A Spoonful of Poison (7 page)

“I think I’ve got one coming on,” said George, “but I’ve got to run Agatha home.”

“I’ll do that,” said Fred. “Off you go and take your pills.”

At that moment, Charles sauntered into the pub. “Hi, Aggie.”

“Oh, Charles,” said Agatha with relief. “Can you run me home? George here has a migraine coming on.”

“What about a drink first?”

“We’ll get one at my place.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Agatha made hurried introductions. Charles smiled at Fred but was soon hustled out of the pub by Agatha.

“What did you do to upset that fair maiden? Her eyes were red,” said Charles as he drove off.

“She was complaining about me wanting to smoke.”

Charles grinned. “And you blasted her?”

“Not quite. There was no reason for her to start to cry. You know, I am sure that one can cry at will. Nasty little actress. Also, she was around setting up the dreary tombola stand at dawn before the fête got started. She could easily have sneaked into the tent and put LSD in the jam.”

“You’re jealous. You are ruthlessly pursuing George and I bet you don’t even know the first thing about him.”

“Talk about something else,” growled Agatha.

“Okay. Don’t you think it’s possible that one of the young people at the show doctored the jam?”

“No. They weren’t interested in any of the exhibits. They all came to hear Betsy. Trust me. It was one of the locals. Anyway, I’ve proof the jam was doctored before the fête opened. I’ve taken on a new detective, Jimmy Wilson. He’s supposed to have good contacts with the police. I’ll ask him to find out if the police know how many were affected with the LSD and who they are. Apart from a few young people who might have got some of the stuff after the word went around, I think we’ll find it was the locals who suffered. Apart from the women who contributed the jam and one pig farmer who loves the stuff and the lady of the manor, I really don’t think anyone else in the village was much interested. It’s more of a hamlet than a village, and I think most of them had something on display at one of the other tents.”

Disappointed and feeling silly over her pursuit of George, Agatha decided to concentrate on work the next day. She gave instructions to Jimmy Wilson to find out who had been affected by the drugged jam. Then she settled down to work on other cases until some of the fuss had died down.

The following day, Jimmy came in with his report. He said, “The police cleared the tent when they heard about the possibility of drugs. They said only six teenagers
managed to get hold of seemed to be a bit spaced out. The forensic reports on the jam are not yet in because, despite what you see on TV, it takes ages. But it seems that both Mrs. Jessop and Mrs. Andrews each had a good taste of Miss Tubby’s plum jam. They think there might have been more in that dish than in any of the others, or even that only a few of the dishes might have been drugged.”

“Surely they can find that out quickly,” complained Agatha. “It’s a simple test. Doesn’t need a DNA expert.”

“Well, it may do,” said Jimmy, “if they want to find out who handled the dish.”

Agatha groaned. She began to have an uneasy feeling that this might be the one case she could not solve. She would not admit to herself that her defeatist feelings were because she now felt a fool for having so blatantly pursued George.

That evening, Toni braced herself to clear up matters with Bill. He wanted her to come to his home for dinner, but Toni said she would rather have a quiet drink in a pub because there was something personal they needed to discuss.

Bill met her, looking wary. His previous girlfriends, the few that had been straight with him before dumping him, had always said seriously that they wanted to discuss something personal.

After he had bought them drinks, he said wearily, “Out with it. We’ll always be friends, and yakkety-yak.”

“It’s just that I don’t love you—meaning, I’m not in love with you,” said Toni bravely, “and what’s more, you’re not in love with me.”

“That’s not true!” protested Bill. “Mum and Dad were so pleased. Dad was even going to find a house for us …”

His voice trailed away before the startled expression on Toni’s face.

“Look, Bill,” she said gently, “you can’t marry someone just because your parents like them. And any girl you turn out to be really in love with won’t want your parents butting in to choose where you are going to live once you are married. We’ve never even been to bed together. And that’s because neither of us has been carried away by passion.”

“What do you know about passion?” asked Bill sulkily.

“Nothing. But I’d like to. Think about it, Bill. You must have come across someone at some time you felt you couldn’t live without.”

Bill sat in silence, remembering at least two girls he had yearned after, dreamed about, but somehow, after he had taken them home, romance had died.

“You’ve been trying to suit your parents,” Toni went on. “Next time, try to find someone you want and don’t take the girl home until after you’ve got the ring on her finger.”

“I love my parents,” said Bill.

“And I envy you that,” said Toni. “At least you know who your father is. My mum will never tell me about my father and sometimes I even wonder whether she knows herself.”

“Is she still sober?”

“Yes, and doing very well.”

“Well, that’s that,” said Bill. “I mean—us.”

“I know you don’t want to hear about the friends bit,” said Toni. “But honestly, I think we were really meant to be friends.”

Bill gave a reluctant smile. “Sometimes, Toni, you seem older than Agatha.”

A
T THE END
of the following working day, Toni was filing her notes on a case, glad it was over. Because of previous successes, she was often given work for women who wanted to make sure their husbands were not having affairs.

Jimmy Wilson strolled in. “Evening, babes,” he said. “Fancy a pint?”

“No, thanks,” said Toni. “Not tonight.” Jimmy was chubby and somehow he seemed to fill the small office with an oppressive, sweaty presence. Toni had already decided she did not like him. Phil Marshall was a gentleman. Patrick Mulligan looked and behaved like the hard-working copper he used to be, but there was something unhealthy about Jimmy. Toni wondered why he had taken early retirement. It was supposed to be because he had contracted cancer, but she felt sure, somehow, it had been because of some other reason. She moved towards the door. He barred her way.

“C’mon,” he said. “Just one drink.”

The door behind him swung open, banging into his back. He stepped aside as Agatha strode in, her bearlike eyes darting from Toni’s embarrassed face to Jimmy’s grinning one.

“I’m just off,” said Toni.

“Coming with you.” Jimmy moved to take her arm.

“Run along, Toni,” said Agatha. “You. Jimmy. Stay.”

When Toni had left, Agatha said, “What was all that about?”

“About what?”

“She looked nervous and embarrassed. You were blocking her way.”

“I only asked her for a drink.”

“Look here. That girl is eighteen and you are too old. If I catch you bothering her again, you’re out. Get it! Now sit down and tell me if you’ve found out anything else.”

“Nothing. You told me to leave it for a bit.”

“Well, get back on it tomorrow. Good night!”

Toni hurried along in the direction of her flat. She saw a group of her friends, all dressed up, heading in her direction. “Hi, Toni,” said Sandra, who was in the lead. “We’re off to that new disco, Naughty Nights, out on the Evesham road. Come with us.”

Toni had a sudden mental picture of Bill’s sad face, followed by one of the leering Jimmy Wilson. She wanted to feel as young as she was, and free.

“I’m not dressed,” she said.

“Go home and change and join us,” said Sandra.

“I might do that.”

At that moment, Wilkes was summoning Bill Wong. “There’s a new disco, Naughty Nights, and we want to make sure there’s no under-age drinking or drugs. I want you to go there in suitable clothes this evening.”

Bill reflected miserably that he had nothing better to do. He went home and changed into black trousers, a black T-shirt and a black leather jacket. As he was getting ready to leave, his father shuffled in, wearing his usual outfit of carpet slippers, open-necked shirt, baggy trousers and a ratty cardigan. The only thing Asian-looking about him was his almond-shaped eyes. The rest was pure British. “Why you going out dressed like a freak?” he asked “Where’s that nice suit we bought you for Christmas?”

“Going undercover,” said Bill.

His mother joined them. “Have you got a clean hanky?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“And clean underwear? What if you was to end up in hospital?”

“I’m fine.”

Bill escaped and drove to the nightclub. Before he even reached it, he could hear the
thud, thud, thud
of the disco. When he parked his car and climbed out, the
very ground beneath his feet seemed to vibrate to the noise.

Toni was enjoying herself, dancing under the flashing strobe lights, losing herself in the deafening music. Her partner was a thin youth with greasy hair and a face scarred by acne. But he danced like John Travolta in
Grease.
When the music finished, he said, “Want a drink?”

“Okay, I’m thirsty,” said Toni.

They shouldered their way through to the bar.

“What’ll it be?”

“Just a half of lager.”

When the drinks were served, he shouted above the noise, “Look at that weird bird over there!”

Toni swung round. “Which bird?”

“You can’t see her now. Drink up.”

Toni drank thirstily. Then she began to feel dizzy. “I’d better get outside,” she said weakly.

“I’ll help you.”

Bill was just entering the club when he saw Toni, supported by a young man. Toni looked barely conscious.

“What’s happened?” he demanded.

“She’s a bit faint. Getting her outside.”

“She’s a friend of mine. I’ll take over.”

“Get lost, mate.”

Bill flashed his badge. The youth stopped supporting
Toni, who fell to the floor. The youth turned to flee. Bill seized him by his denim jacket, forced him to his knees, and handcuffed him to the leg of a desk by the door.

Then he phoned for backup and for an ambulance.

Agatha arrived at Mircester Hospital with Charles later that evening, having been phoned by Bill. Bill was waiting for them outside the ward where Toni was stretched out on one of the beds.

“What happened?” asked Agatha.

“We think someone slipped a date-rape drug into her drink,” said Bill. “The hospital’s taken tests. It was all Wilkes needed as an excuse to raid the club. They were selling a combination of Viagra and Ecstasy. No wonder there are so many rapes these days.”

“Why did Toni go to such a place?” cried Agatha.

“She’s young,” said Charles. “Young people go to discos. Here’s her mother.”

Mrs. Gilmour arrived looking harried and distressed, followed by a doctor. She nodded to Agatha and was taken into the ward where Toni lay.

They waited impatiently. At last the doctor emerged. “Mrs. Gilmour is going to stay with her daughter, but there is nothing to worry about. The girl will be all right in the morning.”

“Cheer up,” said Charles, and he and Agatha walked away. “This time it’s not your fault.”

“I worry about her,” said Agatha. “I wish she weren’t so young. I mean, if something happened to Phil, say, it would be pretty awful, but he is in his seventies and he’s had a long life. But poor Toni is really just starting out.”

“It must be difficult for one so young being in an office full of old people,” commented Charles as they emerged from the hospital.

“Watch it,” said Agatha furiously. “I am
not
old.”

Charles stifled a yawn. “I’d better get off back home. Things to do.”

Agatha felt bereft. There were times when she was furious at the way he used her cottage like a hotel, but now that she was no longer interested in George and there was no reason to wish him out of the way, she reluctantly admitted to herself that she would miss Charles’s company.

So Agatha was relieved on returning home to find a message on her phone from Roy Silver, her former employee, asking if he could come down for the weekend.

Agatha phoned him and said she would be delighted to see him with more warmth in her voice than Roy had heard before.

“You might have asked me to that murderous gig,” said Roy petulantly.

“Honestly, Roy, with all the flurry of last-minute arrangements, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

There was a little silence while Roy digested the fact that Agatha Raisin was actually apologizing to him.

“I’ll be at Moreton-in-Marsh on Friday evening. Train gets in at six-twenty.”

“I’ll be there,” promised Agatha.

Agatha felt guilty at leaving what she thought of as the Jam Case alone, but was looking forward to a lazy weekend with Roy.

When he descended from the train on Friday, she saw he was all dressed in black: black leather jacket, black shirt, black trousers, and black high-heeled boots. He had even dyed his hair black. He pirouetted on the platform.

“Why the Man in Black effect?” asked Agatha.

“Because we’ll be going detecting, Aggie.”

“Don’t call me Aggie, and I want the weekend off.”

“You can’t just leave it! I’ll take you for dinner and you can tell me all about it.”

“You can take me to the Black Bear. It’s the only place left where I can smoke before this dreadful nonsmoking ban hits the country.”

Agatha felt her enthusiasm for the case returning as she carefully described what she had found out.

“Fascinating,” said Roy, ignoring the fact that some beefy-looking men at the bar were looking across at him and sniggering. “How’s Toni getting on?”

Agatha told him about the date-rape drug and finished by saying, “She’s back at work and appears none the worse.”

“So to get back to your case,” said Roy, “you said most of the LSD might have been in the jam supplied by Miss Tubby. So we start there. Let’s go and see her tomorrow.”