(15/30) The Deadly Dance (19 page)

“It’s a Miss Wisbich,” he said.

“Ed better take it,” groaned Charles. “Hullo, Elaine. Terrible drama here.” He told her of the attack by Emma.

“Gosh,” said Elaine. “I mean, jolly exciting stuff. Did you really forget your wallet?”

“Really, honestly, definitely.”

“You can make it up to me. There’s a new French restaurant in Broadway called Cordon Bleu. You can take me there for dinner tomorrow night. It’s
very
expensive.”

“Oh, all right,” said Charles. “Eight o’clock fine?”

“Great, see you there.”

Agatha now had a policeman on guard outside her door. Bill Wong had tried to get her a police guard before, but Agatha’s exploits caused such resentment at Mircester Police Headquarters that they had refused before, no doubt hoping, Bill thought, that someone really would get rid of her. PC Betty Howse had been instructed to tail her, not for Agatha’s protection but to find out what she was up to.

Agatha had a large lump on the back of her head, but the skin had not been broken.

PC Darren Boyd, on guard outside her door, was a very good-looking young man. At first he had protested at the boring job, but now he was beginning to enjoy himself as the ladies of the village plied him with tea and cakes and hot sausage rolls. One even produced a garden chair for him to sit on, and another, a little table. Another brought him books and magazines. So he sat in the sun and passed a pleasant afternoon and was quite disappointed when his relief arrived.

Agatha was glad of the police presence to keep the press at bay. At first she could not understand why so many press were besieging her over a simple assault. It was only when she turned on the evening news and heard of Emma’s attempt on Charles’s life that she understood the reason for the fuss. Her name had been linked with Charles’s on previous cases and Emma had tried to poison her.

She phoned Charles, but Gustav hung up on her. “This is ridiculous,” fumed Agatha. “He should sack that man.”

“Let’s go out there,” suggested Roy.

“No good. Gustav will answer the door and then slam it in our faces. And the press will be all over the place.”

Agatha’s mobile rang. “I’d better answer it. Maybe the press haven’t got this number.”

“It’s on your business cards,” said Roy.

Nonetheless, Agatha picked up her mobile phone. “Agatha,” said a warm deep voice. “It’s me, Jeremy. I’ve just heard on the news that that woman who used to work for you has been arrested.”

“I just heard it on the news. It is a relief. How are you getting on?”

“Oh, so-so. The commuting up and down to London’s getting a bit wearing. I’m thinking of getting a small flat there and only coming down at the weekends. Jason’s mourning his father, and life here is pretty dreary. Feel like having dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“I’ve got a guest staying, Roy Silver, who used to work for me.” There was a silence and then he said, “Bring him along as well. Is he amusing?” “

Yes, very.”

“Just what I need. I’ll see you both at eight.”

“He’s not interested in you romantically,” said Roy when Agatha told him, “or he would never have included me in the invitation. He wants to pump you for information.”

“Nonsense. The police have checked on him thoroughly. He’s got a cast-iron alibi. And he tried to kiss me.”

“We’ll see.”

TEN

AGATHA had forgotten that Roy Silver only dressed conventionally when he was working for some of his stuffier clients. So she was taken aback when he appeared in her living room, ready to go out, dressed in a black-and-white horizontally striped T-shirt and tight-fitting black trousers and with a red scarf knotted at his neck.

“Are you going like that?” she asked.

“What’s up with it? You said we were going to a French restaurant, so I’m looking French.”

“It’s a comic-book idea of a Frenchman. What do you wear when you’re going to a Chinese restaurant? A lampshade hat and a pigtail? Oh, come on, then. We’re going to be late.”

“What’s the food like at this place?” asked Roy as he slid into the passenger seat. He had added a long black cloak to hisensemble. How did he get all that into a travel bag? wondered Agatha.

“Not very good,” she said, letting in the clutch. “Don’t order the duck. It’s like rubber. Arid forget ordering a salad. It’s mostly rocket.”

“I like rocket.”

“Then you’ll be all right. It comes with everything.”

“You’re all glammed up,” said Roy. “If the neckline of that dress was any lower, the police would have you for indecent exposure.”

“I am perfectly respectable,” protested Agatha, but before they got out of the car, she gave her neckline a surreptitious hitch upwards.

Jeremy was already there. An amused smile twitched his lips when he saw Roy. Agatha was just sitting down when she spotted Charles and a girl with a lot of brown curly hair sitting at a table at the other side of the restaurant.

“Good heavens,” said Charles. “It’s Agatha.”

“Agatha who?” asked Elaine. “You mean the old bird flashing her boobs?”

“She’s not that much older than me,” said Charles defensively. “Let’s go over and say hullo.”

“Must we?”

“Only take a minute.”

They walked over and Charles made the introductions. Agatha introduced Jeremy. “Where have you been, Charles?” asked Agatha in what Elaine thought was a proprietorial tone.

Elaine put her arm through Charles’s. “I’ve been keeping him busy.” And she let out her great braying laugh while Charles flinched.

“I’ll be over tomorrow,” said Charles. “We’ll catch up on things then. Will you be in the office?” “Yes, from nine o’clock on.”

“See you then. Goodbye, Jeremy. Nice to meet you.” And then Charles said something in rapid French. Jeremy smiled and nodded. “What did he say?” asked Agatha.

“Blessed if I know. His French is atrocious. Now, what would you like to eat?”

Roy had no appreciation of good food and so he enjoyed the meal simply because the ambience pleased him: the candle-light, the attentive waiters, and the very high prices.

Jeremy began to ask about how Agatha was proceeding with the case and had the police found out the identity of the dead man. Agatha lied and shook her head and lied again. But she did tell him about the arrest of Mark Goddham, knowing it would be in the papers in the morning. Then she added on impulse, “I can’t talk about the case, Jeremy, really. The police have asked me not to. But I can tell you, I think I’m near a solution.”

Roy chattered about his work in London and told several amusing stories. Occasionally they could hear the bray of Elaine’s laughter sounding across the room. “Would you listen to her,” complained Roy. “What’s she eating? Oats?”

Agatha felt that twinge at her hip again as she rose from the table. She felt suddenly old. Elaine might have a dreadful laugh, but she was young. What if Charles married her? What would happen when she got older and the few friends she had faded away?

Outside the restaurant, Jeremy said to Roy, “You obviously know Agatha well.”

Roy smirked. “We’re terribly close,” he said.

Jeremy laughed. “Oh, Agatha, and I thought that stunning dress was all for me.”

“Roy is just a friend,” snapped Agatha. She was furious with Roy. What if Jeremy’s attempt at a new relationship with his ex-wife didn’t work out? He was divorced and available.

“What came over you, Roy?” she demanded as she drove off. “Implying we had a relationship.”

“Just protecting you, sweetie. I didn’t like him and you say he’s trying to repair his old marriage. So what’s he doing romancing you?”

“I thought you said he was only interested in finding out information.”

“Changed my mind. The way he looked at you! Like a wolf.” Agatha felt a little glow inside.

“And what were you about telling him you were near solving the case? He may be attracted to you, but if he’s the real villain, it won’t stop him having another go at you. And there’s a car following us. It was behind us when we left Carsely and it’s there again.”

“Probably that woman PC who followed me to Joyce Peterson’s. The police are keeping an eye on me.”

They said good night to the policeman on duty outside Agatha’s cottage.

“How long will they keep up the protection?” asked Roy.

Agatha sighed. “Not very long. Ever since this government closed down all the village police stations, Mircester find themselves overstretched. Fred Griggs, our local bobby, is retired, but it was great when he was around. Crime has spread to the countryside in a big way. Do you know the farmers can’t even leave their combine harvesters out in the field at night? One farmer found they had pinched the whole thing, dismantled it and shipped it off. The newspapers have been full of these thefts recently. Probably ended up in Bulgaria, or somewhere. I’d better check the phone for messages. Oh, there’s one for you, Roy. You’re wanted back in London.”

“Rats. Sorry, Agatha. I’d better get the morning train. I don’t like leaving you like this.”

“It’s all right. Charles will be back tomorrow.”

Charles woke up in the morning with a temperature, a sore throat and limbs like lead.

“I’ve got a bad cold,” he said to Gustav. “Phone Mrs. Raisin at her office and tell her I can’t see her today.”

Gustav did not want to phone Agatha. He disapproved of her. He thought her a nasty, pushy sort of woman. Charles, he knew* found her attractive and he didn’t want to find one day that Agatha was the new mistress of Barfield House. On the other hand, if he didn’t phone, Charles would be furious with him.

So he compromised by leaving a curt message with the temp who answered the phone at the agency: “Sir Charles does not feel like seeing Mrs. Raisin.”

Agatha, on receiving the message, was furious. The temp thought she had been speaking to Sir Charles personally.

Then Bill Wong called to say they were withdrawing the police protection. No, he said, they weren’t much farther, but they were pursuing several leads.

After he had rung off, Agatha decided to visit Mrs. Laggat-Brown. Everything had started at the manor. Maybe if she asked some more questions, she might get an idea. Maybe Jason had talked to his future mother-in-law about his father’s friends.

A brisk gale was blowing the clouds across a large sky as Agatha motored to Herris Cum Magna.

Catherine Laggat-Brown answered the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, looking flustered. “I was just about to phone you. Come in.”

Once they were both seated, Catherine asked nervously, “Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?”

“Nothing, thank you. What did you want to tell me?”

“I no longer need your services. I have decided to leave it all to the police. As Jeremy has pointed out, they have the resources which you do not have.”

“But he said nothing about it when we had dinner last night!” exclaimed Agatha.

Catherine’s eyes widened. “You had dinner with Jeremy last night! He told me he was meeting a business friend.”

“I suppose I could be regarded as a business friend,” said Agatha.

Catherine stood up. “Send me your bill. I do not want to see you again.”

“But don’t you want to know who shot at your daughter?” “As I said, the police can deal with it. Now go! And keep away from my husband.”

“He’s not your husband. You’re divorced.”

“We’re getting married again next month. Didn’t he tell you?”

Agatha drove off, feeling furious. What was that snake Laggat-Brown on about, to have dinner with her and not mention a word of her contract being cancelled? She decided to go up to London and see him. She stopped her car and took out a train timetable. There was a train due to leave Moreton in fifteen minutes. She sped off and just managed to board the train as it was pulling out.

At Paddington, Agatha took a taxi to Fetter Lane, got out and began to search up and down for Jeremy’s import/export business. She phoned Patrick and said, “Have you got the number in Fetter Lane of Laggat-Brown’s business?”

He gave it to her. Agatha walked along and saw, in a dark doorway that she had already passed, “Asterix Import/Export.” She climbed up a narrow, dusty staircase to the top floor, where there was a frosted glass door with “Asterix” painted on it in gold letters.

She knocked, but there was no reply.

She retreated to the landing below, where there was a sign on the door indicating it was the office of
Cutie
magazine.

She opened the door and went in. A receptionist with gelled hair and Gothic make-up stared at her indifferently.

“I want to ask about the import/export business upstairs,” said Agatha. “There’s no one there.”

“Hardly ever is,” said the girl laconically. “There was a secretary, but I ain’t seen her in ages.”

“What did she look like?”

“La-di-da. Yaw-yaw voice. Blonde hair. But they’re all blonde these days. So naff.” And she touched a finger to her own black hair complacently.

Agatha thanked her and retreated. She tried a solicitor’s office on the floor below. A secretary there said she thought no one worked at Asterix anymore. “There was a lot of coming and going a year ago,” she said. “Lot of visitors. But lately, there’s been nothing.”