‘I’m resigning from the Ladies’ Society,’ shouted Mrs Benson.
Mrs Bloxby’s voice floated back to her as she turned the corner. ‘Good!’
Agatha’s cottage was a hive of activity. Police cars blocked Lilac Lane, and white-suited men were carefully dusting Agatha’s front door for fingerprints. A policeman volunteered the information that Mrs Raisin and her friend had gone to the pub.
Mrs Bloxby found Agatha and Charles in the pub garden. Agatha was smoking furiously, a carton of Bensons she had bought in the village store in front of her.
Charles explained what had happened. When he had finished, Agatha said, ‘I am the number one suspect. I took him the tea. Nobody saw a soul outside my cottage. Miss Simms, you know, the secretary of the Ladies’ Society, well, her latest gentleman friend had given her a present of a nasty little yappy dog. She walked it along Lilac Lane, called hello to Tulloch, went to the end where it meets the fields, turned back and saw what she thought was Tulloch asleep. She didn’t meet anyone either going or coming. So I’m sitting here, drinking gin and smoking myself to death with nerves. I’m supposed to be on my way to headquarters with Charles to make a complete statement. But I told them I needed a short break first, and do you know what the bastards did? They confiscated my passport. Every time they don’t know what to do with me, they take away my passport and I usually have to hire a lawyer to get it back.’
‘They can’t possibly think you had anything to do with it. Would you like me to come with you?’
‘That’s kind of you,’ said Agatha. ‘But they’ll want to interview Charles as well, so we may as well suffer together.’
Mrs Bloxby walked thoughtfully back to the vicarage. She sat down at her computer and began to type out a poster. It said: ‘From the Vicarage. Ladies’ Society meetings will no longer be held in the vicarage. If you wish to continue, you will need to find somewhere else. I am resigning. Margaret Bloxby.’
I am not going around on this hot day, shoving separate notes through letterboxes, she thought. I’ll take this to the shop and put it up on the notice board.
She was just pinning it up when Miss Simms came to join her. ‘Well, if you ain’t going to be around, I’m handing in my resignation as well,’ she said. Miss Simms was still damned with the title of Carsely’s unmarried mother, which Mrs Bloxby found grossly unfair considering that being unmarried seemed to be a growth industry. Young girls in Mircester got pregnant knowing the council would supply them with a flat and allowances. Often it was a way of escaping from brutal parents. Other times, it was prompted by laziness.
‘It’s not as if there are any ladies any more, know what I mean?’ said Miss Simms. ‘It’s all pushy newcomers now like Mrs Benson. They come and they go. House prices go up and they sell and a new lot comes in. They want the village dream, so they join the Ladies’ Society and we all sit around eating cakes an’ bitching. Oh, jeez, I am sorry.’ For her little dog had peed into Mrs Bloxby’s shoes.
‘It’s said to be lucky,’ said Mrs Bloxby. Mrs Tutchell, the shop owner, produced a roll of kitchen paper, and Mrs Bloxby dried her ankles and shoes. ‘Are you sure there was no one in or near Lilac Lane?’
‘Swear to God. I felt like inventing someone just so as to help Mrs Raisin, but that was afterwards. I didn’t know she’d get into trouble.’
‘They cannot possibly think she would be so mad as to dope that sergeant’s tea,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
‘Maybe someone sneaked in and put something in the tea caddy.’
‘Mrs Raisin uses teabags.’
‘Well, what about that security firm that changed the locks an’ all that?’
‘Vetted thoroughly by the police.’
‘Oh, well, she’s tough. She’ll stand up to the police. So it’s goodbye to the Ladies’ Society?’
‘As far as I am concerned. Such an old-fashioned name.’
‘Don’t them over in Ancombe still call it a ladies’ society?’
‘No. They’ve changed the name to the Forward Women’s Group.’
‘I’d better get on and take this pet rat with me.’
‘I see it’s a Chihuahua,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
Miss Simms giggled. ‘Is it really? Funny, that. That’s what one of my gentlemen friends called my . . .’ Her voice trailed off before Mrs Bloxby’s clear gaze. ‘Oh, gotta go.’
‘Do you want me to stay the night?’ asked Charles.
‘Yes, thanks,’ said Agatha as they at last emerged from police headquarters into the fading sunlight.
‘I’d better go home first and get my togs for tomorrow,’ said Charles.
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Simon’s wedding.’
‘Snakes and bastards! I’d better find something to wear.’
‘Go to the office when you’ve found something,’ said Charles, ‘and wait for me. We’ll go to your cottage together.’
‘Thanks.’ A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek.
‘Come on, old girl, this isn’t like you. Where’s your stiff upper lip?’
‘As The Goon Show once memorably said, it’s over my loose wobbly lower one,’ said Agatha, taking out a crumpled tissue and dabbing her eyes. ‘I wonder what drug was given to Tulloch and how it got there?’
‘Forensics, like the mills of God, grind slowly. We won’t hear for a bit.’
Once in her office, Agatha got a call from her cleaner, Doris Simpson, to say she had taken Agatha’s cats home with her. ‘Men in white suits all over the place,’ said Doris. ‘And they could have been trodden on with those policemen and their big boots.’
Agatha thanked her, wondering how on earth she had managed to forget the welfare of her cats.
Sitting down with a pile of files covering both murders, Agatha began to read through them, looking for any sort of clue. Fiona Richards had been in the George when Staikov was there. Was there a connection?
Phil had left a note saying he was watching the Richardses’ house but had taken pains to make sure he would not be recognized.
If I could solve Beech’s murder, then everything else might fall into place, thought Agatha. It was a particularly vicious murder. Revenge? Hate? A warning? And how could he possibly have been any use to them apart from turning a blind eye to speeding and parking violations?
Patrick went into a Richards Supermarket in Mircester and began to look around. It was an example of the sort of giant supermarket that was slowly killing off the small shops in Mircester, as it sold everything from food to pots and pans, clothes and takeaway meals. He remembered he needed a new shirt to wear to Simon’s wedding and headed for the clothes section.
There was a placard in front of the section with the legend THE CHEAPEST YOU CAN BUY! LOOK AT OUR LEATHER JACKETS!
‘I wonder,’ muttered Patrick. He lifted down one of the jackets and examined the label. It did not say ‘Country Fashions’. Instead it simply had a small label saying ‘Richards’. It was not good leather. The jackets were made of the type of leather that looked almost like plastic and was stiff and unyielding.
Could there be a connection with Staikov’s firm?
Chapter Ten
Only Charles, in full morning dress, seemed to have made an effort for the occasion of Simon’s wedding. Agatha had not found anything suitable to wear in Mircester and had not been allowed back into her cottage the evening before. In the morning she had rapidly scrambled into a pale blue trouser suit, realizing only when she got to the church how much she hated it. Although it was well designed, she felt pale blue was definitely not her colour.
Roy, who had been invited, had sent his apologies, probably frightened he might be abducted again. Mrs Freedman was resplendent in black-and-red-patterned silk and with a large straw hat decorated with silk poppies. Patrick and Phil were in lounge suits. Toni looked subdued. She was wearing a dark grey silk dress, rather drab, as if she were wearing half-mourning, like an Edwardian lady. Mrs Bloxby was there with her husband, wearing the same outfit she had worn to
many weddings: an unflattering brown chiffon dress and a large straw hat decorated with brown chiffon roses.
As if by common consent, they all shuffled into pews at the very back of the church. Agatha, worried about Toni, hoped the service would not be too long. There was to be a reception afterwards at Simon’s parents’ home. They had all decided, for Toni’s sake, to forgo it.
For her part, Toni really did not know what she felt.
Many of Simon’s regimental friends were in the church, reminding guilty Agatha that it was surely her fault that he had gone to Afghanistan.
The church was very warm. Agatha began to regret she had jeered so many times about global warming. The stained-glass windows of the abbey sent down harlequin shafts of light. The organ played softly.
Charles whispered, ‘What’s happening? Simon isn’t here. The best man’s there, but no Simon.’ People began to twist their heads, looking anxiously towards the door.
Agatha experienced a sudden feeling of dread. She whispered to Patrick, ‘What if he’s been kidnapped like Roy?’
‘Probably sleeping off the effects of some stag party,’ replied Patrick comfortably.
Agatha craned her neck. She could see what must be Simon’s father talking urgently to some of Simon’s army colleagues. They left the abbey.
A babble of conversation rose up to the hammer beams on the roof. One woman left the church for a few minutes and then came back and announced excitedly, ‘Poor Susan is in the wedding car, being driven around and around. Where is the wretched boy?’
Agatha was just about to go outside and phone Bill when Simon’s army colleagues came back into the church and went straight up to his father. There was a frantic discussion, and then Simon’s father announced, ‘I am sorry. The wedding is off.’
People rose from their pews and began to stream out through the great double doors of the abbey. But Agatha, followed by Charles, thrust her way through the departing guests and approached Simon’s father.
‘Has Simon been found?’ she gasped.
‘Yes, he has,’ he answered curtly. ‘He has been found at our home. I have much to do. Please excuse me.’
Thank God he’s at least safe, thought Agatha. She made her way back to Toni. ‘Have you still got Simon’s mobile phone number?’
‘Yes,’ said Toni.
‘Please phone him and find out what the matter is.’
‘He probably won’t answer,’ said Toni. ‘Oh, don’t glare at me. I’ll try.’
Toni went out and stood in the shade of a tall tombstone and called. Simon answered. ‘It’s Toni. Where are you?’
‘I’ve locked myself in my room. I couldn’t go through with it.’
‘Why?’
‘My father doesn’t believe in stag parties, and we had a small party last night for the family and relatives. I was teasing Sue about names for the baby and telling her she shouldn’t drink so much. She said she’d had an abortion because otherwise she wouldn’t have fitted into her wedding dress. Look, the reason I proposed was because she said she was pregnant.’
‘So why didn’t you just put a stop to everything there and then?’
‘I hadn’t the courage. So many arrangements.’
Toni could hear someone banging and shouting, ‘Come out of there immediately!’
‘Got to go,’ he said, and rang off.
Toni returned to her colleagues and told them what Simon had said. ‘Of all the wimps!’ exclaimed Agatha.
‘You got him into this,’ said Toni. ‘If it hadn’t been for your interference, he’d never have joined the army.’
‘That’s unfair,’ said Charles quietly. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling us that Agatha got Sue pregnant.’
‘Sorry,’ Toni mumbled.
‘Well, I’m going back home to get out of this hot clobber. Oh, look. Here comes James.’
James, as impeccably dressed as Charles, came hurrying up. ‘Have I missed the wedding?’
They rapidly explained to him what had happened. ‘It was a bit of a dirty trick to tell him at the very last moment,’ said James roundly. ‘I would say he’s well out of it. I’m hungry. Anyone want lunch?’
Aware of Agatha’s beady eyes on them, willing them to go away, they all muttered apologies. ‘I’m free,’ said Agatha cheerfully. ‘Let’s go.’
Over an Italian meal, Agatha told James what had been happening. ‘I feel it’s all to do with that factory of Staikov’s. I wish we could get in there. Patrick says it’s well guarded. Now, that’s suspicious.’
‘Not necessarily,’ remarked James. ‘Lots of expensive leather to guard.’
‘I’d love to get in there and have a look.’
‘Agatha! I’m through with breaking and entering. What we could do . . .’
‘Yes?’ How Agatha loved the sound of that ‘we’.
‘If there’s any nefarious business going on, it would probably take place at night. We could go up there after midnight and have a look.’
‘Oh, James, thank you. When you just cleared off, I thought you’d lost interest.’
‘I have to make a living.’
‘But you have independent means.’
‘True, but I feel pretty useless when I’m not working, and I enjoy the travel. I’m about to do something new. Next month, I’m doing a documentary for the BBC on British expats who sold up here and moved to Spain to start a new life.’
‘You’re going to be a television presenter! I could handle the publicity for you.’
‘No, Agatha. I prefer a quiet life.’
Agatha studied him, her mind a whirl of thoughts. He would have researchers, camera crew, make-up girl, all the usual circus. Some of the girls might be very pretty. She pulled herself together and told herself not to be silly.
‘I’m thinking of closing down the agency for two weeks and giving everyone a holiday,’ said Agatha. ‘I don’t want to put any of them in danger.’
‘Good idea. Talking about danger, I hope Simon doesn’t start chasing after Toni again.’
‘He behaved disgracefully.’
‘Not quite. He should have called off the whole thing the night before, the minute he knew she wasn’t pregnant. Still, he’s very young. And would it be so very bad if he and Toni got together?’
‘I think he’s unstable,’ said Agatha mulishly. ‘Let’s make plans for tonight.’
‘Where’s Charles?’
‘Gone off home. You know Charles. He flits in and out of my life and I never know when I am going to see him next.’
Toni heard her doorbell ring at nine that evening. Because Agatha was paying her a good wage, she had invested in an intercom.
‘Who is it?’ she asked.
‘Simon.’
Toni hesitated for a moment and then pressed the buzzer to let him in.
Then she opened the door and watched him mount the stairs. ‘I didn’t think they’d let you out after the mess you created,’ she said.
‘Don’t you start. I’ve had enough of it.’ Simon crossed the room and slumped into an armchair. With his odd jester features, he looked like a discarded puppet.
Toni shut the door and then sat down in an armchair facing him. ‘You could have had children once you were married.’
‘Fact is,’ said Simon, running a weary hand through his thick hair, ‘I’d begun to go off her. We drink a lot in the regiment, but once we got back to Mircester, she just kept on drinking buckets. She’s pretty coarse when she’s drunk.’
‘So why wait until the last minute?’
‘I just panicked. I want out of the army.’
‘Why did you join up in the first place?’
Toni dreaded hearing him say, ‘It was because of you.’
But he sighed and shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘I’d begun to find the detective work boring. I don’t like working for women, and Agatha is not the most sympathetic of creatures.’
‘So it wasn’t because of me?’
‘I’d like to flatter you, but
no, it wasn’t. But now I’m free, we can start to see each other.’
‘I don’t want to any more,’ said Toni. ‘And don’t pretend to look miserable. Own up, Simon! You want a shoulder to cry on.’
He grinned suddenly. ‘You always were sharp. Anyway, Dad’s fixed up for me to see a shrink.’
‘Why? Because of Sue?’
‘No, I want out of the army, and a sympathetic family shrink friend is going to diagnose me with post-traumatic stress.’
‘But won’t the army want to examine you as well?’
‘They won’t get a chance. I’ll be in a loony bin run by this psychiatrist. Mum doesn’t want me to go back to Afghanistan.’
‘You’re thoroughly spoilt,’ said Toni.
‘I certainly am, and I plan to make the most of it.’
‘I think you’d better leave. I’m tired. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.’
Simon stood up. He tried to kiss her, but she ducked her head and then went and held the door open.
When she had closed it behind him, she sat down and wondered if Agatha had been right about him all along.
Agatha and James drove off after midnight through the sleeping village of Carsely. ‘If this hot weather goes on,’ said James, ‘there’ll be a hosepipe ban. How’s your garden?’
‘Fine,’ said Agatha defensively, thinking of her wilting plants that she kept forgetting to water.
‘We’ll need to park somewhere well outside the estate and walk,’ said James.
‘It’s pretty open ground all round,’ said Agatha.
‘There is a bit of wood and scrub at the back. As far as I remember, not all the units are fenced off. I checked it out earlier after supper.’
They drove on in silence. ‘Oh, look,’ said James as they neared the industrial estate. ‘There are clouds building up in the west.’
‘I hope there’s not going to be another storm like there was on the night Roy was kidnapped,’ said Agatha, thinking all the while, What if James is a success as a television personality? He’ll be famous. There will be beautiful women after him. Look at the way he nearly married that airhead. But does it matter any more? She felt that old obsession she once had for him was being aroused by the competitive streak in her nature. But then she remembered all the hurt and jealousy and sheer misery that obsession had brought her, and she gave a dry little sob.
Agatha Raisin: As The Pig Turns Page 13