Everything was ready. The table was set, the flowers arranged, the English Breakfast tea was brewing in a delicate china teapot and there was a plate of cucumber and crème fraîche sandwiches beside it (crusts cut off, of course). It was the perfect backdrop for the inaugural meeting of the Agatha Christie Book Club.
And it was the perfect place to set a murder in motion.
As the seven members of the new book club nursed cups of tea and waved battered copies of Evil Under the Sun around with gusto, one member was watching the group very closely. This person didn’t really care about the book, didn’t give a jot about Agatha Christie if truth be told, had just pretended to care, to gain entry to this club, and to get the devious plan rolling.
And it was a good plan! There was no point in false modesty now. It had taken a lot of time and a lot of effort, but it would all be worth it in the end. If it worked—and how could it not?—it had the potential to destroy one life, wreak havoc on another, and leave this bunch of pretenders for dead.
They would never know what hit them.
The book club member sniggered. Hell, even the great Agatha Christie would be left scratching her head...