There Goes The Bride (12 page)

‘We won’t know until we try it,’ said Charles. ‘Come on.’

They crossed the street. Charles turned the handle of the front door. It swung open.

‘See,’ he said. ‘Faint heart never won successful burglary.’

‘What if there’s more than two flats?’ whispered James.

‘It’s just a little Pakistani grocer’s,’ muttered Charles impatiently as they mounted the stairs. ‘See! One flat. I’ll knock first.’

He knocked very loudly. ‘There’s a bell,’ said James.

Charles leaned on it. No reply.

‘Okay,’ said Charles. ‘Get to work.’

James pulled out a set of skeleton keys. ‘I remembered you had a set of those,’ said Charles. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘I took them off someone a long time ago.’

‘Does it always take this long?’ complained Charles after ten minutes.

‘Shut up. This isn’t a movie and there are two locks here. We really should have checked in the grocery store first. No doubt they own this flat. Maybe they’ve already re-rented it. Ah, here we go.’ The door opened.

They found themselves inside a small two-roomed flat with a tiny bathroom and a minuscule kitchen behind a curtain. Charles started searching in the bedroom while James searched the living room.

‘Her clothes are still in the wardrobe,’ said Charles. ‘Very dowdy they are, too.’

‘There’s hair dye in the bathroom,’ called James. ‘She’s gone blonde by the look of it.’

Charles wandered back in. ‘She’s left nothing else apart from the clothes. No sign of any personal papers or passport.’

‘And no toothbrush in the bathroom,’ said James.

Charles peered out of the kitchen window and down into the area at the back.

‘Thank God for the new lousy rubbish collections. There are bins down there. Feel like some bin diving? We may find some clue as to where she’s gone.’

‘How do we get to the area?’ asked James.

‘I saw a lane at the side of the shop.’

‘What if someone comes out of the back of the shop and asks us what we are doing?’

‘They won’t because we are going to go into the shop and tell them why we want to search the rubbish and ask them to tell us which is Betty’s.’

A large woman in a sari behind the counter raised her hands in horror when they explained about Betty being a thief. She summoned a small boy and told him to show them the bin where Miss Talent put her rubbish.

‘Now,’ said Charles, ‘all this recycling is great because we don’t want the small green food bin, we want that big grey one.’

James opened the lid. ‘Not much. We’d better tip it over and go through the stuff.’

‘Carrier bags,’ said James triumphantly. ‘Look at this. Victoria’s Secret, Ghost and Armani.’

‘And look what I’ve found,’ said Charles, holding up a brochure. ‘A cruise on the
Southern Cross.
Sails to the Caribbean. Wait a bit. Sails tomorrow morning. Passengers on board this evening. I bet she’s there, all blonded up and dressed up in poor Harry’s money. Let’s go.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to tell the police and have her arrested?’ asked James.

‘Where’s the thrill of the hunt? Let’s find her first and then call the police. Come on. It’ll be worth it for Aggie.’

Betty Talent unpacked her new clothes and hung them away in her first-class cabin. She ran her hands down the fine material of the clothes and grinned as she thought about the shock Toni would get when she was told all their money had gone. She detested Toni. Toni had always been one of the prettiest and most popular girls in the school.

She studied her new appearance in the mirror and patted her blonde hair. Gone was shivering, frightened Betty Talent. She felt reborn. There came a knock at the cabin door. She smiled. Probably that good-looking purser back again to see if she was all right.

Betty swung open the cabin door, a welcoming smile on her face which slowly faded. The captain stood there. Behind him stood two police officers, and behind the police officers, two men, one of whom she recognized as Charles Fraith. When Toni had thrown an opening party at the agency, Charles had escorted Agatha to it. She also recognized James Lacey because James had invited Toni and the other members of the agency to his engagement party, although Betty had not been invited to the wedding. If only I had stolen someone’s passport, Betty thought wildly.

As the captain confirmed her name, a policeman charged her with theft. All her sunny dreams came crashing down about her ears.

It was left to Charles to phone Agatha with the good news. She asked to speak to James, but when Charles held his mobile out, James muttered, ‘Talk to her later.’

‘What’s up with you?’ asked Charles. ‘You might have had a word with her.’

‘I don’t know,’ said James. ‘I just wish they’d find the murderer. I’ve an awful feeling the police suspect me. I was going to go away on my travels again but when I called in at Mircester police headquarters, they called Hewes police, who said I was not to leave the country until they contacted me and gave me permission.’

Charles thought briefly of Tessa. Should he pursue his courtship? But the fact that he had doubts about it made him hesitant. ‘Look, you and I could go to Hewes and do a bit of detecting, couldn’t we? Better than sitting on our bums and waiting forever.’

‘I don’t see what we can find out that the police cannot,’ said James.

‘Oh, really? Well, we just found Betty. If they’d gone through her rubbish, they’d have found the same clue. And another thing – I don’t think the police had even been around to her flat or the Pakistanis wouldn’t have been so surprised. They’ve got so many government targets to meet, they might drop this case and go on to arresting something easier, like a speeding motorist.’

Bill Wong joined Agatha and Toni that evening shortly after they had received the good news. They had left a message for him that they were having dinner in The George, the pub across the square from police headquarters. But they had finished their meal by the time Bill arrived.

‘That was good work finding Betty,’ he said. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get away earlier. Of course everyone is blaming everyone else for not having checked the girl’s rubbish. Detective Sergeant Collins was supposed to be on it, but she hates you both so, she probably did the minimum. The latest is that the captain is going to refund the money Betty paid for her cruise, and just over one hundred and fifty thousand pounds was found in her luggage, along with the missing cameras.’ He smiled at Toni. ‘So it looks as if you can get your detective agency back again.’

‘’Fraid not,’ said Toni. ‘I phoned Harry as soon as I got the news but he says he’s decided to go back to university even if the money is recovered. I don’t want to run it on my own. I’m only sorry that my friend, Sharon Gold, is out of a job.’

‘Is that the one who changes hair colour every week, and has a pierced navel always on display?’

‘That’s the one,’ said Toni.

‘Oh, she’ll do,’ said Agatha, feeling magnanimous. ‘I need someone who can go round the clubs and pubs and not look like a detective.’ Agatha was delighted to have Toni back again.

While Toni phoned Sharon with the good news, Agatha asked Bill, ‘Anything from Hewes?’

‘They wouldn’t tell me.’

‘I’ll phone Patrick. Maybe he’s dug up something.’

Agatha phoned Patrick and listened hard. When she had rung off, she said, ‘Sean Fitzpatrick’s real name was Jimmy Donnell, once IRA, but became an informer for British Intelligence for a couple of years. So the Hewes police think his murder was nothing to do with Felicity’s.’

Agatha scowled horribly. ‘It all doesn’t add up. Boats! Felicity was smuggled into Britain as a baby. I wonder if they’ve charged George Bross with that?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Bill. ‘George is a Freemason and a generous contributor to police charities.’

‘But think! All that security around the house! Maybe they were smuggling something like drugs or arms in.’

She phoned Patrick again. They all fell silent until Agatha had finished her call.

‘Evidently both Sean or whatever his name was and George both had their boats practically taken apart. Nothing there. And that Jerry dog minder hasn’t even got a criminal record.’

‘Someone told me that you’ve been saying to the press that you are offering a reward.’

‘I thought that might stir something up.’

‘Agatha,’ said Bill sternly, ‘I should think you’ve enough work on your hands at the moment. I assume you’ve got Toni’s cases to clear up as well as your own. Just let the police get on with their job.’

‘Ha, bloody ha.’

‘I’m serious. Leave it alone.’

Agatha did find that all her energy in the following six weeks had to be poured into the work of the agency. Sharon proved bright and willing, although Agatha felt she would never get used to the girl’s appearance. Although chubby, Sharon favoured very tight jeans and boob tubes. Her masses of hair had recently been dyed black with blonde streaks.

There was no James next door. He had received permission to go off on his travels. With James out of the picture, Charles was no longer interested in detecting anything, finally feeling, in his lazy way, he had done his bit finding Betty.

Agatha found she was not looking forward to a lonely weekend. Toni was going with Sharon to a rock concert. She did not want to impose her company on Mrs Bloxby, knowing that lady was overburdened with parish affairs. Even though she was sure of a great welcome at the pub, where the new smoking section had been set up outside, thanks to generous donations and to the free services offered by local builders and carpenters, she did not want to go on her own.

So she received with pleasure a phone call from Roy Silver, asking to visit for the weekend.

Roy was delighted with his welcome but surprised that nothing had been happening about Felicity’s murder. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘this may be the very first time you’ve been unsuccessful.’

‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Agatha. ‘If it were anywhere in the Cotswolds I might have better luck, but if I go back to Downboys, the Hewes police will resent the very sight of me.’

The phone rang. Agatha went to answer it. She hoped it might be Sylvan. She had forgotten he was a philanderer and at the back of her mind there was always the hope that he might ring her up.

But it was Bert Trymp on the phone. ‘Remember me?’ he asked.

‘Yes, of course. You work at the garage in Downboys.’

‘There was something in the papers about a reward.’

‘Yes, there was,’ said Agatha cautiously.

‘How much?’

‘If the news is worth it, five thousand.’

There was a silence. Then Bert said, ‘You’d best meet me down here. On my boat. I live on it. It’s called the
Southern Flyer.
It’s an old fishing boat in the harbour at Hewes.’

‘Let me see,’ said Agatha. ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday. I could get down there around lunchtime. How can I find your boat?’

‘You know the one where that fellow was murdered?’

‘Could never forget it.’

‘I’m five boats along to the right o’ that. It’s an old fishing boat,’ he repeated.

‘I’ll be there,’ said Agatha.

She told Roy. ‘I’m not going to bother Patrick or Phil,’ she said. ‘There might be nothing in it. But the weather’s lovely. Like to come?’

Roy looked anxious. ‘I haven’t anything nautical to wear.’

‘Don’t even think about it. Any clothes will do.’

T
HEY LEFT THE
Cotswolds in blazing sunshine with shafts of golden light shining through the green tunnels of trees covering the road out of Carsely.

But as they drove steadily on, a bank of grey cloud rose up on the horizon and soon rain began to smear the windscreen. ‘I’m not really dressed for this,’ complained Roy, who had dug a striped French fisherman’s sweater out of his capacious luggage.

‘We brought our coats. They’re in the boot with the rest of the luggage,’ said Agatha reassuringly. ‘We won’t freeze.’

To Agatha’s relief, the skies began to clear as they drove down to the harbour at Hewes. ‘It’s a river!’ exclaimed Roy. ‘I thought we were going to the sea.’

‘It leads down to the sea,’ said Agatha. ‘Let’s get out and look for Bert’s boat. It’s an old fishing boat.’

‘Don’t ask me,’ said Roy, getting a coat out of the car boot. ‘I never could tell one boat from another except the ones with sails are yachts. Anyway, he’s probably dead.’

‘What on earth makes you think that?’

‘Well, it’s like in books and movies. Someone says, “The name of the murderer is … aargh.” They always get bumped off

‘I don’t believe it. We’ll find him.’ How irritating not to be in the police but always poking around on the outside of any investigation.

‘I think that must be it,’ she said. ‘It’s the shabbiest of the lot and it does look like a small fishing boat. Yes, I can make out the name. It’s the
Southern Flyer.
’

The deck and wheelhouse were deserted. ‘We’d best go aboard,’ said Agatha.