(15/30) The Deadly Dance (5 page)

It was an old building with thick beams on the ceiling and a mullioned window overlooking the narrow street below.

She had placed advertisements for The Raisin Detective Agency—”all calls discreetly dealt with—video and electronic surveillance”—but hardly anyone seemed to be rushing to employ her services.

Agatha heard footsteps on the stairs. That was quick, she thought. It was not Emma or Miss Simms who tapped at the door and walked in, however, but a tall woman who, despite the heat of the day, was wearing a waxed coat over a blouse and tweed skirt, woollen stockings and thick brogues. She had curly brown hair which looked as if she had set it herself in pin-curls. She had very large eyes in a thin face. No make-up.

“I am Mrs. Laggat-Brown,” she said, sitting down and facing Agatha across the desk. “I met your friend, Sir Charles Fraith, at a fund-raising event and he told me it would be sensible to apply to you for help.”

Agatha had sent Charles a brochure about the new agency. He had not phoned and she had assumed that he was out of the country. She was used to him dropping in and out of her life. They had been lovers—briefly—in the past, but their relationship never seemed to affect him. They had met years ago when Charles had been in danger of being arrested for murder. After that, he had worked with her on some of her cases. He was ten years younger than Agatha and she was very aware of the age difference.

“How can I help you?” asked Agatha.

“You are not quite what I expected,” said Mrs. Laggat-Brown in a high, fluting voice.

“What did you expect?”

Mrs. Laggat-Brown had expected someone of “our class,” but there was a gleam in Agatha’s eyes that stopped her from even implying such a thing.

“Never mind. The situation is this. I live in the manor-house in Herris Cum Magna. Do you know the village?”

“It’s off the Stow-Burford Road, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Now, listen carefully. I am giving a dinner dance tomorrow for my daughter’s twenty-first birthday. My daughter’s engagement is to be announced. But my daughter, Cassandra, has received a death threat. She has been told in a letter that if she marries Jason Peterson, she will die. The police have been informed and say they will send two officers to the event.”

The door opened and Emma walked in. Agatha introduced them to each other. Mrs. Laggat-Brown surveyed Emma with a flicker of relief in her eyes.

“Sit down, Emma,” said Agatha.

Emma sat down. “Miss Simms is shopping. She will be here presently.” Emma opened her large handbag and drew out a notebook and pen.

Agatha told Emma what Mrs. Laggat-Brown had just said and then asked, “Can you give us some background on your daughter and this Jason Peterson?”

“Certainly.”

It appeared that Jason was a stockbroker from a respectable family. Cassandra had led a sheltered life: Cheltenham Ladies College, followed by a finishing school in Switzerland and then a cordon bleu cookery course in Paris.

The police had the threatening letter.

“Now what I want you to do,” said Mrs. Laggat-Brown, “is to come along and mingle with the guests and look for anyone suspicious. I assume you will be dressed as guests.”

“Of course.” Agatha gave her a frosty look. “Now to our fee.”

“I have the cheque here. Sir Charles said I must pay you in advance.”

Agatha was about to protest that Sir Charles did not run the agency, but one look at the generous sum on the cheque shut her up. Charles must have quoted the first extravagant price he could think of.

She questioned Mrs. Laggat-Brown further as Emma’s pen flew across the pages of her notebook.

According to Mrs. Laggat-Brown, there seemed to be no obvious reason for anyone to want to end the engagement.

Was there a Mr. Laggat-Brown? Not now. They were divorced three years ago, an amicable divorce.

What did Mr. Laggat-Brown do? “He is a stockbroker,” said Mrs. Laggat-Brown. “Just like dear Jason.”

“Will he be at the party?” asked Agatha.

“He would be if I could find him. His firm said he went on an extended holiday but did not leave an address.”

Miss Simms arrived later, carrying shopping bags from various thrift stores. Emma spent the rest of the day instructing her in the files and a new price list she had drawn up.

Agatha was in high excitement at the prospect of what she thought of as a “real” case.

Anxious to tell Mrs. Bloxby about it, no sooner had she arrived home than she fed her cats and let them out in the garden. She reflected that she would have to pay her cleaner, Doris Simpson, something extra to come in during the day and let the cats in and out. Agatha was fond of telling people that she was not an animal lover.

The vicar opened the door to Agatha and gave a thin smile which was not reflected in his eyes. “Em afraid we are rather busy, Mrs. Raisin …” he was beginning to say when Mrs. Bloxby appeared behind him.

“Oh, Mrs. Raisin, do come in,” she said over her husband’s shoulder. “We’ll go into the garden and you can have a cigarette.” The vicar, muttered something and retreated. A moment later, Agatha heard his study door bang.

“So how is it all going?” asked Mrs. Bloxby when they were seated in the garden.

Agatha told her all that had been happening and about the party the following evening.

“And how is Mrs. Comfrey coping?” asked Mrs. Bloxby.

“Very well. At first I thought that she was too old and pushy.”

“Pushy! Mrs. Comfrey!”

“Well, maybe it’s a sort of bold front. Seems she had a pretty important job at the ministry.”

“Or so she says. I can’t imagine her being popular.”

“I can’t imagine her being unpopular,” said Agatha. “She’s just too nice. I’ve hired Miss Simms to be secretary since Emma is doing so well on the detective side.”

“And you say Sir Charles recommended you. That was good of him.”

“He never comes to see me any more,” mourned Agatha.

“He’s always been like that, dropping in and out of your life. He’ll turn up again. Have you phoned him to thank him?”

“No, I’ve tried to phone him before, but he was always out or away somewhere.”

Before Agatha phoned Charles, she phoned Sammy on his mobile and asked if there had been any progress in the Benington case. “I’ve got nothing, but Douglas heard one thing he thinks might be it. He’s bugged the office as well as the phone.”

Agatha repressed a groan, thinking of the expense. “What did he get?”

“Mr. Benington called in his secretary. After dictating letters, very boring stuff, all about clothes and things for their mail-order catalogue, he asked her—her name is Josie—if things were all right for Friday—and she giggled and said okay, that she had told her mum she was off to a business convention. So with any luck it means he’s got an assignation for Friday with his secretary.”

“Good. Keep on it,” said Agatha.

Agatha then phoned Charles. His aunt answered the phone and said Charles was in the bath. “Tell him to call me. AgathaRaisin,” ordered Agatha. The aunt replaced the phone without even saying goodbye. Charles did not phone back.

Probably the old bitch didn’t give him the message, thought Agatha, and went upstairs to find a suitable dress to wear for the party.

Mrs. Laggat-Brown was blessed by good weather. A harvest moon was rising above the trees at the manor-house when Agatha and Emma arrived. Fairy lights were strung through the trees and on the lawn was a large striped marquee. A band on the terrace was playing old-fashioned dance numbers. The manor-house itself was one of those low rambling Cotswold stone buildings which are much larger inside than they seem from the outside. Agatha looked around. She and Emma had arrived early, but already there seemed to be a great number of guests arriving. Agatha had compromised by wearing a silk trouser-suit and flat sandals in case there should prove to be any action. Emma was wearing a black satin gown with long sleeves. Agatha thought she looked like a member of the Addams Family, but Mrs. Laggat-Brown, rushing up to greet them, said, “How well you look, Mrs. Comfrey,” and to Agatha, “Would you like to go into the house and change?”

Agatha bristled. “I am changed. You cannot expect me to hunt down a potential killer in high heels and a long skirt.”

“Oh, very well. The programme is this. The guests will assemble in the marquee, where drinks will be served, followed by dinner. Then they will go outside while the marquee is cleared for dancing. More drinks will be served at the pool house.”

“And where is that?” asked Agatha.

“Over at the back of the house, by the swimming pool. I will announce my daughter’s engagement there before the dancing begins.”

“Would you like me to search the house?” asked Agatha. “Make sure no one is hiding there?”

“Oh, dear me, no. Some of the guests are there changing and we don’t want you poking around, now do we?”

“I thought that was what I was here for,” said Agatha.

“Just study the guests and look out for someone who looks as if they don’t belong.”

“She shouldn’t wear a backless dress at her age,” said Agatha sourly, watching Mrs. Laggat-Brown retreat. “You can count every single vertebra.”

“So where do we start?” asked Emma.

“I don’t know about you, but I could do with a large G and T.”

“I think it’s only champagne,” said Emma. “Here comes a girl with a tray.”

“Oh, that’ll do,” grumbled Agatha. She and Emma took a glass each.

“I think that must be Cassandra,” said Emma, waving her glass in the direction of the terrace.

Cassandra had masses of sun-streaked hair. She was plump with a round, amiable face. She was wearing a very low-cut dress to show off her best feature—two large round bosoms. Beside her stood a young man in evening dress. He had thick dark hair, a long nose, and a somehow embarrassingly large and red sensual mouth.

A little to the left of them stood a policeman and policewoman.

The guests chatted, the band played, and Agatha’s feet began to hurt. And then the guests began to move towards the marquee.“Great,” said Agatha. “Come along, Emma. Em starving.”

Mrs. Laggat-Brown, with her daughter and Jason, had moved to the entrance to the marquee to welcome the guests.

When she saw Agatha and Emma, she said, “We haven’t got places for you. If you’re very hungry, you can get something in the kitchen.”

Agatha wanted to make a scene. She wanted to shout that they were supposed to observe the guests and that she would rather do it sitting down, but reminded herself in time that Mrs. Laggat-Brown was a client and that if she behaved herself this job might lead to others.

Outside, Emma said, “We may as well go to the kitchen.”

“Damned if I will,” muttered Agatha.

“You see, whoever is working there might have some gossip about the family.”

“You’re right.” But Agatha felt she should have thought of that herself.

THREE

AGATHA had imagined she would find a cook and a maid in the kitchen, forgetting that the days of live-in servants had gone. Mrs. Laggat-Brown had hired a caterer, a formidable-looking woman in jeans and a T-shirt. Agatha explained who they were, ending up asking if there was any supper.

“Sorry,” she said briskly. “All in the tent. With people like Mrs. Laggat-Brown, you cater down to the last plate and no more. The girls I’ve hired for the evening are serving it. I’d take a look in her fridge. There might be something there.”

“I don’t think we should…” began Emma timidly, but Agatha had spotted a chest freezer and a microwave, two essentials in Agatha’s opinion for efficient cuisine.

She opened the lid and rummaged through the packets. “Here we are, Emma,” she said at last. “Two portions of stew.”

Agatha put them in the microwave, turned the knob to defrost, and then heated them up.

“This is not bad,” said Agatha when they began to eat. “Got potatoes in it as well.”

At last, her appetite satisfied, Agatha turned her attention back to the caterer. “Known Mrs. Laggat-Brown long?”

“No, this is my first job for her and it’ll be my last.”

“Why is that?”

“Penny-pinching.”

“We’re detectives,” said Agatha. “Her daughter’s had a death threat.”

“Well, let’s just hope they get the old trout instead,” said the caterer with a shrug.

“I hope that cheque of hers clears,” said Agatha.

“It’s all right,” said Emma. “I paid the necessary fee to have it cleared quickly.”

“Oh, well done!” said Agatha and Emma flushed with pleasure. Really, thought Emma, I think I like her after all.

They made their way back out and located the swimming pool. Stage and microphone had been set up at the pool edge facing the house.

Then they walked back and went into the marquee. Agatha’s eyes ranged over the guests. “There can’t be anyone here she doesn’t know,” said Agatha. “No chance of gatecrashers. That one’s not going to part with a single extra crumb if she doesn’t have to.”

Emma’s feet in her high heels began to ache and she envied Agatha her flat sandals. “Funny,” said Agatha, “if Charles is such a friend of hers, I thought he would have been invited.”

At long last the meal was over, and fortunately for the two detectives, the speeches were to be made at the pool.