Agatha Raisin and Love, Lies and Liquor

by Beaton, M. C.

  Agatha rose to her feet.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked James. ‘I’m buggering off to where I’m wanted,’ said Agatha savagely.

  Mrs Bloxby had joined Patrick when Agatha stormed back into the reception area. She looked at Agatha’s hurt and angry face and said sympathetically, ‘I believe Mrs Fanshawe has arrived.’

  ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ said Agatha, jerking a chair forward and sitting down.

  ‘Mrs Bloxby has found out something interesting,’ said Patrick. ‘Fred Jankers was reading a porno magazine.’

  ‘Him and every other blasted man in this country, I should think,’ said Agatha.

  ‘Please listen,’ urged Mrs Bloxby.

  ‘When I was in the force,’ said Patrick, ‘we once employed a profiler to see if we could find out the identity of a rapist in the Mircester area. He said that rapists often have an abused childhood and start with torturing animals and then a bit of arson and often then proceed to sex crimes. Now we know our Fred set fire to his school. It would be interesting to find out if there are any unsolved cases of rape in the Lewisham area.’

  ‘That would take forever,’ grumbled Agatha, ‘and we don’t have the resources of the police. Let’s eat.’

  They went into the dining room. ‘I must leave first thing in the morning,’ said Mrs Bloxby.

  James and Deborah entered the dining room and sat at another table. Agatha scowled horribly.

  After a while Mrs Bloxby said gently, ‘Deborah is laughing and flirting, but Mr Lacey looks miserable.’

  ‘Don’t care,’ said Agatha sulkily, poking at her food with her fork.

  Barret walked in and joined them. ‘You can go back to your room now. We’re finished there.’

  Any results?’

  ‘Yes. We got a quick result on fingerprints. The woman who went into your room is Candice Skirisky, a Bulgarian. She’s a mule.’

  The lyrics of ‘Would You Like to Swing on a Star ‘danced through Agatha’s brain.

  A mule?’

  ‘One of those women who are drug carriers. She was arrested a few years ago. The police had a tip-off and she was arrested at Heathrow. She had swallowed packages of cocaine. She said she was to be paid two thousand pounds, but when she went to a hotel room in Sofia to meet this man, he told her she would be paid according to how many cocaine packages she could swallow. She was told that when she arrived in London she would be met by another man who would give her a laxative, retrieve the drugs and pay her. But she would not reveal any names. She said the man had told her that if she revealed any names, she would be killed. We think maybe Brian McNally got hold of her.’

  ‘What was in that flask?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘We’re still analysing the contents. We are putting two policemen on guard at this hotel.’

  ‘Maybe Mrs Raisin should go home,’ suggested Patrick.

  ‘We need her here,’ said Barret, ‘and she would be safer here with the police guarding the place.’

  ‘If this Brian McNally is a powerful drug baron and can command people like this woman to try to murder me – that’s if there turns out to be something sinister in that flask of coffee,’ said Agatha, ‘then surely he could command someone to murder Geraldine Jankers if he thought she had double-crossed a member of his gang.’

  ‘We’re looking at that angle.’

  ‘The thing that puzzles me,’ said Patrick, ‘is why was the haul of jewels from a Lewisham jeweller so valuable? I mean, it’s hardly Cartier or Tiffany’s.’

  ‘Benson and Judge, the jeweller’s, is an old-established firm. Their main showroom is in Mayfair. They had moved a quantity of their best items down to Lewisham for an exhibition for a children’s charity. All the local worthies were to be invited. The robbery took place a day before the party.’

  ‘Why wasn’t the stuff fenced right away?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘I think Charlie Black had managed to stash it all before he was arrested. I think he planned to fence it when he got out and then found it had disappeared.’

  Barret got to his feet. ‘I’ll be off. I’ll call on you tomorrow.’

  He looked across the dining room. ‘Isn’t that Mr Lacey who was here with you during the murder?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Agatha curtly.

  ‘Who’s that woman with him?’

  ‘The village tart,’ said Agatha savagely.

  ‘I see.’ Barret looked down at Agatha with a glint of humour in his eyes.

  When he had left, Mrs Bloxby said gently, ‘Would you like me to stay in your room tonight, Mrs Raisin?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Agatha. ‘I know you are right next door. Or rather, the new next door. I changed our rooms and got your stuff moved into the new one.’

  ‘I shall be leaving before breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll look after her,’ said Patrick.

  They finished their meal and left the dining room, Agatha avoiding looking at James.

  James Lacey was feeling hunted. Deborah should never have come. She did not seem to notice his silence but chattered on about the iniquities of her ex-husband and all the men who had tried to sleep with her.

  At last, when she paused for breath, he said, ‘Look, Deborah, it’s like this. I was about to have some sort of reconciliation with Agatha and you arrived at precisely the wrong minute.’

  Deborah’s mouth fell open in surprise. ‘But why?’

  ‘I am very fond of her still.’

  Deborah’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are a very silly man. I thought we had something going.’

  ‘You must be mad. I’ve barely spoken to you before this evening.’

  Deborah burst into tears. She had fantasized so much about him on the journey down that she was sure they would be in bed together before the night was out.

  James waited until she had finished crying and then said quietly, ‘You must see you have made a mistake. You had better go home.’

  He rose and left the dining room and nearly collided with Cyril Hammond and his wife. As he walked away, James wondered what the couple were doing staying on. He wondered whether to go straight to Agatha’s room and try to explain things but then decided to leave it until the morning.

  Chapter Nine

  Charles Fraith was not feeling guilty at having abandoned Agatha. But he was bored. He could not understand why his friends, Cynthia and Guy Partington, had suddenly decided to cut short their visit. It did not occur to him that on the two occasions when Charles had invited the Partingtons out for dinner, he appeared to have forgotten his wallet.

  He knew if he went back to join Agatha she would be very angry with him, but she had been angry before and had come round. It was worth a try. The previously dull summer weather had worsened and sheets of rain were making lakes on the lawn outside his windows.

  Agatha slept soundly that night because when she had changed her room and Mrs Bloxby’s, she had demanded ones which did not overlook the sea, having become tired of the sinister roar of the waves at high tide.

  She awoke in the morning feeling stronger than she had felt since the discovery of the fake maid. She wondered if they had found out yet if there had been anything sinister in that flask and then remembered that it seemed to be only on fictional forensic detective programmes on television that results came through immediately.

  Mrs Bloxby knocked on her door and came in to say goodbye. ‘I wouldn’t worry about Mrs Fanshawe,’ she said. ‘Such a pushy sort of woman. Mr Lacey won’t like that at all.’

  ‘Don’t care,’ muttered Agatha, but she could not help wondering what James had been about to say to her before the awful Fanshawe woman had breezed into the bar.

  ‘I must leave now,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘Do take care of yourself.’

  ‘I’ll try. Give my love to Carsely.’

  ‘I’ll do that and I’ll make sure your cats are being well looked after.’

  Agatha’s cleaner always looked after Agatha’s pets when she was away somewhere.

&
nbsp; As she walked down the stairs with her friend, Agatha wondered what on earth she could do that day. Then she thought of the Hammonds. It was time to ask that pair just why they were staying on.

  She walked Mrs Bloxby round to the car park, waved goodbye and then walked slowly back to the hotel.

  Agatha joined Patrick in the dining room. There was no sign of either Deborah or James. Agatha thought of those long legs of Deborah’s and had a sudden awful mental picture of them wrapped around James’s neck. She shrugged to dispel the image.

  ‘Going to rain,’ said Patrick. ‘Big black clouds creeping in across the sea. What’s the programme for today?’

  ‘I think we have to hang around the hotel. The police will be back with more questions and I’d better be available. Have you seen James?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I want to have a go at the Hammonds. Cyril knew Geraldine for a long time. He knew Charlie Black. I wonder if there’s anything criminal in his record.’

  ‘Trouble is, my contact at the police station is getting a bit tired of me using him. Maybe I’ll try later, take him a bottle of Scotch or something.’

  ‘Okay, put it down on your expenses.’

  ‘The gentlemen of the press were round earlier. There must have been a leak.’

  ‘I’ll tell the manager to keep them outside the hotel.’

  ‘Are you sure? In the first place, I already suggested to Beeston that he ban the press, but he says he can do with the custom. Also, a bit of publicity never hurt anyone. Hold a press conference. Hint that you are nearly about to expose the murderer of Geraldine.’

  ‘I suppose I could do that. Is my hair all right? Maybe I should find a hairdresser.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother. Look. It’s started to bucket.’

  Sheets of rain were being driven against the long windows of the dining room.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ muttered Agatha. ‘Here comes the femme fatale of Carsely.’

  Deborah marched up to them. ‘Where’s James?’

  ‘Blessed if I know,’ said Agatha.

  ‘He’s not in his room.’

  ‘He’s probably gone out for a walk. Why don’t you go and hunt him down?’

  ‘I’ll need to fix my hair first.’

  Deborah strode off. ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen a mini-raincoat,’ said Patrick. ‘Still, I suppose she knows she’s got good legs.’

  Agatha, who prided herself on her own good legs, gave him a sour look. But she was comforted by the fact that James was not hanging around Deborah.

  They fell silent, Agatha already missing the comforting presence of Mrs Bloxby and Patrick wondering whether a bottle of whisky would elicit any information from his contact. At times like this he wished he were in his old job with access to computer records and the right to interview anyone he felt like.

  ‘Tide’s coming up,’ said Patrick at last. ‘If it’s as bad as this now, God help the residents of Snoth when the autumn gales start.’ Through the open door of the dining room he saw Deborah leaving again, carrying a large golf umbrella under her arm. He half rose.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘I’ve just seen Deborah heading out. I should warn her it isn’t safe.’

  ‘Oh, sit down. Let the silly cow get a soaking.’

  A high wind had got up and the rain was streaming down. Deborah unfurled her large umbrella. She hesitated. Waves were crashing over the sea wall.

  But in the distance, heading towards the hotel, through the rain and waves, she could see James Lacey.

  Deborah smiled. He could not really have meant all those things he had said to her. She had been successful in the hunt before by never taking no for an answer. She would run towards him. She saw it all in slow motion in her head as if on a film.

  She started to run. Patrick, who had risen and was watching her through the windows, shouted, ‘Stop!’

  ‘Stop what?’ asked Agatha, lighting a cigarette.

  Patrick ran for the door.

  Deborah clutched her umbrella. The wind seemed to be buffeting from every direction. And then she saw James turning off into the shelter of a side street. He hadn’t even seen her! She ploughed on, water now swirling about her feet, deafened by the roar of the waves.

  Patrick, shouting and yelling, watched in horror as a great gust of wind caught under the umbrella and dragged her to the edge of the sea wall. Ducking and weaving, he ran towards her.

  One great grey wave curled over the sea wall and like some gigantic hand caught Deborah. One minute she was there and the next she had gone.

  Patrick was no swimmer and he knew that even if he were, the waves would batter him against the wall. He retreated to shelter and called the emergency services. He felt sick.

  Agatha looked up as Patrick, dripping wet, walked slowly into the dining room. ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s Deborah. She’s gone.’

  ‘Good riddance.’

  ‘No, Agatha. I mean she’s really gone. A great wave dragged her over the wall and into the sea.’

  ‘Have you phoned the lifeboat?’

  ‘Called the emergency services. They’ll get everyone out.’

  ‘This is terrible. I didn’t like the woman, but I certainly didn’t wish her dead.’ Agatha had turned pale. She was beginning to feel this seaside resort had some sort of curse on it.

  ‘I’d better go up to my room and dry myself,’ said Patrick. ‘Here come the Hammonds.’

  They came up to Agatha’s table. ‘Mind if we join you? It’s ages since we’ve had a chat.’

  ‘Sit down,’ said Agatha, ‘although I don’t feel much like chatting. Someone from our village, Deborah Fanshawe, has just been swept out to sea.’

  ‘You mean the cracker with legs up to her armpits?’ asked Cyril.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s awful. She’ll never survive.’

  ‘I don’t know why you both stay here,’ said Agatha. ‘I mean, what’s in it for you?’

  ‘I’m not leaving here until I find out who murdered Geraldine.’ Agatha glanced quickly at Dawn Hammond. Dawn was studying her fingernails as if she had never seen anything so interesting before.

  ‘You must have been very fond of her,’ said Agatha.

  ‘We were going to get married before Charlie Black came along.’

  ‘I liked that film, Rebecca,’ commented Dawn, looking up. ‘Sometimes I feel I’m living in it.’

  ‘Now, then, precious,’ said Cyril, giving his wife an oily smile, ‘you know I love only you.’

  ‘So why can’t we get the hell out of here?’ demanded Dawn.

  ‘I’ve told you and told you,’ snapped Cyril, the smile disappearing. ‘Her murderer is still at large.’

  ‘It seems,’ said Agatha, ‘that Charlie Black did work for Brian McNally, who I gather might be some sort of drug baron. As a favour to Charlie, he kidnapped me trying to find out where the rest of the jewels were. Maybe he hired someone to sweat Geraldine and things got out of hand.’

  James came into the dining room. ‘Rain’s easing up,’ he said.

  ‘Have you heard the news about that Deborah woman?’ asked Cyril.

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘Went out at high tide and was swept out to sea.’

  ‘This is horrible. I’ll go round to the lifeboat station and see if there’s any news.’

  ‘Better wait until the tide goes down,’ said Cyril.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Agatha. She realized in that moment how safe she had always felt with James at her side. Anything was better than sitting in this hotel wondering if someone was coming in to murder her.

  The manager approached. ‘The press are in the bar. I kept them in there until I knew you’d finished your breakfast.’

  ‘I’ll be off,’ said James.

  ‘You can’t go until the tide goes down,’ said Agatha, ‘or you’ll be the next casualty. Please wait for me. I won’t be long.’

  James seemed u
naware of the Hammonds as he sat wrapped in misery. He could dimly hear Agatha regaling the press with stories of the brilliance of her detective agency. It was all his fault Deborah had come after him. He should never have phoned her.

  At last Agatha came back carrying her coat. ‘The rain’s stopped,’ she said. ‘Where is the lifeboat station?’

  ‘Along at West Point. I know where it is.’

  Watery sunlight gilded the heaving grey waves as they walked along, followed by the press.

  ‘What are they doing, coming after us?’ asked James.

  ‘I told them about Deborah. It took their minds right off my lack of success.’

  ‘Sometimes you horrify me, Agatha.’ James walked on in moody silence.

  At last they reached the lifeboat station. The slip was empty. ‘Still out looking for her,’ said Agatha.

  They all stood staring out to sea. Then one of the reporters who had been scanning the sea through his telescopic lens cried, ‘The boat’s coming back.’

  They waited anxiously until they saw a little speck which grew gradually bigger and bigger. From behind them came the wail of a siren and then an ambulance drew up.

  ‘She might be alive,’ cried James. ‘Please God she’s still alive.’

  The boat came nearer and nearer. ‘There’s a woman on board,’ called the man with the lens. ‘She’s wrapped in blankets and drinking something.’

  Much as she disliked Deborah, in that moment all Agatha could feel was admiration for any woman who could stay alive in such a sea.

  The boat came ever closer. Now they could plainly see Deborah. An ambulance crew with a stretcher went down to meet the lifeboat.

  Deborah was helped on to a stretcher while camera flashes went off all around.

  As she was carried past James, she said, ‘Darling, I was coming to meet you.’

  Agatha winced.

  She then joined the press, who were shouting questions at the lifeboat captain.

  He held up his hands for silence and said, ‘It is incredible that she is alive. She is obviously a very powerful swimmer. How she managed to swim away from the sea wall and not get sucked into the undertow is beyond me. Then the current got hold of her and carried her along the coast. The waves were so high we nearly missed her.’