Page 18

Phyllis

“Now close your eyes and breathe…that’s it, slowly in and out, in and out…Feel nature’s healing calm fill your body with every loving breath.”

Phyllis gritted her teeth, resisting the temptation to shout at the stupid man to shut up.

It had been Nova’s suggestion that she come to the meditation class. Phyllis had been storming round the community center, berating herself for letting Arthur and Ash go to visit the private investigator without her. What chance did a bumbling old farmer and a mute teenage boy have of getting information out of a member of the elite British Secret Service? Even though Phyllis had played her part by ringing the man and keeping him on the phone so they could investigate the office, she knew the chances of those two managing to find anything was tiny. And without any evidence that Cynthia had hired the PI to help kill Eve or get rid of Michael, there was nothing to stop the woman getting away with her crimes. In her rage, Phyllis had kicked a bucket, sending it skidding down a corridor and almost taking out a toddler. It was at that point that Nova had intervened and suggested Phyllis distract herself with some meditation while they waited for Arthur and Ash to return. Not that she was finding any of this nonsense remotely relaxing, or distracting.

“Oh my God, what is that smell?”

Phyllis opened her eyes. Several people sitting around her were pinching their noses and looking like they might be sick. Phyllis took a sniff and immediately knew the culprit.

“Is it that damn dog again?” said Neil, the bearded man who was taking the class. “I’m sorry, but I told you, you can only bring him in here if he doesn’t disturb anyone.”

“He’s not disturbing anyone, it’s just some flatulence.”

“I can’t relax with that stench,” said a woman sitting to Phyllis’s right.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to take him out.”

“This is discrimination! You wouldn’t throw out a human for farting, would you?”

“Phyllis, either he goes, or you both do.” Neil’s face was looking distinctly lacking in nature’s healing calm.

“Fine, this was rubbish anyway,” Phyllis said, standing up. “Come on, Craddock, let’s go.”

She grabbed the dog’s lead and marched toward the door. As they reached it, Craddock let out another ripper, and Phyllis smiled.

She knew from experience he’d need to do his business soon, so she led him out into the car park and over to some small bushes at the edge. In his old age, the dog had become rather inefficient at emptying his bowels, so Phyllis looked around for something to keep her occupied while she waited.

There was a game she liked to play sometimes, where she’d pick a random stranger and try to imagine what observations Miss Marple would make about them. There was a youth across the road now, leaning against a low brick wall, smoking a cigarette, and Phyllis studied him closely. He was dressed in a tracksuit—a fashion item that would no doubt have horrified Jane—and had the hood pulled up to conceal his face. He wasn’t local by the looks of the large rucksack next to him, and his right foot was bouncing up and down on the pavement with nervous energy as he stared at the community center. A car drove in front of him, turning into the community center car park and blocking Phyllis’s view. She leaned sideways to keep the youth in vision, then stopped and turned her attention to the car.

It was a red MINI Cooper, a familiar face sitting behind the wheel as it reversed into a parking space. What the hell was Cynthia Watkins doing here? Phyllis turned her back so the woman wouldn’t recognize her. Craddock had barely begun his business, and by the time he’d finished, Cynthia might be long gone.

“I need to go inside and see what’s going on,” she said, wrapping Craddock’s lead round the nearest fence post. “I’ll be back soon.”

Securing the lead in a knot, Phyllis hurried into the center to see Cynthia striding down the corridor. Phyllis followed, keeping at a safe distance.

“I want to see the manager,” Cynthia demanded, barging into the office with the entitlement of a person who was used to getting her own way.

“That would be me, Sandy Reynolds. How can I help?”

“My name’s Cynthia Watkins, and I want to make a formal complaint against members of your staff,” Cynthia said. “They’ve been harassing me.”

“My staff?” Phyllis could hear the surprise in Sandy’s voice. “Goodness…What’s happened?”

“Yesterday, a woman who claimed to be from the St. Tredock Community Center invaded the private wake of my mother-in-law and then hid in a wardrobe to spy on me.”

“What?! I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Even without being able to see her, Phyllis knew Sandy’s face would be going bright red and her eyes starting to water. That woman was as limp as a lettuce leaf.

“Can you describe this person to me? Only I can’t imagine any of my staff would do something like this.”

“She was an old lady: fat, blue hair.”

“Ah, right,” Sandy said, the relief evident in her tone. “The person you’re talking about isn’t an employee here, she’s just a woman who comes to the center. Between you and me, she’s a rather sad character. I don’t think she has any family or friends so she’s quite lonely, and as a result, she can let her imagination run a bit wild. I can have a gentle word with her, but I’m afraid she’s not my responsibility.”

“It wasn’t just her,” Cynthia snapped. “Last week, she came with two others, and they harassed me on my doorstep, only twenty-four hours after I discovered my mother-in-law had been killed and my husband went missing.”

“Hold on, did you say your name is Cynthia Watkins?” Sandy said. “Are you any relation of Michael Watkins?”

“He was…is my husband.”

“I see. And you said there were two others; can you remember what they looked like?”

“There was an old man with a big white beard, and a younger woman in a horrible furry red coat, plus a foul-smelling English bulldog. They said they were from a book club here and accused Michael of stealing something.”

“A woman in a red coat?

“Yes, it was an old, cheap-looking thing. She didn’t say much, but she was clearly trying to intimidate me into revealing goodness knows what.”

“Oh dear…” Sandy said slowly. “I’m afraid she might be a member of my team. Can you leave me your contact details and I’ll investigate this and get back to you?”

“I want your assurances that these troublemakers will be dealt with. It’s completely inappropriate that they should have repeatedly turned up at my house, harassing me while I’m going through a very traumatic period. I’ve brought this to you first as a common decency, but if you don’t take action then my next port of call will be the police.”

“Yes, of course, I understand. Thank you.”

There was a noise in the office, and Phyllis just had time to dart through the open door of an empty room before she heard Cynthia step into the corridor, her heels clicking on the floor as she marched out.

Phyllis sank into a chair, her chest tight.

No friends or family…

Quite lonely…

Lets her imagination run wild…

Is that what people really thought of her? She’d always known she was seen as something of an eccentric: people were deeply suspicious of unmarried, childless women, plus the fact she still lived in the house she was born in always raised some eyebrows. But still, she had a family in Craddock, and she never let her imagination run wild; she was extremely rational and methodical. Rather sad character , Sandy had called her, each word landing like a punch.

Phyllis wasn’t one for emotions—her mother had knocked them out of her at a young age—but it was still several minutes before she was able to breathe properly again. As soon as she could, she left the meeting room and headed toward the exit. Nova was walking out of the main hall, carrying a large box, but she stopped when she saw Phyllis’s face.

“Are you okay?”

Phyllis pushed past her without answering. As she reached the door, she heard Sandy’s voice calling out.

“Nova, I need to see you in my office.”

“Okay, but can I just check on Phyllis, she seems—”

“No! We need to talk. Now.”

Phyllis hurried outside. Never in her life had she been so desperate to get away from people. She turned and began to stagger toward where Craddock was tied up, and then she ground to a halt.

Ahead of her, Craddock was lying sprawled on the ground.

Phyllis ran toward the dog, dropping painfully to her knees. His eyes were closed but his whole body was shaking, as if he was having some kind of seizure, and she saw vomit dribbling out of his mouth.

“Craddock!” Phyllis cried, and for the second time in her life, she felt her heart break.