by M C Beaton
“Oh, Mrs. Raisin, do come in,” she said over her husband’s shoulder. “We’ll go into the garden and you can have a cigarette.” The vicar, muttered something and retreated. A moment later, Agatha heard his study door bang.
“So how is it all going?” asked Mrs. Bloxby when they were seated in the garden.
Agatha told her all that had been happening and about the party the following evening.
“And how is Mrs. Comfrey coping?” asked Mrs. Bloxby.
“Very well. At first I thought that she was too old and pushy.”
“Pushy! Mrs. Comfrey!”
“Well, maybe it’s a sort of bold front. Seems she had a pretty important job at the ministry.”
“Or so she says. I can’t imagine her being popular.”
“I can’t imagine her being unpopular,” said Agatha. “She’s just too nice. I’ve hired Miss Simms to be secretary since Emma is doing so well on the detective side.”
“And you say Sir Charles recommended you. That was good of him.”
“He never comes to see me any more,” mourned Agatha.
“He’s always been like that, dropping in and out of your life. He’ll turn up again. Have you phoned him to thank him?”
“No, I’ve tried to phone him before, but he was always out or away somewhere.”
Before Agatha phoned Charles, she phoned Sammy on his mobile and asked if there had been any progress in the Benington case. “I’ve got nothing, but Douglas heard one thing he thinks might be it. He’s bugged the office as well as the phone.”
Agatha repressed a groan, thinking of the expense. “What did he get?”
“Mr. Benington called in his secretary. After dictating letters, very boring stuff, all about clothes and things for their mail-order catalogue, he asked her—her name is Josie—if things were all right for Friday—and she giggled and said okay, that she had told her mum she was off to a business convention. So with any luck it means he’s got an assignation for Friday with his secretary.”
“Good. Keep on it,” said Agatha.
Agatha then phoned Charles. His aunt answered the phone and said Charles was in the bath. “Tell him to call me. AgathaRaisin,” ordered Agatha. The aunt replaced the phone without even saying goodbye. Charles did not phone back.
Probably the old bitch didn’t give him the message, thought Agatha, and went upstairs to find a suitable dress to wear for the party.
Mrs. Laggat-Brown was blessed by good weather. A harvest moon was rising above the trees at the manor-house when Agatha and Emma arrived. Fairy lights were strung through the trees and on the lawn was a large striped marquee. A band on the terrace was playing old-fashioned dance numbers. The manor-house itself was one of those low rambling Cotswold stone buildings which are much larger inside than they seem from the outside. Agatha looked around. She and Emma had arrived early, but already there seemed to be a great number of guests arriving. Agatha had compromised by wearing a silk trouser-suit and flat sandals in case there should prove to be any action. Emma was wearing a black satin gown with long sleeves. Agatha thought she looked like a member of the Addams Family, but Mrs. Laggat-Brown, rushing up to greet them, said, “How well you look, Mrs. Comfrey,” and to Agatha, “Would you like to go into the house and change?”
Agatha bristled. “I am changed. You cannot expect me to hunt down a potential killer in high heels and a long skirt.”
“Oh, very well. The programme is this. The guests will assemble in the marquee, where drinks will be served, followed by dinner. Then they will go outside while the marquee is cleared for dancing. More drinks will be served at the pool house.”
“And where is that?” asked Agatha.
“Over at the back of the house, by the swimming pool. I will announce my daughter’s engagement there before the dancing begins.”
“Would you like me to search the house?” asked Agatha. “Make sure no one is hiding there?”
“Oh, dear me, no. Some of the guests are there changing and we don’t want you poking around, now do we?”
“I thought that was what I was here for,” said Agatha.
“Just study the guests and look out for someone who looks as if they don’t belong.”
“She shouldn’t wear a backless dress at her age,” said Agatha sourly, watching Mrs. Laggat-Brown retreat. “You can count every single vertebra.”
“So where do we start?” asked Emma.
“I don’t know about you, but I could do with a large G and T.”
“I think it’s only champagne,” said Emma. “Here comes a girl with a tray.”
“Oh, that’ll do,” grumbled Agatha. She and Emma took a glass each.
“I think that must be Cassandra,” said Emma, waving her glass in the direction of the terrace.
Cassandra had masses of sun-streaked hair. She was plump with a round, amiable face. She was wearing a very low-cut dress to show off her best feature—two large round bosoms. Beside her stood a young man in evening dress. He had thick dark hair, a long nose, and a somehow embarrassingly large and red sensual mouth.
A little to the left of them stood a policeman and policewoman.
The guests chatted, the band played, and Agatha’s feet began to hurt. And then the guests began to move towards the marquee.“Great,” said Agatha. “Come along, Emma. Em starving.”
Mrs. Laggat-Brown, with her daughter and Jason, had moved to the entrance to the marquee to welcome the guests.
When she saw Agatha and Emma, she said, “We haven’t got places for you. If you’re very hungry, you can get something in the kitchen.”
Agatha wanted to make a scene. She wanted to shout that they were supposed to observe the guests and that she would rather do it sitting down, but reminded herself in time that Mrs. Laggat-Brown was a client and that if she behaved herself this job might lead to others.
Outside, Emma said, “We may as well go to the kitchen.”
“Damned if I will,” muttered Agatha.
“You see, whoever is working there might have some gossip about the family.”
“You’re right.” But Agatha felt she should have thought of that herself.
THREE
AGATHA had imagined she would find a cook and a maid in the kitchen, forgetting that the days of live-in servants had gone. Mrs. Laggat-Brown had hired a caterer, a formidable-looking woman in jeans and a T-shirt. Agatha explained who they were, ending up asking if there was any supper.
“Sorry,” she said briskly. “All in the tent. With people like Mrs. Laggat-Brown, you cater down to the last plate and no more. The girls I’ve hired for the evening are serving it. I’d take a look in her fridge. There might be something there.”
“I don’t think we should…” began Emma timidly, but Agatha had spotted a chest freezer and a microwave, two essentials in Agatha’s opinion for efficient cuisine.
She opened the lid and rummaged through the packets. “Here we are, Emma,” she said at last. “Two portions of stew.”
Agatha put them in the microwave, turned the knob to defrost, and then heated them up.
“This is not bad,” said Agatha when they began to eat. “Got potatoes in it as well.”
At last, her appetite satisfied, Agatha turned her attention back to the caterer. “Known Mrs. Laggat-Brown long?”
“No, this is my first job for her and it’ll be my last.”
“Why is that?”
“Penny-pinching.”
“We’re detectives,” said Agatha. “Her daughter’s had a death threat.”
“Well, let’s just hope they get the old trout instead,” said the caterer with a shrug.
“I hope that cheque of hers clears,” said Agatha.
“It’s all right,” said Emma. “I paid the necessary fee to have it cleared quickly.”
“Oh, well done!” said Agatha and Emma flushed with pleasure. Really, thought Emma, I think I like her after all.
They made their way back out and located the swimming pool. Stag
e and microphone had been set up at the pool edge facing the house.
Then they walked back and went into the marquee. Agatha’s eyes ranged over the guests. “There can’t be anyone here she doesn’t know,” said Agatha. “No chance of gatecrashers. That one’s not going to part with a single extra crumb if she doesn’t have to.”
Emma’s feet in her high heels began to ache and she envied Agatha her flat sandals. “Funny,” said Agatha, “if Charles is such a friend of hers, I thought he would have been invited.”
At long last the meal was over, and fortunately for the two detectives, the speeches were to be made at the pool.
They went round and took up their positions behind where Mrs. Laggat-Brown would be standing at the microphone.
The guests arrived, laughing and chattering. Agatha had that old lost feeling of being on the outside, looking in.
Mrs. Laggat-Brown, flanked on one side by her daughter and Jason Peterson on the other, stood in front of the microphone. Agatha took up a position directly behind them. Mrs. Laggat-Brown opened her mouth to speak. But from a field at the side of the pool, fireworks suddenly erupted noisily into the air.
“Not yet!” screamed Mrs. Laggat-Brown furiously into the microphone.
Uneasy, Agatha looked across at the windows of the house and caught her breath. At one upstairs window, she saw the glint of what looked like a telescopic sight.
“Gun” she yelled. Spreading her arms wide and lunging forwards, she propelled Mrs. Laggat-Brown, Cassandra and Jason into the pool, falling in herself after them.
The fireworks had died away. Because of the noise of the fireworks, no one had heard Agatha’s cry.
Mrs. Laggat-Brown was helped from the pool along with her daughter and then Jason.
Agatha swam to the steps and climbed out after them.
“There was a gun,” she panted. “At that window. Up there!”
The two police officers ran into the house. Everyone waited. Cassandra began to cry.
At last the policeman and policewoman came out. “There’s nothing there,” said the police officer. “She must have imagined it.”
“I didn’t,” protested Agatha, wiping water out of her eyes. “And who set off the fireworks?”
“Just go away,” hissed Mrs. Laggat-Brown. “You have ruined my daughter’s party. I will stop that cheque.”
“Let me look upstairs,” pleaded Agatha.
“What can you find that two officers of the law cannot? Go away, you horrible woman. GO!”
“I’m telling you, sir,” said Police Constable Deny Carmichael later that evening to Detective Sergeant Bill Wong, “you should ha’ been there.”
He had just regaled Bill with a colourful account of how Agatha had pushed Mrs. Laggat-Brown, her daughter and Jason in the pool.
“Wait a minute,” said Bill. “You say the fireworks went off before they should have? Why?” “Oh, just a mistake, I reckon.” “You didn’t ask?”
“Didn’t reckon there was no need to. Them silly old women playing at detectives.”
“Agatha Raisin is a friend of mine and she’s no fool. When did the party break up?”
“ ‘Bout a half hour ago. Mrs. Laggat-Brown said it was all ruined and she didn’t want to go on with it.”
“I’m going round there. I was just about to go off duty, but it won’t do any harm to take an extra look.”
Mrs. Laggat-Brown, wrapped in a dressing-gown, gave Bill a lecture on the folly of women being able to set themselves up as detectives with no qualifications. Then, spurred on by Bill Wong’s Asian features, she continued on with a diatribe against immigrant foreigners who were ruining the country.
Bill waited impassively until she had dried up and then said, “Nonetheless, I would like to search the upper rooms at the back of the house.”
“But I have guests staying!”
“Is there a room up there which is not a guest-room?” “Just a sort of box-room.” “I’ll look there first. If you wouldn’t mind …” “Jason, would you be a dear? I am just too shocked to move.” “Come along,” said Jason. “But the police have already looked.”
When they reached the box-room, Jason looked on with amusement as Bill put a handkerchief over the handle before opening the door. Bill also switched on the light with the handkerchief and ordered Jason to wait outside.
The room was full of boxes labelled “Old Clothes,” “Books,” “China,” piled on either side, leaving a passage to the window. The window was open at the bottom. Bill went slowly towards the window, peering at the floor; Then he knelt down. There was a dark stain on the uncarpeted boards near the window. He bent his nose down to the floor and sniffed. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “I think that’s gun oil.”
He stood up and looked around while Jason waited impatiently outside. Bill took a pencil torch out of his pocket and began to shine it in the dark areas between the boxes. The thin beam of light picked out something shiny. Bill moved a box to one side and bent down again. An ejected cartridge shell.
He retreated out of the room. “No one has to be allowed in here until a forensic team arrives.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jason.
“Mrs. Raisin was right and if it hadn’t been for her prompt action, one of you would be dead.”
Agatha and Emma sat in the office the following morning, wondering what to do. “I suppose I’d better send her cheque back,” said Agatha, “or rather, since you cashed it, send her the money back.”
Miss Simms looked up from painting her long nails. “Me, I think you saw something, Mrs. Raisin.”
Emma was silently enjoying Agatha’s distress. Agatha was usually always so confident about everything.
“What you got to smile about?” demanded Miss Simms sharply.
“I’m sorry,” said Emma, flustered. “But if it wasn’t that this will affect the business when it gets in the local papers, it would have been very funny, the way Agatha shoved them in the pool.”
“It was too late for the local papers, thank God,” said Agatha.
“I’m afraid someone is going to tell them,” said Emma. “So many guests.”
The phone rang, making them all jump.
“Raisin Detective Agency,” fluted Miss Simms. Then she covered the receiver and hissed, “It’s her. Mrs. Laggat-Brown.”
“Tell her I’m dead,” groaned Agatha. “No, on second thoughts, I may as well get it over with.”
“Hello,” said Agatha and then listened hard as Mrs. Laggat-Brown’s voice quacked down the phone. “We’ll be right over,” said Agatha.
She put down the receiver and beamed in triumph. “I was right! Bill Wong, bless his cotton socks, went over there later and found gun oil and a spent cartridge. Come on, Emma, we’re back in business. While we’re out, Miss Simms, phone Douglas and Sammy and see if they’ve got anything on the Benington case.”
Emma followed Agatha out feeling guilty. She had phoned the local paper late last night. It was just, she had thought at the time, that it was all for Agatha’s good. She was so … well… rumbustious, she needed to be taken down a peg. She had given a false name. Emma comforted herself with the thought that the papers would call on Mrs. Laggat-Brown today and learn the truth.
There was a police mobile unit already set up in the grounds of the manor. Police were combing through the bushes. Agatha rang the bell and it was answered by Cassandra. “Mum’s in the drawing-room with the police,” she said. “You’d better go on in.”
Detective Inspector Wilkes, Bill Wong and a woman constable were all in the drawing-room facing Mrs. Laggat-Brown and Jason.
Wilkes looked up as Agatha entered and said, “Ah, Mrs. Raisin, we were coming to see you when we’d finished our interviews here. Wait over there.”
It appeared to be coming to the end of a long interview. Mrs. Laggat-Brown was protesting over and over again that she had no idea who should wish to stop the engagement. Cassandra did not have any jilted or jealous boyfriend
s and Jason had never known anyone dangerous or mad.
“Right,” said Wilkes finally. “Mrs. Raisin, if you could just step outside to the mobile unit, we’ll take your statement.”
When Agatha had finished telling the police the little she knew, she returned to the house followed by Emma.
“You really must help me,” pleaded Mrs. Laggat-Brown. “It’s all so terrifying.”
“Emma will sort out the details of our employment later,” said Agatha. “Now, whoever got into the house must have known about that box-room. And who gave the order to start the fireworks?”
“Joe Gilchrist from the village had set them up. He said he heard a voice like mine shouting, ‘Joe, start the fireworks now!’“
“So there was a female, an accomplice?”
“Seems like it.” Mrs. Laggat-Brown twisted a handkerchief in her thin beringed fingers.
“I must ask you again about your husband,” said Agatha. “Is there any reason he would try to stop Cassandra’s engagement?”
“No, none at all. He couldn’t have known about the party. I tried to get in touch with him, but his firm said he had taken a leave of absence.”
“What is the name of his firm?”
“Chater’s, in Lombard Street, in the City.”
“Had he been there long?”
“Quite a number of years. But it can’t be Jeremy. He adores Cassandra.”
“When did you last hear from him?”
“It was on Cassandra’s birthday, last May. He sent her a beautiful diamond bracelet.”
“Did he never come to see her?”
‘“Not since the divorce.”
“Which was when?”
“Three years ago.”
“And you say it was an amicable divorce?”
“Oh, yes.”
She’s lying, thought Agatha suddenly. I don’t know why but I feel she’s lying.
Cassandra came bursting into the room. “Daddy’s here!” “What?”
“The police are talking to him. He’s been abroad. He was just telling me about it when the police came up and took him to that caravan thing of theirs.”