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"No one's coming tonight, are they?" she said.

"Of course they will; you still have a few minutes."

"I'm not so sure. There were only four people last month, one of whom looked like he'd gotten lost on the way to the pub. Honestly, this book club is a disaster."

"Don't be so defeatist. I once ran an oversixties yoga class here for more than a year and it only ever had one member, and I don't think he even mastered a downward facing dog. Now, 'that' was a disaster."

Nova smiled. "Thanks, that makes me feel a bit better."

"Just give it time. I've told you, this lot are deeply suspicious of anything—and anyone—new, but they'll come round to you eventually."

"This lot" was how Lauren referred to the residents of St. Tredock, the small, picturesque Cornish village where the two women worked. Nova had moved to the area five months ago, but Lauren had lived here her whole life and took great pleasure in affectionately mocking her fellow natives.

"I'm sorry I can't stay and give you moral support, but Sam will never forgive me if I miss tonight's pub quiz. I've got a parting gift for you though." Lauren reached into her rucksack and pulled out a packet of digestive biscuits. "I know what Phyllis is like, and your evening will be considerably easier if you have snacks."

"Oh, thank you. I meant to buy some earlier but forgot."

"No worries. Also, I've never been to a book club before, but don't you need a copy of the book?" Lauren's eyes scanned the empty chairs, and Nova grimaced.

"Ah, yes. Ideally you do, but I can't find mine anywhere. I must have left it at home."

"It's 'Where the Crawdads Sing', right? I'm sure I saw it on your desk this morning, under a pile of papers."

"Really? You're a lifesaver!"

"Right, I'd better get to the Anchor," Lauren said. " Will you join us later?"

"I'll see how it goes here. If I don't make it, tell Craig I'll see him at home."

"Will do. Good luck with your crawdads!"

Lauren headed toward the front door, and Nova glanced at her watch; 6:59 and there was still no one here. She walked down the corridor, her footsteps echoing through the empty community center. Nova hated being here alone, and she hummed as she unlocked the door and flicked on the light. The office was really a glorified cupboard, with barely space for the desks of her, Lauren and their boss, Sandy. Nova's was nearest to the door, its surface invisible under assorted junk modeling from the afterschool art club, some wilting potted plants she was trying to resurrect and several dirty coffee mugs. No wonder she kept losing things; she really must keep it tidier. Nova located her copy of 'Where the Crawdads Sing', which as Lauren had said was under a teetering pile of papers, then put on a slick of red lipstick and grabbed a plate for the biscuits.

She flicked off the office light and stepped back out into the corridor. As she was locking the door, Nova heard a sudden bang to her right. Her heart leaped and she swung round, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she prepared to defend herself.

"That wind! There's a storm coming tonight, Craddock, you wait and see."

Phyllis Hudson was stepping into the entrance foyer, untying a plastic rain-hood from under her chin. The septuagenarian was a familiar sight at the community center. Nova saw her squat figure and distinctive blue-rinsed perm at the knit and natter group on a Monday, at the Silver Swans senior ballet class on a Thursday and at the food bank on a Friday. In fact, she was such a regular that Nova had been told to turn a blind eye to Craddock, the elderly, arthritic English bulldog that accompanied Phyllis at all times, in blatant contravention of the center's no-animals policy. The dog was lumbering in through the door now, wheezing like a sixty-a-day smoker.

"Evening, Phyllis," Nova said, fixing a smile on her face. "What's wrong with you? You look like you've witnessed a murder."

"Nothing, I'm fine. Come on in, I'm just setting up."

Nova hurried to the meeting room and began laying out the biscuits. As she did, she took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. 'It was just the door banging in the wind.'

"Digestives?" Phyllis wrinkled her nose as she fed a biscuit to Craddock. "If you want people to come to your book club then you need to do better than this."

"Sorry, I'm afraid these are all I've got today."

"They're not even McVitie's ones. Beryl used to get us shortbread from M&S."

Beryl had been Nova's predecessor at the center, a St. Tredock local who'd been in the job for thirty years until Sandy caught her drinking whisky out of a coffee mug during the Under-Fives Stay and Play. Although Nova hadn't even been living in Cornwall at the time, she was pretty sure there were some who blamed her for Beryl getting sacked, Phyllis included.