Pushing Up Daisies (24 page)

Bill answered the door, looking sleepy and still wearing his pyjamas. “Come in, Agatha,” he said, “but don't ask me about the case. You know I'm not allowed to talk about it.”

Agatha plumped herself down on a sofa in Bill's small living room and glared at him. “You lot wouldn't have a case if it hadn't been for me. One thing. Did Henry talk?”

“Okay. But I never told you anything,” sighed Bill, slumping down on the sofa next to Agatha. “Yes, Henry told the story. Reading between the lines, it seems as if Henry did not enjoy being a vet. He dated Andrea, and she talked about her dream of a donkey sanctuary somewhere in the Scottish Highlands. They would have a cottage. They would live a blissful Arcadian existence with the dear donkeys. Andrea had become obsessed with the dream. Father wouldn't pay up, so Father had to go. She was shattered when the will was read and she found that apart from an allowance, Damian got the lot. But Mrs. Bull had overheard her talking to Henry about the murder and had tried to blackmail Andrea, and so Mrs. Bull had to go. Henry was challenged with the fact that Andrea alone could not have put those slabs on top of the well or have chucked the old housekeeper down it without assistance, but Henry insisted she did it alone.

“Farraday had to go, too, because Andrea believed he must know something, or why else would his wife say so at the fair? The only thing that does seem the truth is that Henry really did not like being a vet and, odd in his profession, had an anthropomorphic view of animals and had been hospitalised a view years back for attempted suicide and diagnosed as suffering from acute depression. Wilkes is going to have a go at Andrea later today. I think when she hears just how much he's landing her in it, she might tell us the truth about his involvement.”

But later that day, Patrick told Agatha he had just heard the news that Andrea had hanged herself in her cell. “If Henry had not been found, she could have got away with it,” said Agatha. “Yes, we got that tape, but it's not admissible in court. A good barrister could probably have got her off. I suppose they didn't find anything in that room above the stables?”

“Not a thing. Damian has been charged with obstructing the police in their enquiries, harbouring a murderer and I forget what else,” said Patrick. “But I'm sure a good lawyer will give him a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

A week later, Agatha called at the vicarage. “I was about to call on you,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “I haven't seen you in ages. You missed Gerald Devere's farewell party.”

“I missed it because I wasn't invited and no one thought to tell me,” said Agatha crossly.

“Now, that was very wrong of him. He invited the whole village. It was held in the church hall last week.”

“So where has he gone?”

“Back to London.”

“Glad to see it hasn't affected your new appearance,” said Agatha, for the vicar's wife still had her hair tinted and was wearing a cheery red cashmere sweater.

“It all seems like a fevered dream,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “How is Lord Charles?”

“Hasn't been near me. I think he sussed out I'd been to bed with Jake, and that is one one-night stand he is never ever going to forgive me for, and I don't know why.”

“Perhaps he is beginning to care more for you than when you were just friends,” suggested Mrs. Bloxby.

“I'm fed up all round,” fretted Agatha. “No dramatic solving of the case. All just fizzled out, and any credit goes to Jake and the police. Do you know what the great detective has been doing today? Looking for a missing cat called Tiddles. Went round to the house. Looked up and there is the moggy on the roof.”

“So you told the happy owner?”

“Well, no. I waited until the beast had climbed back down to the garden, nipped in, shoved it in a cat box and rang the bell. I'm sick of the type of animal lovers who think that animals are better than people any day because they want unconditional love without having to do much to earn it.”

But as Agatha petted her cats when she got home, she said to them, “You don't give me unconditional love, do you? Your love is conditioned by the food I put in your furry mouths.”

“So cynical.” Charles's head rose above the sofa back, and he rubbed his eyes. “I was fast asleep.”

Agatha experienced a spurt of sheer gladness. “Anything in particular bring you here?”

“Yes, come and sit down and I'll tell you. Get me a drink first. Whisky and soda.”

When Agatha handed him the drink, he took a sip and said, “How would you like to come on holiday with me to Madeira?”

“Yes, I think so. Why Madeira?”

“That's where Jake was going, and it put the idea in my head.”

“When?”

“Next week?”

“I don't know. Oh, what am I talking about? Of course I can get away.”

“It's next Monday. Just for a week. The seven-twenty in the morning flight to Funchal. I'll meet you at Gatwick. Don't be late. I'm off home.”

After he had left, Agatha experienced a warm glow. Not only was Charles back in her life, he was actually paying for a holiday for her.

To her amazement, she found they were flying business class. Charles was seated at the window, Agatha in the middle and a small child at the aisle with the child's parents in two seats opposite. “I tried to get us the two seats,” muttered Charles, “but they were all booked up. You'd think the parents would want to sit with their brat.”

During the flight, the child's parents passed over an iPad and said, “Watch
The Ruggies
.”

Agatha remembered that
The Ruggies
was a children's television show about animated rugs. She was finding the squeaky voices of the animated rugs highly irritating when she suddenly heard a familiar voice saying, “Now then, bad ruggies. You mustn't quarrel.” Agatha peered at the screen and saw Jake's face.

“I've just seen Jake,” Agatha said to Charles. “He's on television.”

“I read about that,” said Charles. “He was headhunted by an agent after that arrest he made and got the job on children's TV.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I don't want to talk about that piece of garbage. Right?”

Charles sounded unusually vehement, and Agatha began to feel sad. Charles must have been really keen on Olivia to resent Jake so much.

But when they arrived in mild warm sunshine, and she found they were to stay at the famous Reid's hotel, Agatha's spirits soared. They were given two rooms with a connecting door, and each had a sunny balcony overlooking the sea.

She opened the connecting door and shouted to Charles, “Going to have a shower.”

“Right,” he called back. “I'll see you in the bar.”

Showered and changed into a cotton dress, Agatha was about to leave when she decided to have a look at Charles's room to see if it had the same view. It proved to be exactly the same. She was about to turn away when she saw a folder of papers with a travel agent's name on the bed.

She decided to have a quick look in case Charles had arranged a boat trip or something like that for them. A letter caught her eye. She wouldn't have read it had it not begun, “Dear Charles, I am so sorry…”

She sat down on the bed and proceeded to read it. It was from Olivia's father. Agatha's heart sank as she read it. It seemed that Jake was forgiven everything because of the television job and had said he was devoted to Olivia, so her father, thinking they could do with some time together, had bought them a week's holiday in Madeira. That was when Jake had moved out of Olivia's flat, found accommodation and refused to answer calls or messages. He ended by saying, “I feel you have suffered more than most of us from this wretched young man. So instead of cancelling the holiday, I am sending it all to you.”

Agatha bit her lip in vexation. If Charles had told her the truth, she would not have hoped … But Agatha's mind clamped down on what she had perhaps hoped.

She went out and along the corridor to take the lift up to the bar. Reid's is built on a cliff, so you go down to the rooms.

The other occupant of the lift was a little old lady bent over two sticks.

“Life is a bitch,” said Agatha and then blushed as she realised she had said it out loud.

“How very true,” said the old lady.

 

Also by
M. C. Beaton

AGATHA RAISIN

Dishing the Dirt: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Blood of an Englishman: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Something Borrowed, Someone Dead: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Hiss and Hers: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

As the Pig Turns: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Busy Body: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

There Goes the Bride: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

A Spoonful of Poison: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Kissing Christmas Goodbye: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Love, Lies and Liquor: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Perfect Paragon: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Deadly Dance: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Agatha Raisin and the Haunted House

Agatha Raisin and the Case of the Curious Curate

Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came

Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfram

Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

The Walkers of Dembley: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Potted Gardener: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Vicious Vet: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Quiche of Death: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Skeleton in the Closet

EDWARDIAN MYSTERY SERIES

Our Lady of Pain

Sick of Shadows

Hasty Death

Snobbery with Violence

 

About the Author

M.C. Beaton
, who was the British guest of honor at Bouchercon 2006, has been hailed as the “Queen of Crime”
(The Globe and Mail)
. In addition to her
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling Agatha Raisin novels, Beaton is the author of the Hamish Macbeth series and four Edwardian mysteries. Born in Scotland, she currently divides her time between the English Cotswolds and Paris. Visit her on Facebook or at
www.mcbeaton.com
. Or sign up for email updates
here
.