Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came (19 page)

Agatha put down the phone with a feeling of relief. The police had the resources to cover florists far and wide.

She went back to her notes. Kylie must have been close to one of the girls. Just suppose one of them suggested to her at the hen party that she should slip out after she got home and bring the dress with her? She sat back and frowned. Wedding presents. She had never asked about the wedding presents. Now if one of the girls had given a particularly expensive wedding present, would that not go to show particular friendship?

Agatha was reluctant to phone Freda again, but curiosity compelled her to dial her number.

‘I don’t want to upset you further,’ said Agatha. ‘What about the wedding presents?’

‘I returned them all,’ said Freda in a tired voice.

‘Can you by any chance remember what the office girls gave her?’

‘It was a joint present, a tea-service.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘I made a list. I may still have it. Hold on.’

Agatha waited impatiently. Freda came back on the line. ‘I’ve found it. Oh, Joanna Field – poor Joanna, the police haven’t found her – gave her a bottle of perfume as well as contributing to the tea-service. And Marilyn Josh gave her one of those indecent thong swimsuits. I remember Kylie saying, “She must think I’m a tart.” Nothing else.’

After she had rung off, Agatha studied the notes of Marilyn Josh. Marilyn lived above Harry McCoy and could have seen Agatha standing outside the house that evening when someone had tried to run her over. But Marilyn would not have the means to inject Kylie with heroin and then dump her body in a freezer. Unless she had help. Or had Joanna been in on it and had she disappeared to somewhere she was sure the police would not find her?

The doorbell rang. Agatha opened the door to find Mrs Bloxby there. ‘You haven’t forgotten about the old photographs of the Cotswolds thing?’ she asked anxiously.

‘I had,’ said Agatha ruefully.

‘It’s tomorrow at three in the afternoon. All you have to do is serve tea, sandwiches and cakes.’

‘Oh, all right. I’ll be there. Lantern-slides?’

‘No, framed photographs around the walls. Easy, pleasant afternoon.’

‘For some,’ muttered Agatha. ‘Come in. I’ll make some coffee.’

‘I have to get on. Is John Armitage back? His car isn’t there.’

‘I neither know nor care,’ said Agatha stiffly.

‘Oh,
Mrs Raisin!
’

‘Mrs Raisin what?’ But the vicar’s wife was walking rapidly away.

Agatha decided to check her e-mail. There was one from Marie Hernandez. ‘We are going back to Robinson Crusoe Island in August and wondered if you would like to join us? We had such fun and I think it was a healing place for you. Let us know if you’ll be there.’

Agatha thought of the long, long plane flight to Santiago and then the three-hour flight in the small propeller plane out to the island. She typed, ‘I don’t think I can make it. Maybe next year.’ She hesitated. Should she tell Marie about the case she was on? But it was too complicated and would take too long. So she added a few sentences about the weather in true British style and sent it off.

The doorbell rang again. It was Bill Wong. Agatha eagerly drew him in and described how she had phoned Brudge about the flowers.

‘Good work,’ said Bill. ‘I heard a while back from my friend at Worcester police that they had been asking about that bouquet, but the people with you on the bridge when Kylie was spotted were too shocked to notice if the bouquet was fresh. Anything else?’

‘Did I tell you that Mary Webster once caught Kylie smoking pot?’

‘No, I don’t think you did. That’s interesting. If she was experimenting with pot, she might have gone on to experiment with something stronger. Did she tell Mary where she’d got it?’

‘No. Well, I forgot to ask that.’

‘And I hear from the news that Joanna Field is still missing.’

‘I wonder, Bill, if she had anything to do with it. I wonder if she thought the police might soon get on to her and decided to disappear.’

‘I almost wish that were the case. But would she go off and not take any of her clothes with her? She has only a little bit of money in her account and none of it has been touched. How’s John Armitage?’

Agatha stared at him. ‘There’s a thing. I wonder.’

‘What?’

‘He was keen on her. He found out she’d been sleeping with Barrington – what a euphemism, sleeping. Anyway, he took off after that. But he
was
keen on her. What if she gave him some sob story about wanting to get away from it all?’

‘I think you’ll probably find that John Armitage left news of his whereabouts with Worcester police before he left. But I’ll phone them and check him out. You know, it’s a pity it wasn’t Zak. It’s usually the nearest and dearest.’

‘But he’s so cut up. And what could his motive be?’

‘If there were drugs at that club and Kylie had somehow found out and threatened to tell the police, that would be a motive. But the club’s been searched. And there’s never been a whisper of anything there. It could be jealousy on the part of one of the girls. But would any of them go to such lengths? Trying to kill you and then succeeding in running down Mrs Anstruther-Jones?’

Agatha lit a cigarette, took a puff, winced and put it out. ‘I don’t know, Bill. I just don’t know.’

He smiled. ‘Relax, Agatha. You’ve done your best. The police will be combing the florists far and wide. That was a good tip. Leave everything to them.’

Agatha retreated to the garden to start weeding again. The weather had turned very warm and heavy. She noticed that the grass on the lawn had grown several inches. Again she thought of calling the gardener, but stopped herself from doing so with the reminder that she might as well occupy her time, and why pay someone to do what she could do herself?

She got the lawn-mower out of the shed at the foot of the garden, carried the lead into the kitchen and plugged it in.

Back in the garden, she switched on the machine and began to trundle it happily up and down the grass in the sunshine, dreaming of becoming a completely new Agatha Raisin, in the way that people who do not like themselves very much are apt to do when they set about inventing a new character for themselves. She would take lessons in cookery and baking from Mrs Bloxby. She would become a model villager. She would fund-raise for the church. Her thoughts began to take a gloomy turn. Yes, she would be the perfect country lady, and at her funeral the church would be filled with sobbing villagers. Alf, the vicar, would be in tears as he explained to the packed congregation that he really did not know how he or the village would get along without her. Perhaps James Lacey would be there, head bowed by her graveside. He would say, ‘I loved her all my life and came back to tell her so, but it was too late.’ A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek and she brushed it angrily away.

The grass done and the cut grass bagged up in refuse sacks, Agatha went back indoors and decided to do a particularly tough Pilates exercise called the dead bug, which involved lying on her back and stretching alternate legs and arms until she ached.

What next? A shopping trip? But where? Stow-on-the-Wold and Chipping Campden were wall-to-wall tourists. Much as she liked Evesham, it didn’t have much in the way of smart clothes shops.

The doorbell shrilled. Glad of a diversion, Agatha hurried to open it and then glared at Sir Charles Fraith. Certainly, he had somehow restored himself to his old slimness and impeccable tailoring, although his hair was still thin. ‘Get lost,’ snarled Agatha.

He put his foot in the door. ‘I need a shoulder to cry on,’ he said.

Agatha hesitated and then opened the door wide. ‘Come in, but make it quick. I was just about to go out.’

He followed her into the kitchen. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’

‘I’ll make some and we’ll take our cups into the garden. It’s a glorious day. Don’t spoil it by staying too long.’

‘If you say so,’ said Charles gloomily.

Agatha made two mugs of instant coffee and they carried them out into the garden and sat at a table in the sunshine.

‘So,’ began Agatha, ‘what’s up?’

‘She’s left me.’

‘What! Your wife? The French bird? Why?’

‘Would you believe it, Aggie, she says it’s because I’m mean. She’s gone to Paris and says she doesn’t want to see me again.’

‘Well, you always were tight with money, Charles. When it comes to paying a bill in a restaurant, you’ve always managed to forget your wallet.’

‘I’m thrifty,’ he said defensively. ‘And she’s got oodles of cash, but she says she sees no reason why she should have to spend her own.’

‘You sound like soul mates,’ commented Agatha drily. Her stomach gave a rumble. ‘I’ve got to eat something,’ she said.

‘Then I’ll prove to you I’m a reformed character. I’ll take you for dinner. What do you feel like?’

Agatha felt for a moment that she should rebuff him. He had behaved disgracefully. But then, when had Charles ever behaved well?

‘Oh, all right. I feel like Chinese. There’s a good restaurant in Evesham. I’ll go and change.’

‘So what have you been up to?’ asked Charles as they tackled pancakes and crispy duck.

‘It’s an odd business,’ said Agatha. ‘Did you read about that girl found in the river in Evesham?’

‘Saw something about it. Tell me. This is like old times.’

Yes, it was, thought Agatha. She almost expected James to walk in the door. He’d had a habit of turning up when she was with Charles.

Agatha started first with meeting Kylie at the beauticians. Charles listened carefully until she had finished.

‘What a complicated case!’ he exclaimed when she finally fell silent. ‘I think you should concentrate more on this Marilyn Josh. She lives at the same address as Harry McCoy. Someone saw you and decided to kill you, or that someone decided to phone the murderer and say where you were. Kylie was blackmailing Barrington. Who knows? She may have been blackmailing someone else.’

‘But who? Someone we don’t know?’

‘And this Joanna Field. Wouldn’t her neighbours have seen anything?’

‘I don’t know that she has any neighbours. She lives above a shop in Port Street. A lot of property there is still flood-damaged, you know, no one doing anything until the insurance comes through, and with so many claims, that could take ages. Anyway, the police will already have interviewed everyone possible. I feel something awful has happened to her.’

‘Maybe not. Maybe she just wanted to clear off knowing the police would want to question her about Barrington.’

‘Without clothes or money?’

‘She could have been very frightened.’

‘She didn’t strike me as being frightened the last time I saw her. Angry, cheeky, insolent. But not frightened.’

‘Let’s look at the drug business. That suggests viciousness plus organization.’

‘That brings us back to the club again and there’s no record of any drugs being dealt there.’

‘Needn’t be the club. What about Barrington’s? Barrington himself sounds a nasty bit of work, and what about that goon you described, George, the one who mans the front desk?’

‘Really, Charles. A plumbing business?’

‘All things are possible. Would they have a deep freeze at Barrington’s?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. Anyway, after the blackmailing business came out, the police would have turned the place inside out. I wish it would turn out to be Phyllis.’

‘Why that one?’

‘She’s a narcissistic bully. She’s violently jealous. She hated Kylie. I think she’s a low life.’

‘Any sign that she takes drugs?’

‘Not that I noticed, but unless someone has bare arms and track marks up them, I wouldn’t know.’

‘Tell you what. Why don’t I stay the night and I’ll go round all these people with you tomorrow?’

‘No, Charles. I’ve got to serve teas in the village tomorrow for some photographic exhibition.’ Agatha hesitated. It was difficult to continue to be angry with the lightweight Charles. And somehow, just talking over a case with him like old times connected her in some way to James Lacey. ‘But I tell you what. Why don’t you call over on Saturday and we’ll take it from there?’

‘Great. I’ll come in the morning and we’ll get started.’

‘What are you going to do about your marriage?’

‘What about it?’

‘I mean, aren’t you going to try to fix things? Fly to Paris?’

‘No point. I mean, it’s not just her I have to deal with. It’s her father, mother, two brothers, uncles, aunts, all jabbering at me in French.’

‘But Charles. She’s expecting twins!’

A faint red flush crept up Charles’s face. Agatha stared at him in amazement. ‘You’re actually blushing! I didn’t think you could.’

‘The fact is,’ he said, twisting the stem on his wineglass, ‘I got well and truly caught.’

‘How?’

‘I met her when I was on holiday in Saint Tropez. She was well-guarded by relatives, friends and family, and although she was – is – awfully pretty, I wouldn’t have made a move if she hadn’t moved on me. She kept gazing over at me in this restaurant, sending out signals. You know. One day, she was on her own. I stopped at her table and asked if she was enjoying her stay. She asked me to sit down. We laughed and talked. Then she saw her parents coming into the restaurant and asked me quickly where I was staying. I gave her the name of my hotel. She said she’d meet me in the foyer at midnight. And she did. And we spent the night together, although she had to sneak off at six in the morning. She told me she was on the pill. No, I didn’t have any protection. To tell the truth, I didn’t know I was going to need it. I didn’t see her again and put it all down to a rather intriguing one-night stand. I’d given her my address and phone number. A month later I got this hysterical phone call from Paris saying her period was late and that she’d lied to me about being on the pill. I told her to check out whether she was pregnant or not and phone me back. She phoned back a day later and confirmed that she was. Well, I decided to do the decent thing. Family’s rich, she’s pretty, chance to be a dad, all that. Went over, met the family, popped the question. Got a bit frightened with marriage settlements and lawyers before the wedding and asked her if she was really sure she was pregnant and she smiled at me mistily and said she had been told she was expecting twins.