Agatha Raisin: As The Pig Turns (12 page)

‘Good idea.’ Phil went off, and Toni made her way through to the dining room.

Mrs Richards was talking to a man, and from his appearance, Toni guessed that the man was her ex-husband. Agatha’s notes on the case included detailed descriptions of all the people she
had come across.

She retreated and joined Phil, who was seated at an outside table at the café. ‘It looks as if she’s with her ex-husband,’ said Toni. ‘I’ll try to talk to
her again when she’s on her own. I mean, she was friendly enough before.’

‘I’ll go and have a look,’ said Phil. ‘I sneaked a photograph of him.’

He had just gone when Toni’s mobile phone rang. It was Charles. ‘Do you know if Agatha is at the George?’ he demanded. ‘It looks as if someone’s stolen my set of
keys to her cottage.’

‘Yes, she’s staying at the George,’ said Toni. ‘I hope you didn’t have the code to the burglar alarm with the keys.’

‘Oh, God, it’s pasted above the hook.’

‘Charles!’

‘Got to go.’

Agatha awoke and blinked groggily. Someone was hammering at her hotel-room door. She heard Charles’s voice shouting, ‘Agatha! Open up!’

She struggled out of bed, shouting back, ‘Give me a minute.’

Her hair was all over the place, and her face looked tired and white. She gathered up the set of cheap clothes she had bought, unlocked the door and dived into the bathroom. ‘Take a
seat,’ she called. ‘Getting dressed. What’s up?’

‘I’ll tell you when you come out.’

Charles opened the minibar and helped himself to a whisky.

Agatha quickly showered and put on underwear and the loose cotton dress she had bought. She brushed her hair until it shone and carefully applied a layer of make-up with a hand made expert over
the years.

When she emerged, she glared at the glass of whisky in Charles’s hand, noticing from two small empty bottles that it was not his first.

‘Oh, do make yourself at home,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Hear about the head?’

‘Yes, frightful.’

‘Is that why you are here raiding the minibar?’

‘Well, not exactly. It’s like this . . .’

Agatha heard him out and then said, ‘I’ll get on to the security firm and get them round tomorrow. I suppose the police will be at my cottage for most of today. I should charge you.
I’ll need to change all the locks and the burglar alarm.’

She sat down suddenly on the bed. ‘I still feel shaky. I went straight to bed when I got here.’

‘You need lunch.’

‘Are you buying?’

‘Of course,’ said Charles reluctantly.

They were about to enter the dining room when Agatha saw Fiona Richards and her husband.

She backed away. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she hissed. ‘The Richards female is in there with her husband. We’ll have lunch somewhere else.’

As they left the hotel, Agatha spotted Phil and Toni in the café opposite and went to join them. ‘I thought I would wait until she leaves and see if I can have a word with
her,’ said Toni.

‘But get her on her own.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘We’re off for lunch,’ said Agatha, and added firmly, ‘Charles is buying.’ Charles, predictably, led Agatha to the Dragon, where he knew the set pub meals were
cheap at lunchtime.

Bill Wong was just finishing his lunch as they walked in. ‘I’m going back out to your cottage, Agatha,’ he said. ‘I want to see if they’ve found out
anything.’

‘I hope I’ll be able to go home tomorrow,’ said Agatha, sitting next to him. ‘Charles, get me a steak and chips and a half of lager.’

As Charles’s well-tailored back moved towards the bar, Agatha whispered, ‘You’ll never guess what the silly ass has done.’ She told him about the missing keys.

‘I know. He did phone us,’ said Bill crossly. ‘Come over to headquarters after lunch. We’ll need to send someone out to Warwickshire to have a look at that kitchen
door.’

Bill left them when their food arrived. Agatha poked dismally at her steak. When she was with James, she longed for Charles’s lighter company. Now, she felt she could do with James’s
steady reassurance.

Her phone rang. It was Roy Silver, babbling with excitement. ‘I hear you’ve found the head.’

‘Well, it found me.’

‘Look, Aggie, how about me coming down for the weekend and babysitting you?’

‘Yes, sure. Do you want me to pick you up at the station?’

‘No, I’m driving down. See you Friday evening.’

Toni at last saw the Richardses leaving the hotel. Tom Richards kissed his ex-wife on the cheek and strode off. Fiona Richards set off in the opposite direction. Toni had
already paid the bill in the café, so she followed in pursuit, with Phil following a discreet distance behind.

Fiona went into a dress shop, and after only a little hesitation, Toni followed her in just as a formidable sales assistant was ushering Fiona into a changing room, saying, ‘I’ve got
the very thing for you. Cerise silk.’ She swung a frumpy outfit off its hanger and handed it into the changing room.

Fiona Richards was a contrast to the dead Amy, thought Toni, patiently waiting for her to come out. Amy wouldn’t have been seen dead in a frock like that.

‘How much is that dress you have just given that lady to try on?’ asked Toni.

‘Four hundred and ninety-nine pounds.’

‘Bit steep.’

The assistant looked coldly at Toni. ‘Do you want something?’

‘I just want a word with Mrs Richards.’

The assistant went into the changing room. ‘What do you think?’

‘May as well. I need something for the Woman of the Year banquet.’

‘Ooh, have you been selected?’

‘Hardly. I’m just a housewife. Yes, I’ll take it.’

‘There’s a young lady waiting to speak to you.’

Fiona glanced out of the changing room and then shut the door. ‘I do not wish to speak to her. Tell her to go away. She’s one of those awful detectives.’

The assistant approached Toni. ‘Come into my office, please. I want a word with you. Come along, or I’ll call the police.’

Once in the small office, which smelled of perfume and cloth, the assistant said, ‘Mrs Richards doesn’t want to speak to you, and she has made that perfectly clear. You will leave
immediately.’

At that moment, they both heard the shop door bang.

The assistant looked out of the window and saw Fiona scurrying off down the street. ‘You’ve lost me a sale,’ she wailed.

Toni ran out of the shop, looking to right and left, but could see no sign of Fiona.

Phil was remarkably spry for seventy-odd years. He followed Fiona to the car park. She had been moving very quickly, taking a circuitous route through market stalls to the car
park.

She was just about to get into her car when Phil approached her. ‘Excuse me!’

Fiona surveyed him. Phil had white hair and a gentle face.

‘What is it?’

‘I think I saw a couple of youths trying to break into your car. They saw me and ran off. Maybe you’d better go to the police station and I’ll help you put in a
report.’

‘The police won’t do anything,’ said Fiona. ‘Useless. But thanks all the same.’

Phil gave a charming laugh. ‘I don’t know what they would have done if they had confronted me. Bit long in the tooth. You know, you look a bit shaken. Fancy a cup of tea?’ As
she hesitated, he added, ‘With my years, you can hardly think I’m trying to pick you up.’

‘Oh, all right. I could do with a cuppa. I had lunch at the George and there was too much salt in the food.’

‘There’s a new café just next to the abbey,’ said Phil.

‘Lead the way.’

Over a pot of tea and toasted tea cakes in a shady garden at the back of the café, Fiona visibly relaxed as Phil prattled on about the unseasonably warm weather.

‘Are you originally from Mircester?’ asked Phil.

‘No, I’m a London girl. I think when the kids are old enough, I’ll move back. Never really settled here.’

‘But the countryside is so beautiful!’ exclaimed Phil.

‘It’s not even real countryside. Neat little fields. Manicured rubbish to keep rich farmers in their four-wheelers.’

‘I don’t know that the farmers have all that easy a time of it,’ ventured Phil. ‘I mean, they’re so dependent on the weather.’

‘And government subsidies,’ said Fiona.

Phil decided to quickly abandon that subject.

‘Are you married?’ he realized Fiona was asking.

‘No. Are you?’

‘Was. But we have friendly relations because of the children. Do you know his wife was found murdered the other day?’

‘Good heavens!’ said Phil. ‘I read about a murder at Tesco’s in Stow.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Why her? Is it because she was at one time married to that policeman who was murdered as well?’

‘Probably. I don’t know why she was murdered of all people. She was a silly, common little thing. My ex was married to her.’

‘No wonder you want to leave the countryside,’ exclaimed Phil. ‘You must be frightened to death.’

‘Why?’

‘Some psycho is going around murdering people.’

‘Ah, but I didn’t know the horrible Gary Beech.’

‘If you didn’t know him, how do you know he was horrible?’

‘His penchant for ticketing everyone was legendary. You do ask a lot of questions.’

‘Comes from being retired,’ said Phil. ‘I live a pretty lonely life, and I get curious about people. More tea?’

‘No thanks. I’d better be getting home. Wolfgang’s due back from school, and the younger ones are with the nanny.’

‘How old are they?’

‘Wolfgang’s thirteen, Josie’s five and Carol is four. Carol goes to a kindergarten twice a week. That’s all. She’s not very strong.’

‘What’s the matter with her?’

‘Nobody knows. She seems to be physically healthy, but she cries a lot. Look, I’ve enjoyed talking to you. Give me your card. Maybe we’ll meet up again.’

‘I’d like that.’ Phil carefully extracted a card that had only his home number and address.

‘Carsely.’ Her eyes sharpened. ‘Now why does that ring a bell?’

‘Been in the papers,’ said Phil easily. ‘That woman detective had a head delivered to her.’

‘God, how awful. Agatha Raisin, isn’t it? Well, she’s in a man’s world, so she’ll just have to learn to take it.’

When she had left, Phil thoughtfully ordered more tea and phoned Toni. ‘I’d leave her to me,’ he finished, then asked, ‘What happened in that shop?’

Toni told him. ‘Her ex-husband probably warned her off,’ said Phil. ‘I’ve established some sort of friendship. Why is Agatha so interested? Fiona seems an ordinary
housewife.’

‘Agatha is suspicious of Richards despite his clean bill of health from the police. She feels Fiona might know something without being aware of it. She feels there is something seriously
wrong with a man who wants women to go and get face-lifts.’

Phil finally finished drinking his tea and made his way out. He had an odd feeling of being watched, so to be on the safe side, he did not go back to the office.

That evening, Agatha was settling down to a solitary meal at the George, wondering bitterly why James had not tried to contact her, when a tall, well-groomed man approached her
table. He was dressed in smart casual. He had silver hair and a tanned face, hooded pale eyes and a fleshy mouth.

‘Mrs Raisin?’

‘Yes?’ demanded Agatha suspiciously.

He slid into a chair opposite her. ‘My name is Guy Brandon. I’m the main judge in the Woman of the Year.’

‘I was very flattered to be nominated,’ said Agatha eagerly. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yes, but I’ll have a coffee and brandy if that’s all right with you.’

Agatha waved the waiter over and gave the order.

‘I really think you should get the prize,’ he said. ‘You’re quite a legend.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Oh, I’m behind you, but the other two judges, well, they favour Cressida Jones-Wilkes.’

‘Who the hell is she? Never heard of her.’

‘She runs a very successful garden centre on the Stow road.’

His brandy and coffee arrived. ‘Of course, the other two judges could be made to change their minds. But it costs money.’

Agatha opened her handbag and surreptitiously switched on a powerful little tape recorder. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I was looking for my cigarettes. I always forget about the
smoking ban. You were saying that the other two judges could be
bribed
?’

He threw his head back and laughed, displaying a mouthful of large, cosmetically whitened teeth.

‘You have the reputation for being blunt, Mrs Raisin. But just think of the boost it would give your detective agency if you were elected. Midlands television are going to cover the
event.’

‘How much?’ demanded Agatha.

‘I should think two thousand pounds each should settle the matter.’

‘Who are the other two judges?’

‘Mary Mamble, who runs the Arts Centre, and Sir Jonathan Beery.’

‘You used to be an MP, didn’t you?’ asked Agatha. ‘You lost your seat at the last election. What are you doing now?’

‘This and that. I write articles for the papers and sit on several committees. I am much in demand. In fact, I am a pretty famous public speaker.’

‘I am not going to hand out money until I know I am elected,’ said Agatha. ‘Tell them that as soon as I am, they will get the money.’

‘And two thousand to me,’ said Guy quickly. ‘I have to do all the work of persuading them.’

‘All right,’ said Agatha. ‘Same deal. I get elected and you and the others get paid immediately afterwards. I assume you all want cash?’

‘You are so quick on the uptake.’

‘Aren’t I just,’ said Agatha, her bearlike eyes glinting oddly in the light. ‘But get this. This is a ladies’ agreement. You do not see any cash until the deed is
done.’

‘But surely . . . I mean, a little in advance?’

‘Not a penny.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to trust you.’

‘Oh, you’d better. For your own good.’

‘I’ll be in touch.’ He smoothed back his hair with a nervous hand.

Oh, dear, thought Agatha, watching his retreating back. What a wicked world!

Chapter Eight

Roy Silver drove happily down into Carsely early on Friday evening. He wondered whether Agatha would admire his new appearance. His hair had started to grow again, so he had
gelled it into spikes. Very much taken with his punk appearance, he had decided to go for the retro look and was wearing flares and an open-necked shirt, displaying a gold medallion on his skinny,
hairless chest.