Mrs. Jeffries and the One Who Got Away by Emily Brightwell Page B

size,” Phyllis agreed as she pulled the scarf off Wiggins’ neck and moved in front of Betsy.
    Phyllis draped the scarf around Betsy’s neck. “When I pull these ends together, I want you to try and stop me while at the same time reaching into your pocket for a gun.”
    She started to draw the ends across Betsy’s chest.
    â€œJust a minute. Let’s do this right.” Betsy glanced at the table. “Wrap a serviette around a spoon and give it to me,” she instructed Wiggins.
    By this time everyone knew what Phyllis was doing and they watched her closely, especially Mrs. Jeffries.
    â€œWind it tight,” Luty ordered as Wiggins grabbed the crumpled white cotton square and wound it around a spoon.
    â€œTry to make it the same size as a derringer,” Ruth suggested.
    He snatched another serviette, twisted it onto the spoon, and handed it to Betsy.
    Betsy tucked it in the pocket of her skirt. “Good. Now I’m ready. Go ahead.”
    â€œBe careful.” Smythe half rose from his chair. “I’m fond of that neck, so don’t squeeze too much.”
    â€œI’ll not hurt her,” Phyllis promised. She pulled at the two ends. “Now.”
    Betsy began clawing at the material as it tightened around her neck. “Harder,” she ordered. “Pull it tighter.”
    Phyllis winced but did as instructed, yanking harder on the scarf while still not wanting to go too far. Betsy grabbed, snatched, and tried her best to get the noose off her neck, but Phyllis held it tight enough that she couldn’t.
    â€œThat’s enough,” Mrs. Jeffries said. “We can all see what must have happened.”
    Phyllis dropped the ends and Betsy flipped the material away from her neck. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you?” the maid asked worriedly.
    â€œOf course not,” Betsy assured her. “What’s more, now we know why Edith didn’t use her gun. When you’ve got something around your neck, you instinctively try to get it off. Once Phyllis started to tighten the scarf, I didn’t even think of reaching into my pocket, so it’s a good bet that Edith didn’t, either.”
    â€œEspecially as her killer meant business and wanted the woman dead,” Mrs. Goodge said.
    â€œBut we’ve learned something else important as well.” Mrs. Jeffries watched Phyllis as she spoke.
    â€œWhat?” Wiggins asked.
    â€œThe killer could just as easily have been a woman as a man.”
    Phyllis’ demonstration signaled the end of the meeting. As soon as everyone had gone, Phyllis started to help clear up the table but Mrs. Jeffries sent her on her way.
    Mrs. Goodge pulled a battered tray off the shelf from under her worktable. “Phyllis is quite clever, isn’t she,” she commented as she began to gather dirty cups and spoons.
    â€œIndeed she is, but I don’t think that’s the reason she knew about what happens to a person when they’re being strangled.” Mrs. Jeffries sat down heavily in her chair. She hated the thoughts that were crowding into her head, but she’d been watching the maid’s face and hadn’t liked what she’d seen.
    â€œWhat do you mean by that?” Mrs. Goodge shoved the tray onto the table and sat down.
    â€œDid you notice that during the demonstration, even with the excitement of being right and making her point, Phyllis went very pale, and that when it was over and she looked away for a moment, her lips were trembling?”
    â€œI can’t say that I did. I don’t like where this conversation is heading, Hepzibah. Are you trying to say what I think you’re saying?”
    â€œI hope to God I’m wrong and that perhaps Phyllis simply figured out the obvious, namely, that people panic when they’re being strangled.”
    â€œBut you don’t really believe it do you?” Mrs. Goodge sighed. “You think she knew