Agatha Raisin: Hiss and Hers (6 page)

‘A lot of women in the village were silly about him and terribly jealous of me. Some of them were beginning to send me nasty letters. I even had dog shit shoved through my letterbox.'

Not more suspects, thought Agatha wearily. She took out a notebook. ‘Could you please give me their names and addresses?'

‘I dare not.'

‘Give me the name of the worst one,' pleaded Agatha.

She chewed her bottom lip. Then she said, ‘Well, just the one. She was really the worst. Jane Summer. She lives in a cottage along on the right on the other side of the pub. Her cottage is called Tranquillity.'

‘I gather you were having an affair with him,' said Agatha bluntly.

Fiona held out a thin hand on which a diamond ring sparkled. ‘We were engaged to be married.'

‘So you must have been in constant contact with him,' said Charles. ‘When did you last see him?'

Those large green eyes shifted away from their faces. ‘He said he was getting a cottage in Carsely ready for us. He said I should stay away until the fuss had died down.'

‘Would it surprise you to know that he had affairs with several women in Carsely?' asked Agatha.

If she had hoped to rattle Fiona, she failed. Fiona gave her a tolerant smile. ‘Oh, the same old, same old. Liars all. It would amaze you to know how many of the women in this village claimed the same thing. He used to laugh with me. “I am devoted to you and you only, Fee,” that's what he'd say.'

‘Where were you on the day before he was found dead?' asked Charles.

Fiona stood up. ‘Enough!' she shouted. ‘You are not the police. Get out of my home.'

‘Stark, staring bonkers,' said Agatha outside. ‘She's mad enough to have done it.'

‘She won't see you again,' said Charles.

‘No, but I'll send someone else.' They walked past the pub. Agatha noticed a small sign in the window that said, ‘Barmaid Wanted.'

‘I think I'll send Toni to get a job in that pub.'

‘Wouldn't that put her in danger?'

‘No. All she needs to do is pull pints and listen to the village gossip. Oh, here's Jane Summer's cottage. Let's hope this one's sane. I bet she looks awful. I cannot understand George's taste in women.'

‘He didn't have taste,' said Charles brutally. ‘He would have screwed the cat.'

But ‘dainty' was the word to describe Jane Summer. She was small and pretty with a heart-shaped face and large blue eyes, and her curls were genuine blonde. She was wearing a man's blouse over denim shorts. Her feet were bare and her toenails painted pink. Agatha judged her to be in her middle thirties.

Agatha explained the reason for their visit and Jane invited them through the house and into her back garden.

‘Such a tragedy and so horrible,' said Jane. ‘Have you spoken to Fee?'

‘Fiona Morton, yes,' said Agatha.

‘Horrible woman. She drove him out of the village. She would not leave him alone.'

‘She said they were engaged and flashed a diamond ring at me,' said Agatha.

‘I think she probably bought it herself. Fee was an ordinary sort of village lady until George came along and then she seemed to go mad. I hired George to do my garden and she appeared, having climbed over all the intervening fences. George looked terrified. I was so grateful when my husband came home and sent her off.'

‘Your husband? Where does he work?'

‘He's a vet. He has a surgery at the other end of the village. He's often called out to the surrounding farms.'

‘Where were you on the day before George's body was found?'

‘I was here during the day and then, Jack – that's my husband – and I went to a performance at the Playhouse in Oxford. Oh, am I a suspect? I suppose bitchy Fee suggested as much.' She went to a desk in the corner of the room and rummaged in a drawer and retrieved a theatre programme and two ticket stubs. ‘Here's the proof.'

‘Thank you,' said Agatha. ‘No, I won't take them. The police will be in the village soon, asking questions.'

When they left, Charles said, ‘I'm still hungry. I saw a general store as we drove in. Let's buy some grub and drinks and have a picnic.'

The store not only sold sandwiches and hot roast chicken but had a liquor licence. Charles bought a bottle of chardonnay, a chicken, two ham sandwiches and a corkscrew. ‘We're driving,' cautioned Agatha.

‘“We”, paleface? You're driving.'

‘We should eat it in the car with the air-conditioning on,' said Agatha.

‘No. A nice breeze has got up. Let's find a shady tree. This is the best summer ever. May as well enjoy it while it lasts.'

After the usual irritating search for the perfect place to picnic – ‘What about there? No, not there. Try farther on' – and when they were on the point of seriously quarrelling, Charles cried, ‘Stop!'

A little way out of the village, a glassy stream flowed near to the road, and there was a grassy bank shaded by a willow tree.

Agatha, guiltily, had two glasses of wine to accompany the roast chicken and sandwiches. She began to feel sleepy. The stream chuckled past and the long branches of the willow swayed in the breeze. She turned to say something to Charles, but he had fallen neatly asleep. What did he really think of her? she wondered for the umpteenth time. What about that fling they had had in the South of France? It seemed so very long ago and, since then, he had reverted to a casual friendship. Her eyelids drooped and soon she was asleep as well.

She awoke with a start as a large drop of warm rain fell through the willow branches and landed on her nose. ‘Wake up, Charles,' she said, shaking him. ‘It's beginning to rain.' A bright flash of lightning lit up their startled faces and then an enormous crack of thunder seemed to split the sky overhead.

‘The sooner we get to the car and away from this tree, the better,' said Charles. They hurriedly packed the detritus of their picnic and scrambled into the shelter of the car.

‘Home?' asked Charles.

‘I don't want to leave here without finding a bit more about Fiona.'

‘You should leave it to Toni,' said Charles lazily. ‘If she gets the job as barmaid, she'll soon find out more than we could.'

Agatha reluctantly agreed. She drove home through the crashing storm and flooded roads. By the time she turned down into the road to Carsely, the rain had stopped and a pale green evening sky was appearing to the west.

She suddenly did not want to spend the rest of the day on her own, but outside her door, Charles said, ‘Good hunting. Keep me posted,' and headed for his car.

Agatha went indoors, petted her cats and checked her phone for messages. There were five from Roy Silver, a former employee of Agatha's, complaining that there was so much publicity about the murder and she might have got him in on it. Roy was a public relations officer who loved, above all, publicity for himself. Agatha phoned him and invited him down for the weekend. Roy was slightly camp, often irritating, but she decided that any company was better than none. Then she wondered what had happened to her former independence, she who had once been, she thought, satisfied with her own company.

Charles was about to drive off when someone knocked on the car window. He looked out and saw James Lacey and lowered the window. ‘I'd like to speak to you,' said James. ‘Have you got a minute?'

‘Okay.' Charles climbed out of the car and followed James's tall figure into his cottage.

‘Drink?' asked James.

‘Spit it out,' said Charles. ‘The way you are looking at me reminds me of being up before the headmaster.'

‘It's just . . . well, what are your intentions as regards to Agatha?'

Charles stared at James's tall, handsome figure in amazement. ‘Are you joking, or are you really as Victorian as you sound?'

‘I care for Agatha,' said James. ‘I don't want her hurt.'

‘My dear fellow,' said Charles patiently, ‘have you not realized that until our Agatha grows up, she's going to continue to fall for weirdos like super-Lothario Marston? And take you? If you hadn't been such a confirmed bachelor with “Unavailable, do not touch” written all over you, she wouldn't have pursued you in the first place.'

‘I did marry her,' said James.

‘And what a mess that turned out to be,' said Charles ruthlessly. ‘All we can do is what we have done before and stand on the sidelines of Agatha's life ready to pick up the pieces. You could help her with her detecting like you did before.'

‘I can't,' said James. ‘I've got to go abroad.'

‘I thought you'd given up the travel book business.'

‘It pays the bills. I've been working on a life of Nelson. But that doesn't. Look after Agatha.'

‘Look, I'm off. I won't hurt Aggie, I promise. So pack your bags and stop worrying.'

Two days later, Toni was ensconced behind the bar of the pub in Lower Sithby, pulling pints. She could hardly believe how easy it had been to get the job. The landlord, Bob Brackett, was certainly only offering the minimum wage, but the job came with a room above the pub. He had not even asked to see Toni's references, which she had faked. He was a thickset, surly man with a slattern of a wife and a squalling baby. He confided in Toni that his wife wouldn't work in the bar anymore.

A friendly barman in Mircester had given Toni a crash course in pulling pints. She had been worried in case anyone would ask for some kind of cocktail, but the regulars were mostly agricultural workers or farmers and all they wanted was pints of beer.

After Toni's first day, the pub began to become crowded as news of the pretty barmaid spread around the village. Wives began to appear to size her up as well as a few of the unmarried village women. The day before she had started work, Phil Marshall had driven down to the village and had snapped a covert photograph of Fiona Morton. Toni kept it in her handbag behind the bar so that she would recognize Fiona if she walked in.

Toni had not seen Simon Black, who, to her annoyance, Agatha had insisted on sending after her to keep an eye on her. She was surprised he had not visited the pub, but was, on the other hand, glad he was keeping away from her. Toni had so far been unable to hear any gossip about Fiona. On Saturday, Toni wondered how Agatha was getting on, interviewing Jessica Fordyce.

Agatha was at that moment wishing with all her heart that she had not invited Roy. That young man refused to leave Agatha to interview Jessica on her own. Jessica was a television star and Roy hoped the press would still be around.

Nothing Agatha could say would persuade him not to wear a pair of emerald-green leather shorts and a green open-necked shirt with ballooning sleeves. He had distressingly thin legs ending in green leather ankle boots. He had a fake-bake tan and his hair was highlighted with green and blond stripes. Roy parried every thrust by saying that Agatha was out of touch with fashion.

To Agatha's amazement, she received a friendly welcome from Jessica.

Jessica led them into her kitchen, a miracle of granite tops, copper pans and gleaming gadgets. Agatha looked around. She had not bothered doing much to her own kitchen, as almost the only appliances in daily use were the microwave and the coffeepot. She remembered when butcher's block kitchen tables had been all the rage and had bought one. But it had a dip in the side to let the blood run down and coffee cups had a habit of sliding down there on to the floor, so she had got rid of it and had bought a conventional one instead. Besides, it had taken a lot of scrubbing to get it clean and Doris Simpson had complained bitterly.

Jessica was wearing a sky-blue cotton smock. She was bare-legged. She was not wearing any make-up and Agatha noticed there was not a single wrinkle on the beauty of her glowing face. Roy was in raptures. ‘You're even more gorgeous than you are on the telly,' he breathed.

Jessica laughed. ‘I don't think Agatha came here to worship at my shrine. You're trying to find out who killed George, aren't you?'

‘Yes, his sister has retained me,' said Agatha. ‘Have you any idea who would do such a thing?'

‘Coffee?'

‘Yes, please,' said Roy.

Jessica ground beans in an electric grinder and then put the grounds into a coffee machine. ‘It'll take a few minutes,' she said. ‘Have a seat.'

Her hair must be genuine red, thought Agatha, feeling diminished before so much beauty.

They sat round the coffee table. ‘If you want suspects, you'll need to start with all those village women he was sleeping with,' said Jessica.

‘You knew about that?' asked Agatha.

Jessica shrugged. ‘Didn't everyone?'

Except me, thought Agatha bitterly. Jessica, with her open friendly air, was not what Agatha had expected.

‘Did you have an affair with him?' asked Agatha.

‘No, I recognized his type a mile off.'

‘And what type is that?'

‘I don't think George
liked
women. I think he liked the power. I think he liked easy conquests. I was out of his league.' She smiled at Agatha. ‘I would suppose you were, too.'

Agatha warmed to Jessica in that moment. She exuded such a friendly warmth that it was hard not to like her. Roy was gazing at Jessica, his mouth hanging open. Agatha resisted an impulse to lean across and close it for him.

‘He mentioned to me that he was afraid of someone who might turn out to be a psychopath. Did he say anything about that to you?' asked Agatha.

Jessica stood up and went to the counter and filled porcelain mugs with coffee. When the coffee was served, she placed a plate of chocolate-chip cookies on the table, saying, ‘Do try them. I baked them.'

‘Goodness,' Roy said, gasping. ‘You really are a household goddess.'

‘About the psychopath,' said Agatha impatiently. ‘Roy, you're getting biscuit crumbs down the inside of your shirt!'