Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell (20 page)

She remembered Wyckhadden as a seaside town plagued with extremes of weather and was quite surprised to find a pale misty sun shining down on a placid sea. She had left home at dawn and so it was an hour before lunchtime when she arrived. She walked along the pier and back again, and then followed the familiar route to the pub. She ordered a gin and tonic and sat at the table they had always sat at and waited, looking up hopefully every time the door opened. Outside, the street suddenly darkened as a cloud crossed the sun. What am I doing here? wondered Agatha. Was it because she was sure that James was still alive and that he had not contacted her because he did not want to see her again? Had she nourished some mad hope that Jimmy might still feel something for her, that he would get a divorce, marry her and give her a shoulder to lean on for the rest of her life?

She swallowed the last of her drink and reached for her handbag. The pub door opened and Jimmy walked in. He stood looking at her in surprise and then that old familiar slow smile lit up his face.

‘Why, Agatha!’ he said, sitting down opposite her. ‘This is a surprise. What brings you here?’

Agatha suddenly wanted to lie, to say she had just wondered if the place was still the same, but she found herself saying simply, ‘You. I came to see you.’

‘I’ll get us drinks. Wait there.’

Jimmy went to the bar, a tall, competent,
safe
figure.

He came back with a pint of beer for himself and a gin and tonic for Agatha. ‘I assumed you’re still drinking the same,’ he said.

‘Yes. Thanks. How’s marriage?’

‘Great. We’ve got a son, Paul. Apple of my eye. What did you want to see me about? Is it all this stuff about you I’ve been reading in the papers?’

‘Yes, that’s it. My brain’s in a muddle. I seem to have a suspect, but I can’t pin anything on him.’

‘You shouldn’t go on like this,’ said Jimmy. ‘You should leave these matters to the police. Oh, I know you helped me down here, but still . . . You’ll get yourself killed one of these days. Okay. Go on. Tell me about it.’

Agatha began at the beginning. She left nothing out, all the rows with James, the bad marriage, his brain tumour, and then went on to what she knew about Melissa and her ex-husbands. Jimmy took out a large notebook and began to make neat shorthand notes.

When she had finished, he asked, ‘What sort of village is Carsely?’

‘Normally old-fashioned, sleepy and quiet. Nice people.’

‘But a close-knit community?’

‘Not exactly what it would have been in the old days. Cotswold villages get a lot of newcomers, people buying second homes and only using them at the weekends. There isn’t the gossip and curiosity about each other there would have been not so long ago. It all gets a bit Londonified, you know, everyone minding their own business a little too much, but they do rally round if someone is in trouble. Do you mean, why when James was being attacked and Melissa murdered did no one see or hear anything?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Well, they didn’t.’

‘I think,’ said Jimmy, ‘if I was on the case I would ask around the village again. In my experience, you’ll find someone really did see something. Might be an idea to keep asking. It’s infuriating the way people might come up with something like, “I saw old Mr Bloggs walking down the street about that time.” “Why didn’t you say anything?” “Oh, it was only old Bloggs. Didn’t seem worth mentioning.” That sort of thing.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Agatha. ‘Now if you were making a guess as to who did it, who would you pick?’

He flicked through his notes. ‘Well, I would be thinking of the sister. I mean, forget all this mystery about psychopaths. There’s money involved. And I should think a good degree of hatred.’

‘But why James?’

‘He may have ferreted something out, told Melissa, she tells her sister and the sister tries to kill James.’

‘But Melissa and her sister weren’t on speaking terms!’

‘You only have Julia’s word for that. If their father had a big estate and left it all to Melissa, and by your report Melissa didn’t use much of it, then it must have been some sum worth killing for. Then, if Melissa and Julia were supposed to be estranged, why did Melissa leave the money to her? You don’t leave money to someone you hate.’

‘I know. But she did not have any friends. Husbands both finished with. Maybe when she was making out her will, she found Julia was the only logical person to leave it to.’

‘Still, it’s odd. It would have been more like her to leave it to the cats’ home to spite Julia. I think your first move should be to start questioning the villagers again. That’s what police work is, Agatha,’ he added sententiously, ‘plod, plod, plod.’

He glanced at his watch and gave an exclamation of dismay. ‘I’ve got to get back and I haven’t even had any lunch. Need to grab something from the police canteen. Tell you what, I’ll phone the wife. Why don’t you spend a nice day pottering round the shops and come home with me for dinner?’

Agatha repressed a shudder. His wife would probably throw the dinner in her face. ‘No, I’ve got to get back. Got things to do.’

They both stood up. ‘Well, as I’ve said before, Agatha, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be happily married now.’ Jimmy smiled down at her.

Agatha felt like crying. But she said, ‘You deserve to be happy, Jimmy. You’re a good man.’

They emerged from the pub. The sky had clouded over and torrential rain was beating down. ‘Wyckhadden’s the same as ever,’ mourned Agatha. ‘Dramatic weather.’

‘Where’s your car?’

‘Not far. In the central car park.’

‘Give me your keys and I’ll go and get it for you. You’ll get soaked otherwise. Tell me the make and registration number.’

Agatha was fishing in her handbag for her keys. She looked up and saw Jimmy’s wife, Gladwyn, bearing down on them, her eyes glittering with rage. ‘Get it myself,’ gasped Agatha and took off, running as hard as she could. When she got to her car, she was soaked to the skin. She sat there miserably until the rain thinned and then stopped. She climbed out of the car and walked to a large department store which sold cheap clothes and bought herself a sweater and skirt, underwear and shoes, and, after she had paid for it all, put the lot on in the fitting-room and stuffed her wet clothes in a carrier bag. She was about to leave the store when she noticed it was raining again, so she retreated back in and bought a raincoat and umbrella. When she emerged, the sun was shining. ‘I hate this place,’ she said loudly, and several passers-by edged nervously away from her.

As she drove the long road home, she told herself severely that the next man she became involved with would be someone who really loved her, not someone she irritated every minute of the day as she had irritated James, or a fickle lightweight like Charles.

If Charles comes around again, she told herself, I’ll tell him to get lost.

But when she turned the corner into Lilac Lane, and saw Charles’s car parked outside her cottage, she experienced a feeling of relief. Not yet, she told herself. I’ll tell him to get lost when all this is over.

Charles had let himself in, having kept the spare key, and was watching television and drinking whisky.

‘Back again,’ he said lazily. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Just around. Oh, you may as well know – I went to Wyckhadden.’

Agatha sat down with a weary sigh. Charles studied her. ‘I’d better not ask you why you went there. Whisky or gin?’

‘Whisky with water.’ Charles rose and poured her a drink and handed it to her.

‘I went to tell Jimmy – remember Jimmy?’

‘Could I forget? Found us in bed together and broke off your engagement.’

‘I thought if I told him all about the case, he might come up with something.’

‘And did he?’

‘He had an idea. He said usually in cases, people would say they had seen or heard nothing, but if we asked again, someone might come up with something they thought was too ordinary or insignificant to mention.’

‘He’s got a point there,’ said Charles. ‘We never really questioned the villagers. That’s all been left to the police. Oh, God, that means going from door to door.’

‘Maybe not. I’ve an idea. We could see Mrs Bloxby and suggest a meeting in the church hall. Give them all sheets of paper and ask them to write down anything at all they might have seen or heard on the day James was attacked and on the night Melissa was murdered.’

‘That’d be a start. I can’t help myself, Aggie. Did you actually go to Wyckhadden to kindle the old flame?’

‘Of course not,’ said Agatha quickly. ‘What about Tara?’

‘What about her?’

‘What about this gorgeous creature you were straining at the bit to see.’

‘Didn’t work out.’

‘What went wrong?’

‘Well, I took her out for dinner. She said she was a feminist – she works for some magazine – and believed in women paying their own way, so we decided to split the bill. We went to Père Rouge, a new place in Stratford. When the bill came round, she gave me exactly half. I said, “Wait a minute, you had the oysters to start, a whole dozen; I only had one glass of wine and you had the rest of the bottle; I had pasta and you had fillet steak; I didn’t have pudding and you had crêpes Suzette;” so I took out my pocket calculator and worked out her share of the bill, which seemed fair enough to me. Then I worked out the tip; she hadn’t even offered to cover that, and told her the total. She looked at me in a cold way and asked me if I was joking. I said I couldn’t see anything funny. She got to her feet, said, “Be back in a minute,” and then she didn’t come back. So I had to pay the whole bill. Then when I got home, it was to find she had arrived before me in a taxi, kept the taxi waiting, packed her things and headed off.’

‘Oh, Charles, couldn’t you just have left it? I mean, taking out a pocket calculator.’

‘What’s wrong with that? She said she would pay her share and I wasn’t going to let her get away with just paying a measly half when the greedy cow had gorged her way through the most expensive things on the menu.’

‘Charles, that meanness of yours will keep you a bachelor until the end of your days.’

‘I am
not
mean. I take people at their word. If someone says they’ll pay their share, I expect them to do so.’

‘Never mind. Let me tell you what happened this weekend.’ Agatha told him about the fête and Roy’s encounter with Dewey.

‘Everything does seem to point to him. Did Jessop suggest anything else?’

‘He did seem to think it was Julia. He said there were two good motives, money and hate. Also I still think it odd that Melissa left everything to Julia. And did Julia know about the will?’

Charles groaned. ‘I’ve a feeling we might have to make another trip to Cambridge.’

‘Let’s try this village meeting first. We’ll see Mrs Bloxby in the morning.’

The next day, Mrs Bloxby listened carefully to their suggestion. ‘I do not see what harm it will do,’ she said. ‘Wait until I get the book and see when the hall is free. It had better be an evening or the weekend, so that everyone can come.’

She returned with a ledger and ran her finger down the pages. ‘Let me see, next Saturday morning is free. I’m afraid Alf might expect you to pay for the rental of the hall.’

‘What! After all the money Aggie raised at the fête!’ exclaimed Charles.

‘That money went straight to charity,’ said Mrs Bloxby.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Agatha. ‘I’ll pay half and Charles will pay the other half.’

Charles opened his mouth to protest but saw the gleeful look in Agatha’s eyes and closed it again.

Mrs Bloxby carefully entered the hall booking and said, ‘You are both going to have a busy day.’

‘Why?’ asked Agatha.

‘Because everyone will have to know there is a meeting. You’ll need to run off flyers from your computer and post them through all the doors.’

Agatha groaned. ‘Can’t I just put up a notice in the village shop?’

‘A lot of people shop at the supermarkets and might not see it.’

‘I know,’ said Charles. ‘The schoolchildren are still on holiday. We could get some of them to distribute flyers.’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘It’s been tried. They even get paid for it, but children are so lazy nowadays. One cottage usually ends up with several hundred flyers pushed through the one letterbox and then the little angels come round to the vicarage demanding their money.’

‘Oh, well,’ sighed Agatha. ‘I need the exercise.’

She and Charles returned to her cottage. Agatha typed off a flyer on her computer and ran off several hundred copies and then she and Charles split up, agreeing to meet at the Red Lion later.

As Agatha trudged from door to door, she felt a sudden sympathy with the lazy schoolchildren. It would be so easy just to hide a bunch of flyers or shove a hundred through the one letterbox and then be finished with the wretched things. She just hoped the same idea wasn’t occurring to Charles.

She took a break for lunch and noticed from an egg-smeared plate lying in the sink that Charles had taken a break as well. Back out she went, ending up by posting the last flyer in the village store’s window. People she spoke to grumbled that they had told the police all they knew, and yet all seemed intrigued by the idea of the meeting.

Agatha wearily made her way along to the pub, where Charles was already sitting. She eyed him suspiciously. ‘You didn’t cheat?’

‘No, sweetie, as my aching feet will bear testimony. I ran like the wind from door to door. You
would
leave me to do the council estate. Loads of houses there. Oh, and I had to call the police.’

‘Why?’

‘I was bending down – all the letterboxes in those council houses are practically at ground level – when I heard a woman screaming. “Leave me alone,” she was shouting, and then there was the sound of a thump and then another scream. So I called Fred Griggs.’

‘Was it a Mrs Allan?’

‘That’s the one. Fred tried to get her to lay charges. The man is called Derry Patterson, a big rough fellow.’

‘But she wouldn’t lay charges?’

‘Nope.’

‘Why does she do it? She’s just got rid of one brutal man.’