Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden (14 page)

“Well, I’ll come back and see you.”

“I was thinking of something more permanent.”

Agatha thought longingly of James Lacey.
He
should have been holding her hand and suggesting something more permanent.

“Can we leave it a bit longer, Jimmy? I’m very fond of you, but I feel I need a little more time.”

“We’ll take it easy, then.” Jimmy turned slightly pink. “It’s not because of my failure to…”

“No, no,” said Agatha quickly. “You’ll find that side of things comes back easily.”

“Have you had a lot of experience?” he asked wistfully.

“Hardly any,” said Agatha, “but women talk to each other the way men don’t.”

“Then that’s all right then. By the way, that girl who savaged your coat was charged.”

“What did she get?”

“Sixty days community service and ordered to pay fifty pounds compensation.”

“What! That coat cost a mint.”

“I’m afraid the magistrate, Mrs Beale, is a vegetarian and does not approve of fur coats. You can pick your coat up at the police station.”

Agatha shuddered. “I don’t want to see it again. You can have it, Jimmy. Give it to some charity.”

“I had a look at it. All it needs is the paint cleaned off and the slashes sewn up.”

“Not worth it. Someone else would probably have a go at me. That coat did mean a lot to me once. I saved and saved for it.”

“You could always use the fur to line a coat.”

“No, you have it. Give it away.”

“All right. What about Sunday? I don’t know if I can get the time off with all this murder. But now the super’s in charge, I’m taking a back seat.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” asked Agatha curiously.

“No, these things happen in a big case like this. With all the press breathing down our necks, I’m glad in a way not to be totally responsible for solving the case. I’d better be getting back.”

♦

Agatha walked down to the promenade. The tide had receded. She walked to the sea-wall and looked over. The shingly beach was a mess of driftwood and debris: Coke cans, plastic cups, plastic wrappers, and even less savoury items of modern civilization, as if the whole sea had regurgitated all the unnatural mess on the beach. And picking its way through the debris came a battered-looking white cat. Was that Francie’s cat? Agatha made her way to a flight of stone steps leading down to the beach.

The cat came towards her and stopped. It was painfully thin and its white fur was matted and dirty.

“Oh, you poor thing,” said Agatha. She crouched down and held out her hand. “Kitty, kitty.”

The cat gave a dry, rusty mew. Agatha tentatively stroked the wet fur.

Then she gathered the cat up in her arms and headed for the hotel.

Mr Martin met her as she walked into the reception area and said severely, “No pets allowed.”

“It’s only for a little while,” said Agatha defensively. “Look, I’ll make sure it doesn’t mess anything and I’ll pay the full hotel bill.”

Mr Martin hesitated. He had been regretting his offer to pay her bill in compensation for the coat. And now, with this second murder, who knew when Agatha Raisin would leave?

“Very well,” he said. “But do tell the others this is a one-off situation.”

Agatha carried the cat up to her room. She picked up the phone and ordered milk and a dish of canned tuna fish.

When it arrived, the cat ate greedily. I’d better go out and get a litter tray and stuff, thought Agatha.

She went down to reception and asked for the name of a car-rental company, and having secured it, ordered a taxi which drove her to the car-rental firm. She chose a small black Ford Fiesta, drove into the centre of the town and asked around for the whereabouts of a pet shop and was told there wasn’t one, but that she could get most things at the supermarket. She bought cans of pet food, a litter tray, bags of litter and a brush.

When she had carried all the stuff up to her room, it was to find the cat in the middle of her bed, busy washing itself. “I wonder what you are called?” said Agatha. “I’ll have to call you something. And what am I going to do with you? I’ll need to find a home for you. It’s not fair on Boswell and Hodge if I take you home. And aren’t you mild and friendly? Not at all like the horror who flew at me.” Talking away, she sat down and began to brush the cat, which stretched languidly and purred. “I know, I’ll call you Scrabble. I’ll always think of Scrabble when I think of Wyckhadden.”

As she brushed the cat, Agatha’s thoughts turned to Jennifer. How was she to get her alone? She always seemed to be with Mary.

♦

The following day, it was Jennifer herself who offered the solution. She was alone, eating breakfast when Agatha walked into the dining-room.

“Where’s Mary?” asked Agatha.

“Got a touch of migraine. She hasn’t had one in ages. I’ve given her her pills. She’ll have a bit of a sleep and then she’ll be all right.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Please.”

Agatha sat down. “You’re in the morning papers,” said Jennifer. “All about you getting trapped on that Ferris wheel. The fairground people are sticking to their story that the wheel got stuck.”

Agatha walked over to the sideboard where the morning papers were spread out and picked up the
Hadderton Gazette
. She carried it back to the table and scanned the news item.

“They make light of it,” said Agatha, putting the paper down. “Jimmy had to climb down from the top in that storm. He could have slipped and been killed. I could have frozen to death.”

“They’re all frightened of the gypsies around here,” said Jennifer. “The police usually don’t do much. Jimmy Jessop was the only one who occasionally went after them. They’ll probably get off with it. Some safety inspector will look at the Ferris wheel and then they’ll get a smack on the wrist and told to be more careful, that’s all. Agatha, I wonder if you’d come to Marks with me. There’s a trouser suit I want you to look at.”

“That’ll suit me fine. I’m not doing anything this morning.”

After breakfast, they set out in Agatha’s car. “I got fed up with walking in the rain and getting taxis,” said Agatha.

She drove into the central car park, which was next to Marks and Spencer.

“It’s over here,” said Jennifer, leading the way through brightly coloured racks of clothes.

Agatha put her head on one side. “No, I don’t think so. Very smart. But rather masculine. I mean…maybe you like things masculine.”

“Not really. But I’m not a pretty person and I’m old.”

“Like to try something new?”

“Anything to brighten me up.”

Agatha chose a fine black wool skirt, a soft-yellow silk blouse and a long black velvet waistcoat. “I see you’ve been letting your hair grow a bit,” said Agatha. “Suits you, a bit longer. And…er…if you don’t mind me saying it, you’re getting a bit hairy.”

“What do I do about that? Go back to Jerome?”

“No, we’ll go to Boots and buy a depilatory.”

But as they walked out of Marks, Agatha saw a poster in Wyckhadden’s one expensive department store advertising the services of a make-up consultant. “Let’s try that. I could do with some advice myself,” said Agatha.

After an hour, with a bag of new cosmetics each and newly painted faces, they went to the store restaurant for lunch. Agatha looked at the non-smoking signs and sighed. The very sight of them made her long for a cigarette.

“Never been interested in any men?” asked Agatha bluntly. Jennifer paused, a forkful of salad half-way to her mouth.

“One is from time to time,” she said frostily. “I’m not a lesbian, you know.”

Agatha decided to take the bull by the horns. “It was just that someone said something about you ordering a love potion from Francie.”

Jennifer chomped angrily on her salad and then said, “I suppose by someone, you mean that inspector of yours.”

“Well, yes.”

“The police have no right to go about gossiping with everyone and anyone.”

“I’m a close friend of Jimmy’s. It just came out.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. We get visitors at the hotel in the summer and at Easter. There was this retired doctor, very charming, a widower. We used to go for walks. I was frightfully keen on him. I could see the end of his stay approaching and I felt I would do anything to make him take a deeper interest in me.”

“Did it work?”

“I never got a chance to find out. I’d confided in Mary. To my horror, she told him about it, made a joke of it. “Better watch what you drink,” that kind of thing. He was terribly embarrassed.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Agatha faintly.

“He left the next day without saying goodbye. I had a terrible scene with Mary and she broke down and cried and said she was frightened of losing me, so I had to forgive her. We’ve been together so long.”

“Good heavens,” said Agatha. “I’d never have thought it of Mary. I mean – forgive me – I thought you were the one that kept Mary away from people. I mean, she told me that she never made any friends at work because you were always waiting for her.”

“That’s not true!” Jennifer poked at a piece of lettuce on her plate. “How do these things happen, Agatha? I’ve never been an attractive woman. When I took care of Mary during her breakdown, she was so pathetically grateful. She said I had brought her back to life. No one had ever appreciated me before. I knew she was really very clever, not like me. She was – is – one of those all-round clever people who can turn their hand to anything. She was a good computer programmer. But people in her office didn’t like her, and that’s the truth.”

“Why?”

“I went to an office party once and one of the men told me that I should get Mary to stop plotting and planning. Although she’s very clever, Mary really had no confidence in herself, and so she always was afraid she’d lose her job, so if anyone bright came along, she would spread gossip, little poisonous things, near enough the truth to damage.”

“But why didn’t you leave her?”

“She wants me, she needs me, and no one else does. I think if I left her, she’d kill herself and I couldn’t have that on my conscience. I’m sorry I got so angry with you over the Joseph Brady business, but Mary told me you forced her into it and then told her she was silly.”

“I said nothing of the sort!”

“I believe you,” said Jennifer on a sigh. “She won’t like us having gone out together, so she’ll start telling me, and the others, little things about you. She’s already told Daisy that you’ve been trying to get your claws into the colonel.”

Agatha leaned back in her chair and stared at Jennifer. “And I thought you were all such friends!”

“We’re more like relatives. We haven’t really got anything but each other and we’re all old. You’ve landed in an old folks’ home, Agatha.”

“The other thing that bothers me,” said Agatha, “is that none of you talk about the murders. Why?”

“Do you think I ought to have the chocolate cake for dessert?”

“Why not? You’re slim enough. You haven’t answered my question, Jennifer.”

“Oh, that. I think we feel we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Bad form?”

“That’s an excuse. No, it’s because we’re all pretty sure one of us did it.”

Agatha stared at her, but Jennifer was calmly ordering chocolate cake. “What about you, Agatha?”

“May as well. If I can’t smoke, I may as well have some comfort.”

The waitress left with their order.

“What makes you think it’s one of you?” asked Agatha.

“Just a feeling.”

“Who do you think could possibly have done it? Who’s strong enough?”

“It wouldn’t take much strength,” said Jennifer. “Just a lot of rage and fright.”

“What about Mary?”

“I think if Mary had done it, she would have broken down and told me.”

“The colonel?”

“Perhaps. But what reason?”

“Daisy?”

“Too silly and weak.”

“Harry?”

“Oh, here’s our cake.” Agatha waited impatiently until the waitress had left.

“I was asking you about Harry.”

“Could be. He’s got a vicious temper. He believed all that stuff about her conjuring up the spirit of his dead wife, but then Francie slipped up. She got a bit carried away with her success because Harry was a regular visitor. Francie began to embroider too much. She had Harry’s wife tease him about always losing socks. Now, Harry is a sock fanatic. He buys pairs of black socks, never a colour, and has always kept them in neat pairs. So he asks the spirit, “What about my red pair?” and the spirit answers that the red pair probably got lost in the wash. So Harry tries a few more trick questions. He reported Francie to the police as a fraud and her place was raided but they couldn’t find anything. Harry made such a song and dance about it before he went to the police that someone must have tipped Francie off. He said he would kill her.”

“But
Harry
!” Agatha conjured up a picture of Harry with his dowager’s hump and his tortoiselike face.

“He’s got powerful arms,” said Jennifer, calmly forking cake.

“But Daisy believed in the seance.”

“At first. But not any more.”

“So why on earth did she send me to Francie?”

“Probably because despite her fake seances, Francie had a good reputation for cures.”

“Do you think it was one of you, Jennifer?”

She shrugged. “To tell the truth, I can’t really believe that – except when I think about Mary breaking up the seance, when I think we were all probably the last to see her alive, Janine that is.”

“It is usually the husband,” said Agatha. “I don’t suppose the police will expect us to hang around Wyckhadden for much longer. I would like to get home.”

“Away from your police inspector?”

“I’ll probably be back to see him,” said Agatha, waving to the waitress. “Shall we go?”

♦

Agatha returned to her room and fed Scrabble and put down a bowl of water. The cat ate and then stretched and purred and curled about Agatha’s legs. “I should really go home as soon as possible, Scrabble,” said Agatha. “But what am I going to do with you? Cliff must be a murderer to turn you out.”

There was a knock at the door. Agatha opened it. Mary stood there. “Come in,” said Agatha.