is it all right if I get a lift back with you? Three’s a crowd and all that.” He nodded toward the teenage boys, who were deep in conversation over by Dan’s car.
“Of course. I’m taking Phyllis and Michael, too, but we can all squeeze in.”
The journey back was more subdued than the drive down, all ofthem clearly exhausted by the drama and revelations of the afternoon. In the backseat, Michael fell asleep almost as soon as they hit the road, and Arthur could hardly blame him: in the space of a few hours, the poor man had learned he’d lost one mother and come face-to-face with another. Phyllis sat in the seat next to him, Craddock snoring between them. Arthur saw her stealing occasional glances at Michael, as if checking he was really there and not a figment of her imagination.
In the front, Nova drove in silence, too, her shoulders hunched and eyes locked on the road. Something told Arthur she’d not been completely honest with him about her fiancé’s reaction, but he knew better than to ask again. Instead, he allowed his mind to wander over all the revelations of the afternoon. So Michael hadn’t stolen the money nor killed his own mother. Arthur found himself inclined to believe the man’s story; Michael had never struck him as the murdering sort. But if he was innocent, then who had killed Eve? Had it been Cynthia after all?
“That’s my theory too.”
Phyllis’s voice in the backseat made Arthur jump. “What?”
“You said it must have been Cynthia, and I was agreeing with you.”
Arthur felt his cheeks flush; he hadn’t realized he’d been thinking out loud. It was a habit he’d gotten into recently, but he’d never done it in public before.
“It’s the only possible explanation,” Phyllis continued, her voice low so as not to wake Michael.
“But what about the money?” Arthur turned in his seat to look at her. “If Michael didn’t steal it—”
“Of course he didn’t steal it,” Phyllis interrupted, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile at her sudden maternal instinct to protect her son.
“But then who did? We have no other suspects; we always just assumed it was him.”
“Maybe that was Cynthia too?” Phyllis said, but she sounded unconvinced.
“What was that about Cynthia?” Michael had woken up and was rubbing his eyes.
Next to him, Arthur saw Phyllis squirm. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we think that Cynthia might be behind your mother’s death.”
“No, that’s not possible,” Michael said. “She loved my mum.”
“Arthur thought Cynthia might have done it to get her hands on your mum’s inheritance.”
Arthur opened his mouth to point out that had been Phyllis’s theory, not his, but a glare from the woman made him close it again.
“But thereisno inheritance,” Michael said. “I told you; my dad gambled every penny of it away. Mum had no idea until last week, but Cynthia has known since my dad died that there was nothing to inherit except a pile of debts.”
“Damn it, there goes her motive of greed,” Phyllis muttered.
“Besides, I know for a fact that Cynthia has an alibi for the evening my mum…” Michael trailed off, clearly unable to say the word.
“Do you mean that she was with her sister?” Phyllis was squirming again. “I’m sorry to say this, but Cynthia was lying when she told you that. She wasn’t with her sister, she was with—”
“Her lover?”
Arthur looked at Michael in surprise. “You knew?”
The man let out a weary sigh. “I had my suspicions, but I didn’t know for sure until that day. I had Graham Pierce…” He stopped, looking embarrassed.
“Go on,” Phyllis said.
“After Graham traced you, I asked him to follow Cynthia, to see if she was really cheating on me. That night, while I was in the book club, Graham texted me with a photo of Cynthia and this man together. Even though I’d suspected it for a while, it was still a shock to get confirmation.”
“Ah, sothat’swhy you ran out of the meeting so suddenly,” Arthur said.
“And those photos give Cynthia a concrete alibi,” Phyllis added, frowning.
