Pushing Up Daisies (23 page)

Agatha groaned inwardly but was glad she had flat shoes on that she used for driving.

“What are we going to do when we get there?” asked Phil.

“See if Henry turns up, see if we can see them together and hear something.”

“Circle well away from the stables,” said Phil. “They may have security cameras.”

“They don't have any. That came out during the investigation.”

They crept past the stables. A horse whinnied and stamped, making them clutch each other. Then they moved on past the stables and towards the bulk of the house.

“How long have we been at Harby?” asked Agatha. “I mean since leaving Patrick.”

“Must be at least three-quarters of an hour,” replied Patrick.

“Then if he's coming here, he should be here any moment, or if he came in by the front, he could already be here. The trouble is, there are so many rooms in the place, so many small rooms. Odd. It's as if it used to have salons or something, and some mad person got the builders in and had them all cut up.”

“Could have been someone with a cottage mentality,” said Phil. “Felt overawed by large drawing rooms. We're nearly at the house. We'd better whisper.”

“There are lights shining at the back,” said Agatha. “It's where there's a terrace overlooking the pool. I've forgotten my tape recorder. Have you got one? Someone might say something incriminating.”

And someone might not turn up, thought Phil gloomily. Agatha is
willing
something to happen.

But as they crept up the terrace towards the long windows because one window was slightly open, they could hear a breathless man's voice say, “I came as soon as I could.”

Phil switched on the tape recorder.

The same voice again. “What's the panic?”

Andrea's voice. “My dear brother here says if we don't get the hell out of the country, he's going to the police. It's all Father's fault, Damian. He should have given me the money for that donkey sanctuary.”

“And I wouldn't give you any either,” said Damian. “Was I next?”

“How did you find out?” asked Andrea.

“One of the grooms mentioned you had been using an old room above the stables and wondered if he could rent it. I said I'd take a look at it. I found Oblivon. I found plans for the donkey sanctuary. I found the remains of antifreeze. And if that weren't enough, you put the lot on a computer, you silly cow. I fired that detective. So last chance. I don't want any scandal. Get out the country, and take your precious vet with you.”

“She did it all,” shouted Henry.

“Oh, yeah? So who gave her the Oblivon?”

Silence.

Then Agatha's leg gave a twinge of cramp. She tried to stand up, staggered and clutched the wall. But her foot dislodged a pebble, which seemed to take an extraordinarily, large noise for such a small piece.

“Someone's out there!” shouted Damian. Agatha and Phil took to their heels and ran.

Then Phil, with surprising strength for an elderly man, suddenly pushed Agatha into some shrubbery and fell on top of her. “We'll never outrun them,” he said. “Lie still.”

“Okay,” muttered Agatha. “But get off me. If we ever get out of here, we'd better go to the police. Wilkes will rave. Tape recordings are not admissible in court. We'll need to hope like hell that Damian didn't destroy the evidence.”

“Don't worry,” said Phil. “I feel Henry will crack. Shhh! They're quite near.”

Damian was giving orders to someone. “Get down to the village and get Tolly's dogs. They'll soon sniff the snooper out.”

Agatha crouched, shivering with fear as the voices faded away. “I'm not waiting to be mauled by some Hound of the Baskervilles. Let's get to the main drive and see if Patrick can call the police.”

Patrick replied that the lodge gate was open, and that if they could make it to the main drive, he could race in and get them. “Police should be here soon,” he said. “They were all over the place before I rushed up here, trying to find out what happened to Gerald.”

But Patrick had to wait until several cars from the village roared up the drive. He drove in behind them, assuming they would think he had come from the village to help in the hunt as well.

Agatha and Phil were creeping in what they hoped was the direction of the main drive, because the night had become very black, when the heavens opened and the rain poured down stabbing torrents of icy rain.

They crouched beside the main drive. Cars roared past them. “How will we recognise Patrick's car?” asked Agatha. “Can't see anything but headlights in this pouring rain. This is mediaeval. I think the bastard's roused the whole village to hunt us down.”

At last, they saw a flicking of headlights. “Let's risk it!” said Agatha, and jumped out into the middle of the road. At first, she thought she'd made a terrible mistake as the car accelerated towards her, and she threw herself into a bush at the side of the road. But the car stopped and Patrick's voice said urgently, “Get in.”

Soaking wet, they dived into Patrick's car. He did a U-turn and raced off. They saw the white face of the lodge keeper as they roared past. “That's torn it,” said Patrick. “They'll all be in pursuit.”

“For God's sake, man, put your foot down,” yelled Agatha. But Patrick continued at a sedate pace and swung down a farm track and finally parked near some trees.

“There!” he said. “I always wonder in movies why, when the villain is chasing the hero, he doesn't just get off the road. I'm sorry I can't put the heater on, Agatha, but we don't want to attract attention.”

“All right,” said Agatha. “Now, as you are the one with the tape, Phil, you have the honour of phoning Mircester headquarters. I don't think I could bear to hear Wilkes.”

“There are police in the village because of what happened to Gerald. That's a start,” said Patrick.

Phil phoned and went through the whole business of being put through several people until he got to Inspector Wilkes. He was told they were all to stay exactly where they were.

Agatha shivered. A dramatic ending, but not that dramatic. For once, there was no Charles to ride to the rescue.

The wail of sirens sounded from the road. “That'll be the lot from the village. Good,” said Patrick. “We'll go to the pub and get you dried out.”

“It's just after eleven,” said Agatha, squinting at the luminous dial of her watch. “They'll be closed.”

“They'll be open for the police. I think it's safe to go now.”

The landlord said they were welcome to come in. The police had left a short time ago, but he would make up the fire and get them some drinks. Phil phoned to leave a message as to where they could be found.

But just as they were getting warm and dry, there was a call from Wilkes summoning them to the hall and telling them to make sure they had the tape.

They were ushered into the drawing room at the hall, where they found Andrea, Damian and their mother, all looking relaxed and amused. There was no sign of Henry.

“Play the tape,” ordered Wilkes.

To Agatha's amazement, the Bellingtons simply looked amused. When the recording was finished, Damian said languidly, “Aren't we convincing? We knew Agatha was outside the window, snooping, so we all decided to give her something worth snooping for. You should see your faces!”

“But you called for help finding us. You called for dogs!” shouted Agatha.

“I'd fired you, sweetie, and I planned to give you the fright of your life. I hope I did.”

“Where's Henry?”

“Goner home, I suppose,” said Damian. “Dear me, inspector, you are quite red in the face.”

“I am taking you all in for questioning,” said Wilkes. “All of you!” He turned to his men. “Wong, get two to help you, and bring that vet in to headquarters. You are all to be questioned, and that includes you, Ms. Agatha Raisin!”

 

Epilogue

The black clouds were rolling away to the east, and an angry red sun was gilding the old jumbled roofs of Mircester when Agatha was finally released from police headquarters. She had driven her own car up from Orlington Sudbury.

She still could not believe it. Wilkes was sure Damian was telling the truth. But where was Henry? Surely the fact that no one had found him pointed to guilt?

Agatha saw the tired figure of Bill Wong emerging and went to join him. “It's a no go,” he said. “Damian has even got those villagers who turned up to hunt you down to say it was all a joke. But there's one consolation for you.”

“What's that?”

“They've put out an all points bulletin for Henry. He would be the weak link if he didn't actually murder anyone himself.”

“If they've left him alive,” said Agatha gloomily. “I've an awful feeling we'll never find him now.”

Agatha drove slowly home, very tired, and chilled to the bone. Even with the car heater blasting, the chill seemed as if it were lodged inside her forever.

When she arrived outside her cottage and let herself in, she petted her cats and chased them out into the garden before climbing the stairs to look into the spare room. She had hoped perhaps that Charles might be there, but the room was empty.

She had a hot shower and then went to bed, finding herself thinking of Jake and wondering whatever had happened to him.

*   *   *

Jake was feeling trapped. His delight at being back in London had waned because Olivia's father had researched the Lisle family and found Jake's father to be not only respectable but very rich. So he had phoned Mr. Lisle to meet at his club, and it was decided that Jake should study for the stockbroking exams.

The fact that Jake had not even proposed marriage to Olivia was ignored. Olivia said they were close, that they were in love, and that was enough for both fathers. Jake passionately did not want to be a stockbroker, but his father was giving him a generous allowance, and he knew that allowance would be cut off if he said he didn't want to study for the exams.

Also, Olivia liked expensive restaurants. And she expected him to pay half of the rent. He had assumed the flat in Pont Street would be owned by her. Bed was a disappointment. She was surprisingly bony and went so stiff during lovemaking that he felt as if he were romancing a plank.

Sometimes, he thought of Agatha, all curves, passion and French perfume, and wished he had never left the agency. How to escape?

One blessed quiet evening, while Olivia had gone off to a hen party, he put up his feet and turned on the television.
Crime Watch
was showing, and Jake noticed they were still hunting for that vet. Still, his detective days were over, so he switched over to a travelogue on Madeira. As the cold wind howled down Pont Street outside, Jake gazed at scenes of sunshine and wished he were there. I just haven't enough money to escape, he thought. If I were a villain, I could simply go out and mug someone. Then he remembered that he still had the keys to the carpentry shop, and in the office was a safe where Mr. Bonlieu kept a stack of money, perhaps to pay people off the books. Jake had noticed the money one day when Bonlieu had left the safe open while he berated Jake for laziness. But they would have changed the locks after the murder, wouldn't they? Jake suddenly decided to try.

The last time he had gone in by the back door, it had not been burglar alarmed. He was smiling to find his key still worked when a burglar alarm went off over his head. He hurriedly typed in 1066 in the alarm box, and the shrill noise stopped. It was the same code for the burglar alarm at the front of the shop. Didn't they realise, wondered Jake, that 1066 must be one of the most common security codes in the British Isles? Most school history was forgotten except for the date of the Battle of Hastings.

He made his way through to the office, remembering it was never locked. Now to find the code for the safe. He searched the desk and then remembered he had forgotten to keep his gloves on. The hell with it. He went on searching. Then he wondered, it couldn't possibly be the Battle of Hastings again. He twisted the dial—1066—and grinned as he swung the door open. There were two neat stacks of twenty pounds notes. He took one stack. After closing the safe, he decided not to trouble wiping off his fingerprints. Bonlieu couldn't report the theft to the police in case PC Plod asked if he had declared it on his income tax.

Now, one more night with Olivia!

Jake called in at a travel agent early the following morning and booked a flight to Funchal in Madeira and a room at the famous Reid's palace hotel.

Now, Jake's father had often grumbled that his son was a waste of a first-class brain. As he approached the check-in desk and queued up behind a bearded young man, Jake suddenly felt a frisson of recognition as the young man turned and looked nervously behind him. It was the face he'd seen on crime watch.

Jake did not even pause to think. Throwing his arms around the man and holding him in a tight grip, he shouted, “Henry Jessop! I am making a citizen's arrest!”

The vet struggled free, tried to run but was brought down by a rugby tackle from Jake. Airport security came running.

Agatha watched the morning news on television as she drank her coffee and stiffened in amazement as Jake's handsome face appeared on the screen. He was a hero! He had arrested a man the police were looking for at Heathrow Airport. The report went on to say that Mr. Jake Lisle had been on his way to take a flight to Madeira. What on earth could he be doing going to Madeira, wondered Agatha. And then with one of her flashes of intuition, she realised that Jake was probably running away from Crime Watch.

The police would sweat Henry, and Henry would confess to his involvement. But could Andrea really have killed her own father?

A day later, before she went to the office, she marched into police headquarters and demanded to speak to Bill Wong, only to be told it was his day off. Right, thought Agatha. He no longer lives with his parents. I'll go and see him now.