Agatha Raisin and the Curious Curate (14 page)

Agatha drove reluctantly to Ancombe the next morning to face Peggy Slither. She now wished she had waited for John’s return and sent him instead. After all, he was the one who had promised to go. She found herself hoping that Peggy was not at home. But as she parked, got out, and approached the garden gate of the bungalow she saw Peggy stooped over a flowerbed.

‘Hi!’ said Agatha.

Peggy straightened up from her task of planting winter pansies and surveyed Agatha with disfavour. ‘Why do British people keep saying hi, as if they were Americans? I blame television.’

‘Oh, really. Well, a good day to you and how
do
you do,’ said Agatha acidly, forgetting that she had meant to be nice to Peggy and so encourage her to talk.

‘So what do you want?’ demanded Peggy.

Agatha outlined the idea for the duck races and Peggy visibly thawed. ‘I’ll make the decision to join forces with Carsely,’ she said. ‘Mrs Green should never have been made chairwoman. Come inside and let’s discuss dates and arrangements.’

Back into that horrible living-room. Agatha said that the twenty-third of October, a Saturday, would be a good day.

‘What if it rains?’ asked Peggy.

‘I’ll get a marquee set up in the field for refreshments. If it rains, the races will just need to take place all the same.’

‘Will Farmer Brent agree to let us hold it on his land?’

‘I’ll go and see him,’ said Agatha. ‘I only know him slightly. I was introduced to him in the pub. He seems a friendly sort. Mrs Essex, Miss Jellop’s sister, is contributing home-made wine.’

‘Is she living in her sister’s house already?’

‘She’s just clearing up. I think she and her husband plan to use it for weekends.’

‘Must say it’s pretty insensitive of her, her sister being recently murdered and all. I think the Jellop woman was slightly off her head.’

‘Did you know her?’

‘Not very well. Sort of in the way I know the rest of you women from Carsely.’

‘Tristan knew her well. Did he talk about her?’

‘Had a giggle with me about several of the old biddies in the parish. I can’t remember him saying anything about her in particular. You detecting again?’

Agatha was suddenly sure that she was lying. She was sure that Tristan had said something about Miss Jellop.

‘I’m curious,’ she said. ‘There’s a murderer on the loose.’

‘You’ve done this sort of thing before, if I remember.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is this how you go about it? Ask questions? Any questions?’

‘Something like that,’ said Agatha. ‘People sometimes remember things they haven’t told the police.’

‘I could do that.’

‘Why should you?’ demanded Agatha crossly.

‘Because I’d probably be better at it than you.’ Peggy’s eyes gleamed with a competitive light.

God, I really do
hate
this woman, thought Agatha. ‘I have a lot of experience in these cases,’ said Agatha stiffly.

‘Yes, but I knew Tristan very well.’

‘Not well enough to find out anything that might relate to his murder,’ said Agatha, hoping to goad her into some revelation.

‘That’s what you think. If you can find out things, so can I. I remember, you even got your picture in the newspapers a couple of times.’

‘I didn’t do it for fame or glory. As a matter of fact, the police took the credit in nearly every case.’

‘So you say,’ jeered Peggy.

Agatha had had enough. She stood up. ‘The police don’t like amateurs interfering in their investigation.’

‘Oh, really? So what about you? You have no professional status.’

‘I am discreet.’

‘Agatha Raisin discreet!’ Peggy gave a great horse laugh and that braying laugh followed Agatha as she marched out of the door. She gave a fishing gnome a savage kick as she passed and it tumbled into a small pool.

‘I’ll show her,’ muttered Agatha as she got into her car. ‘But how? I’m at a dead end.’

Once home again, she sat down at her computer and began to type out everything she had learned. As she typed, the engagement ring on her finger winked and flashed. She took it off and put it in the desk drawer.

The doorbell rang. She saved what she had typed and went to answer it.

Bill Wong said, ‘I think it’s time we had a chat, Agatha.’

‘Come in,’ said Agatha reluctantly. ‘I’ll make coffee.’

‘Instant will do.’

Agatha switched on the kettle. Her cats jumped up on Bill, purring loudly. He patted them and then removed Hodge from his shoulder and Boswell from his knee and placed them gently on the floor.

Agatha made two cups of coffee and put them on the table along with milk and sugar. ‘I think I’ve some cake left,’ she said.

‘Never mind the cake. Sit down. I want to talk to you. I see you’re not wearing your ring.’

‘I was typing on the computer and it kept flashing in the light and distracting me. What do you want to talk to me about?’

‘I’ve never known you before to let things lie in a murder case,’ said Bill. ‘I feel damn sure you’ve been ferreting around. Is there anything you haven’t been telling me?’

‘You know about Binser. Yes, I’ve been asking a few questions but not getting anywhere. Someone Tristan knew, like Miss Jellop, learned something about the murderer.’

‘I should think that’s pretty obvious.’

‘Unless it wasn’t related. Unless maybe her sister bumped her off.’

‘Mrs Essex has a cast-iron alibi. Now out with it. Who have you been talking to?’

‘You may as well know. I went to see a Mrs Peggy Slither this morning.’

‘Why her?’

‘That repulsive woman was friendly with Tristan. But she won’t tell me anything. The silly cow has decided to turn detective herself.’

‘I’d better see her. If she’s holding anything back, she might tell me. Where does she live?’

Agatha gave him directions. Then she said, ‘There was Mrs Tremp.’

‘We spoke to her. Apart from the fact she was about to give Tristan money and was saved by his murder she knows nothing. Think, Agatha. Has anyone else in this village got enough money to have attracted Tristan’s attentions?’

‘There are a good few around. I can’t bring anyone to mind. I mean, sometimes in the Cotswolds, people with a good amount put by for their retirement live in quite modest homes. People are living so long these days and they all dread the inevitable high fees of a nursing home.’

‘I’ll ask Mrs Bloxby,’ said Bill. ‘She might be able to think of someone. Where’s John Armitage?’

‘He’s up in London.’ Agatha coloured faintly. Had she told Bill about Charlotte Bellinge? Better keep some bits of the investigation to herself. Pride would not let her confess to Bill that John had gone up to London to see an attractive woman.

‘There’s a favour I want to ask you,’ said Bill. ‘You know I told you about my girlfriend, Alice.’

‘Oh, yes. That still on?’

‘Very much so,’ said Bill, beaming.

‘Been to meet your parents yet?’

‘No.’

Obviously not, thought Agatha, or it wouldn’t still be on. ‘You see,’ continued Bill, ‘I feel I’ve made mistakes in the past by introducing my girlfriends to my parents too early on. Makes them think I’m getting too heavy. But I would like Alice to meet my friends. I’ve got the evening off. May I bring her over?’

‘I’d be honoured,’ said Agatha. ‘Bring her for dinner.’

‘Maybe not. She’s a vegan.’

‘Oh dear. But I think I can cope.’

‘No need to do that. What if I bring her for drinks, say, for an hour about seven o’clock and then I can take her for dinner somewhere.’

‘Right you are.’

When Bill had left, Agatha returned to her computer and ran over what she had already written.

If Miss Jellop had learned something from Tristan, something dangerous, then it must be about someone in Carsely or one of the other nearby villages.

And what of Mrs Tremp? Perhaps it would be a good idea to try that lady again. She decided to walk. Too much driving everywhere meant she wasn’t getting enough exercise. But as she trudged up out of the village, she was assailed again by the old longing to just let herself go, stop chasing after men, give up the battle against age. John Armitage, whom she had almost come to think of as asexual, had fled off to London, apparently smitten by Charlotte Bellinge. There was a faint hope that he might be trying to find out something relevant to the case, but Agatha doubted it. And how could a stocky, middle-aged woman compete with a porcelain blonde? Not that I want to, thought Agatha. I mean, I’m not at all interested in John. I wonder if I should go blonde. Do blondes really have more fun? Why not try? She tugged her mobile phone out of her handbag and called her hairdresser. Yes, they had a cancellation and could fit her in at three that afternoon.

Mrs Tremp was at home and not at all pleased to see Agatha. ‘If you’ve called to ask me about the murders, I don’t know anything,’ she said.

‘I actually called to see if you could help with the duck races,’ lied Agatha.

Mrs Tremp looked diverted. ‘Duck races? What on earth are they?’

Agatha explained.

‘That does sound a good idea and I do like to help in charity work. Come in. What is it you would like me to do?’

‘Last time I was here you said you were making jam,’ said Agatha. ‘I wondered if you would consider setting up a table at the races and selling some of your home-made jam? You need not contribute what you make from any sales to the charity if you do not want to. It’s just that stands with home-made jams and cakes lend a country air to the proceedings.’

‘Oh, no, I’ll be glad to contribute. Who is making the cakes?’

‘I thought I might ask the members of the ladies’ society.’

‘No need for that. Do sit down, Mrs Raisin. I will bake cakes as well. To be honest, time does lie heavily on my hands. The colonel when he was alive kept me so busy. As a matter of fact, I’ve just made some carrot cake. Would you like some?’

‘That would be very nice.’

‘Tea?’

‘Yes, please.’

When Mrs Tremp retreated to the kitchen, Agatha wondered how to broach the subject of Tristan. Perhaps just talk about the races and village matters and see if Mrs Tremp herself volunteered anything.

The carrot cake proved to be delicious. Agatha ate two large slices, comforting herself with the thought that the walk home might counteract the calories. She talked further about the plans for the races and then volunteered the information that Mrs Essex was contributing a cellarful of home-made wine.

‘Who is this Mrs Essex?’ asked Mrs Tremp.

‘Miss Jellop’s sister.’

‘How odd! She is staying at her sister’s home?’

‘Only, I think, to clear up. I believe she and her husband plan to use it for weekends and holidays.’

‘Sad, that. I mean, the life is draining out of the villages. I mean, the community life. Soon the whole of the Cotswolds will be some sort of theme park full of tourists, incomers and weekenders. There are few like you, Mrs Raisin, who are prepared to do their bit. I am sorry I was so cross with you, but the murder of poor Tristan upset me. He had a way of making me feel good about myself. I suppose the secret is to feel good about oneself without relying on other people, but that is a very hard thing to do. Of course, I have wondered and wondered what could have brought about his death. He was extremely attractive. Perhaps it was a crime of passion.’

‘Could be. Somehow I think it was to do with money and somehow I get a feeling that after I left him on his last night something happened to make him want to run for it. Has anyone said anything about anyone strange being seen in the village?’

‘I only usually speak to people in church or people in the general stores. They are all mystified.’

‘If you can think of anything, let me know.’ Agatha tactfully turned the conversation back to village matters and then took her leave.

When she returned home, she checked her supply of drinks to see if she had a good enough selection, ate a hurried lunch of microwaved lasagne and got into her car and drove to the hairdresser’s in Evesham, all the while telling herself that she did not really need to go blonde, she could always change her mind at the last minute.

Early that evening, she rushed up to the fright magnifying mirror in the bathroom for yet another look. Her thick hair was a warm honey-blonde . . . and yet . . . and yet . . . she did not feel like Agatha Raisin. Agatha went into the bedroom for a look in the wardrobe mirror. A stranger looked back at her. She was wearing a plain black georgette dress, cleverly cut to make her look slimmer than she was. Perhaps some eye-shadow? She went back to the bathroom. She carefully applied beige eye-shadow, then liner and mascara, and had just finished when the doorbell rang.

‘You’ve gone blonde!’ said Bill, goggling at her. ‘This is Alice.’

‘Come along in,’ said Agatha.

As she led the way to the sitting-room, she heard Alice mutter, ‘You said she was
old
.’

And then Bill’s quiet rejoinder, ‘I said older than me.’

Agatha crossed to the drinks trolley. ‘What will you have, Alice?’

‘Rum and Coke.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Agatha. ‘I don’t know if I’ve got any Coke.’

‘Sherry will do, if you’ve got that,’ said Alice.

‘I’ll have a soft drink,’ said Bill.

‘Tonic water?’

‘That’ll be fine.’

Agatha busied herself with the drinks, handed them round, and sat down opposite Alice and Bill, who were seated side by side on the sofa. It was the first occasion since their arrival that Agatha was able to get a good look at Alice. She had curly brown hair, wide eyes and a pugnacious jaw. She had a generous bosom, a thick waist and chubby legs.

‘Have you known Bill long?’ asked Alice. She took Bill’s hand in hers and held it firmly.

‘Ever since I came down here. Bill was my first friend.’

‘Seems odd.’ Alice took a sip of her drink and wrinkled her nose. ‘I like sweet sherry,’ she said.

‘I don’t have any of that. May I offer you something else?’

‘Don’t bother. Just put this in a bigger glass and add some tonic water.’

Oh dear, thought Agatha, but did as requested. ‘What’s odd?’ she asked.

‘Well, I mean, Bill being young and you old.’