Phyllis adopted a hunched posture and began to shuffle across the road toward number eight, but as she reached the far pavement, the door to the house swung open. Phyllis froze. There was a large black wheelie bin to her right, and she just had time to pull Craddock behind it before someone appeared in the doorway.
They had their back to Phyllis, but she could see it was a man dressed in protective overalls. Was this Michael? No, he looked too young, and his posture was different, taller and more confident. He said something to a person out of view and began to move backward away from the door. How strange, why was he reversing like that? And then Phyllis saw something that made her gasp.
Behind the man was a contraption on wheels, one Phyllisrecognized from the countless murder mysteries she’d watched on TV. It was a wheeled stretcher, covered with a long, human-shaped object cloaked in a white sheet.
A dead body.
Phyllis’s heart was hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears, but she kept her eyes trained on the house. A woman was pushing the stretcher from the other end, and the two of them loaded it into the back of the unmarked van. Once the rear doors were shut, the man walked back to the front door and said something to a figure inside the house who Phyllis couldn’t see. She strained round the side of the bin to get a better look and was rewarded with a quick glimpse of a dark-haired woman in her mid to late fifties, her face pinched as she closed the front door. The van engine burst into life, and a moment later the man had climbed in and they were pulling past the police car and out of the driveway. Phyllis ducked low in case one of them spotted her, but the vehicle turned right and drove out of the cul-de-sac before disappearing from view.
Phyllis’s mind was racing as fast as her heart. Who had died and how? Why were the police involved? Was the woman in the doorway Michael’s wife, and if so, where was he? And, most importantly, how was this dead body connected to the community center money?
She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself; after all, Miss Marple never allowed her emotions to get the better of her. And now,finally, Phyllis had a chance to put all these years of Agatha Christie reading to good use. With a quick glance back at the house, she straightened up and strode across the road, Craddock trotting to keep up with her.
Chapter Five
Nova
The storm had passed by the time Nova finished work that evening, leaving behind a dramatic pink-and-orange sky that cast St. Tredock in a gorgeous, sleepy glow. Beautiful sunsets always reminded Nova of her dad, who’d loved watching them wherever they were in the world, and so usually she’d stop to appreciate the sunset too. Yet tonight, Nova paid it little attention as she drove home, her attention fixed on the missing money and what it meant for her future. When she reached Craig’s parents’ house, she turned off the engine but sat in her car for a few moments longer, psyching herself up before she went inside.
“Nova, sweetie, you’re home!” Pamela Pritchard’s voice assailed Nova as she opened the front door. “How was your day? Everything good at the center?”
“Fine, thanks.” At least the news about the stolen money hadn’t reached Craig’s parents yet.
“We’re through in the kitchen. I’ve made roast chicken, Craig’s favorite.”
“Great,” Nova said, although in truth, all she wanted was to hide upstairs with Craig and a bottle of wine. Unfortunately, Pamela andDavid liked to eat dinner at 6:30 p.m. sharp, and always meat and two veg, despite the fact Nova was a lifelong vegetarian. She’d volunteered many times to cook some veggie meals for the family, but her future mother-in-law insisted that Craig and his dad needed meat every day.
“Hey, gorgeous!” Craig’s handsome face lit up when he saw Nova walk into the kitchen, and she slid into the seat next to him and gratefully took the glass he handed her. “Good day?”
“Mm-hmm.” She took a long swig of wine so she didn’t have to outright lie; she’d save the bad news until she was alone with Craig later. “How was yours?”
“Busy. Dad’s been working me to the bone, as per usual.”
David Pritchard let out a deep laugh. “Just training you up properly, son. If you’re going to be taking over the garage one day, then I want to know it’s in good hands.”
“Of course it’ll be in good hands with Craigy,” Pamela tutted, as she carried over a towering plate of Yorkshire puddings.
“Wow, these look amazing,” Nova said.
“My secret recipe. I’ll have to teach it to you before you move out.”
“Speaking of which, how’s the house hunting going?” David asked.
“There’s nothing out there at the moment,” Craig said. “I think it’s just the wrong time of year.”
“Did you manage to speak to the estate agent about that cottage in Mawham I sent you?” Nova asked Craig.
“I called him this morning, and it sounds like it’s a no-go, I’m afraid. The guy said it’s a “fixer-upper,” which is estate agent code for an absolute dump.”
“I don’t mind a bit of a renovation project. It could be fun to make a place our own.”
“Oh no, you don’t want to be taking on a big project; those thingsare a money pit,” Pamela said, putting two dry-looking vegetarian sausages on Nova’s plate. “Besides, there’s no hurry. David and I love having you both here, so you can stay with us as long as you need to.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Craig said, helping himself to three roast potatoes.
“We could go and take a look on Saturday, just in case we love it?” Nova said to Craig.
“Sure, if you—” Craig started, but Pamela interrupted.
