Agatha Raisin: Hiss and Hers (12 page)

‘Lucky Rex,' said Simon fervently.

‘You should only talk to the police,' complained Rex. ‘You said that Raisin female was a pain in the fundament.'

‘Run along, darling, and see if you can learn your lines for once.'

Rex went out, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

‘Luvvies,' sighed Jessica. ‘They all think they're Laurence Olivier. I wanted rid of him but he gets bags of fan mail. So, Simon, how can I help you?'

‘George Marston had affairs with at least two women in this village, Joyce Hemingway and Harriet Glossop,' said Simon. ‘Have you heard anything about them?'

‘There's a Mrs Arnold in Carsely, a vindictive gossip. But she swears she heard Joyce Hemingway one night screaming at George that she would kill him.'

‘Did you tell the police that?'

Jessica shrugged. ‘Only heard it the other day and I'm too busy to want to make statements. Look, are you sure Agatha had nothing to do with it? The whole village knows she was crazy about George.'

‘Agatha wouldn't dream of so vicious a murder,' said Simon. ‘Besides, I know she's terrified of snakes.'

‘In that case, try Joyce Hemingway, and good luck, too. Now
there's
someone with a vicious temper. And furthermore, she worked once at London Zoo.'

‘In the snake house?'

‘No, as a secretary, I believe.'

‘Where does she get her money from?'

‘Don't know. Ask her – and then duck! I must get on and take Rex through his lines.'

‘It's been lovely meeting you,' gabbled Simon. ‘Perhaps I could see you again?'

‘I'm very busy, but here's my card. Phone and ask.'

Simon stood outside her cottage, feeling dazed. Could this be love, or was he acting like a starstruck teenager?

He took out his phone and called Toni. ‘I'm in the pub,' she said. ‘Fred Glossop chased me off, Mrs Glossop was nice but unhelpful, and Joyce Hemingway isn't at home. How did you get on?'

‘I could do with a drink. Wait there and I'll join you.'

Slim, fair-haired and beautiful, the sight of Toni usually made Simon's heart lurch, but for the first time, all he could think about was Jessica.

Jimmy Jessop struggled awake. Someone was hammering at the front door. He hauled himself out of bed and went to answer it.

‘Why, Joe!' he exclaimed, recognizing a fellow Rotary Club member. ‘What's up?'

‘I nearly ran into your car,' said Joe. ‘Do you usually park it in the middle of the road?'

Jimmy looked past him. His precious BMW was slewed at an angle across the road. Then he saw that Agatha's car had gone.

‘I'm sorry. I'll move it right away. I had a guest and she must have moved my car to get her own out.'

Jimmy got his car keys and in striped pyjamas and tartan slippers shuffled out to move his precious vehicle. His face tightened as he realized Agatha had not even put the handbrake on.

He parked it again in his short drive and hurried indoors to dress. On his way out, he noticed the burglar alarm was switched off and cursed Agatha under his breath. He drove straight to the Garden Hotel, guessing that Agatha had probably gone there, only to find out she had checked out.

Jimmy thought, almost tearfully, of his late wife, who had never caused him a moment's anxiety. Why on earth had he invited that hellcat back into his ordered life?

Toni listened impatiently as Simon went on and on about Jessica Fordyce, what she had said and how she had looked. No wonder I've got into trouble in the past with older men, thought Toni. Young men are so damned emotionally immature. Just listen to him burbling on.

At last she interrupted him with ‘Yes, all very well. The only interesting bit is about Joyce Hemingway. How are we going to get to her? I wish Agatha wasn't so keen on publicity. As Jessica found out, our photos are on the agency website.'

‘We could listen in on her,' said Simon.

‘How?'

‘I bought a gadget. One of those listening devices. It's a through-the-wall one. It's got a special ceramic microphone. The unit can turn the surface of any wall into a microphone and let me hear conversations made on the other side of the wall. It can listen through thirty centimetres of concrete.'

‘I don't like it,' said Toni. ‘It seems a dirty business, listening in on people in their homes.'

‘We're in a dirty business. If we don't get a break in this case, then Agatha might end up bitten to death by adders.'

Toni hesitated. ‘Have we thought of everything? I mean, are we sure Fiona was the only one in Lower Sithby who might have wished to kill George? Yes, of course I know she didn't, but there might be another female we're missing.'

‘Yes, but we're in Carsely, so let's get on with it here,' said Simon. ‘I thought we'd wait until after dark.'

‘Look, you do what you must, but I don't want to be part of it,' said Toni. ‘I'm off to see Mrs Bloxby. She knows most of what goes on in this village.'

Simon watched her retreating back, and then shrugged. He would wait until it got dark and set up his listening device outside Joyce's cottage.

Agatha drove to George's ex-wife's home in Jericho in Oxford, parked and got out into the dusty heat. A parking sign said, ‘Residents only.' She hoped the meter men had finished their checking for the day.

Mrs Trixie Tragent lived in a neat terraced house with a blue door. Agatha rang the bell. At first she thought the slim beauty facing her must be Trixie's daughter, until her sharp eyes recognized the signs of surgical lifting on the face and the silicone of the splendid breasts revealed by a low-cut green linen top. Masses of cleverly dyed blonde hair tumbled down on her shoulders. Agatha wondered if she had hair extensions.

‘Who are you, and are you going to stare at me all day?' demanded Trixie.

Her voice was harsh.

‘Sorry,' said Agatha. ‘Here's my card. I'm investigating the death of your ex-husband.'

‘You'd better come in, although I've already spoken to one of your officers.'

Agatha realized that Trixie had bad eyesight and had been unable to read her card, but had assumed she was from the police. She followed her into a small front room. Green linen blinds covered the windows. The walls were green and the three-piece suite was also covered in green linen. There was a large oil painting of Trixie over the fireplace, wearing a green dress.

‘Like I already said to the police, I haven't seen George this age. Poor George. Never could keep it in his pants. That's why we broke up.'

‘Has your husband met him?'

‘Rory? Naw. We're divorced. George came to our wedding, but that was fifteen years ago.'

‘Do you have any children by George?'

‘Naw. He wanted brats, but I said I wasn't going to spoil my figure.'

‘I wonder if he had any illegitimate children,' said Agatha.

‘Hardly likely.'

‘But all his affairs . . .'

‘Usually went for old birds. He had one of those complexes. Some Greek. Forget. Well, the sun is over the poop deck or whatever. Fancy a drinkie?'

‘Yes, please,' said Agatha. ‘I'm driving, but one wouldn't hurt.'

‘What'll it be?'

‘Gin and tonic, if you've got it. May I smoke?'

‘Sure, knock yourself out.'

Agatha prowled around the room until she found a small glass ashtray on the mantelpiece.

Trixie came back in after a few minutes, carrying a tray with the drinks. Her eyes had changed from a muddy brown to bright green. Contact lenses, thought Agatha.

‘It's a funny thing, though,' said Trixie. ‘I just remembered. If there was one thing in this world that George was afraid of, it was snakes. He was posted somewhere – can't remember where – but he'd been bitten by some snake and rushed to hospital. He wrote me, saying he had nightmares about the beasts. Pretty awful if the murderer knew that.'

Agatha took a strong gulp of her drink. The murder of George was becoming even more frightening. The sheer viciousness of it was practically beyond belief. She was tired after her long drive. The little room was hot and stuffy.

‘Can I have one of your cancer sticks?' asked Trixie.

‘Go ahead.' Agatha offered her a packet of Bensons.

‘I shouldn't really,' said Trixie. ‘Have you noticed that women smokers get those nasty wrinkles on their upper lips?'

‘No, I hadn't,' lied Agatha, privately vowing again to try to give up the habit. ‘So you hadn't heard from George in a long time?'

‘That's right. Apart from one odd message. Forgot all about it. I didn't ring him because I suppose I still feel nasty about the way he cheated on me.'

‘What did he say?'

‘He sounded a bit drunk. He said something about needing a lawyer and could he have the name of my one who handled our divorce. I thought, the silly bugger's gone and got married again and got himself into trouble as usual.'

I wonder if he married someone, thought Agatha with a rising feeling of excitement. Must check.

‘You don't have a tape of the message?'

‘I use the British Telecom answering service – you know, the one that deletes messages after thirty days. I didn't even save it for the thirty days but wiped it out. God, I hated George. Funny the effect he had.'

Mrs Bloxby told Toni that Sarah Freemantle's husband had arrived home. Toni would rather have tackled Sarah without the presence of her husband, but decided to try to see her anyway.

Sarah answered the door. ‘May I help you?'

‘I'm from the Agatha Raisin Detective Agency,' said Toni. ‘And—'

‘I have nothing to say to you.'

The door began to close.

A tall man loomed up behind Sarah. ‘Who is it?'

‘Just someone selling something,' said Sarah, and slammed the door.

Toni walked back to her car. It was the weekend, so Phil would be home. Perhaps he had heard something. She was just about to get into her car when the man she had glimpsed behind Sarah came hurrying out of the house. ‘Hey, you!' he called.

Toni waited. He came up to her. ‘What are you selling?'

‘I'm not selling anything,' said Toni. ‘I'm a detective, investigating the murder of George Marston.'

He was a well-built middle-aged man with a deeply tanned round face, heavy eyebrows and a small pursed mouth. His eyes looked mean. ‘And what's that got to do with my wife?'

‘I'm asking everyone that Marston worked for,' said Toni.

‘So why did Sarah say you were selling something? Are you trying to lie your way into houses?'

He was now standing very close to her, emanating threat.

Toni moved to one side. ‘You'll need to ask her. I told her who I was,' she said.

‘Get lost and don't come here again.' He grabbed hold of one of her arms in a painful grip.

Toni looked at him steadily. ‘If you don't let go of my arm, I will call the police.'

He reluctantly released her. Toni nipped into her little car and slammed the door.

* * *

When she told Phil Marshall about the encounter, he looked at her in dismay.

‘It's just too bad of Agatha to send a young thing like you to investigate this murder. Someone dangerous is behind it. I'll phone her up and suggest I do any interviewing. You're too young to lose your life. Different for an old codger like me.'

‘Any gossip about Freemantle?'

‘None that I've heard so far, but I'll ask about. What about a glass of lemonade?'

Simon thought Toni might have contacted him. He was bored waiting around for it to get dark. At last he set out for Jessica's cottage. He had come on his motorbike. The road sloped down to Jessica's cottage and so he switched off his lights and engine and cruised down, stopping short of the cottage, and dismounting in the shade of a sycamore tree. He took out his equipment, put on the headphones, and keeping to the shelter of cottages' garden hedges, made his way towards Jessica's cottage. He knew he should be listening in on Joyce Hemingway, but he longed to know what Jessica was saying.

Opposite Jessica's cottage was a field, bordered by trees. He slipped across the road into the shelter of the trees and pointed the machine at the cottage.

Nothing but absolute silence. Then he noticed there was no car outside. Either Jessica had gone back to London or was out for the evening.

Stubbornly, he decided to wait. A warm wind had got up and rustled in the leaves above his head. He arranged himself comfortably with his back to a tree. He had drunk a lot in the pub to pass the time, and his eyelids began to droop. Soon he was fast asleep.

He awoke suddenly, feeling something moving on his back. Simon jumped to his feet. Some creature, he guessed, must have fallen out of the tree and down his back. He stood and tore off his shirt just as whatever it was bit him painfully. A bright moon was shining down through the leaves and to his horror, he saw a small snake, slithering off.

Quickly, he hid his equipment behind a tree and raced off to Moreton-in-Marsh Hospital. Outside the hospital, he phoned Toni.

‘I've been bitten by a snake.'

‘What? Where?'

‘Never mind that now. Go to the trees opposite Jessica's cottage. I've hidden my equipment behind one of the trees right opposite. Get it. I can't risk the police finding it on me.'

He rang off. Toni had returned to Mircester several hours ago. She got in her car, and, as Simon was being raced in an ambulance from Moreton to Cheltenham General Hospital, Toni set out again for Carsely.

To her relief, Jessica's cottage was in darkness. She located the listening device and was just about to pack it into a carrier bag she had brought with her when she remembered that Sarah Freemantle's cottage was close by. Despite her previous scruples, Toni suddenly found the temptation irresistible. Keeping to the trees, she crept along to opposite Sarah's cottage and pointed the listening device at it and clamped on the earphones.