by M C Beaton
“Never,” agreed Roy. “You don’t allow it.”
“And I’m not allowing it now, either.” Agatha nodded. “Come on, Tamara, why don’t you show us around?”
“All right,” said Tamara, giving herself a shake. “Let’s go outside.”
Piper leapt out of his basket, wagging his tail, and led the way back to the front door. Tamara pointed out the exercise area that Agatha and Roy had passed as they drove in, showed them the food store, the stable yard, the loose boxes and the tack room, where saddles, reins, blankets and all manner of riding paraphernalia were stowed neatly on shelves. It all, thought Agatha, looks delightfully fresh and inviting, if you’re a horse.
“The rear of the barn,” said Tamara, pointing, “is a traditional hay store, but the front has been converted into a spa area.”
“Sounds lovely,” said Agatha. “Relaxing in a hot tub after being bounced around in a saddle must be very soothing for your … bottom.”
“It’s not for the riders,” laughed Tamara. “It’s for the horses!”
She flung open a side door to the barn and they walked into a space that was taken up mainly by a long, narrow pool and a fibreglass-and-steel contraption that looked big enough to contain a large horse.
“Quite narrow for swimming laps, I’d have thought,” said Roy, nodding at the pool.
“It’s not really for swimming,” Tamara explained. “We can make water flow down the pool at varying rates, and the horse walks against the flow. Over there,” she said, pointing to the contraption, “is a kind of jacuzzi. The aqua therapies help to deal with any niggling little injuries the horses might pick up.”
Leaving the barn, they strolled in the sunshine down to the paddock, where the three horses walked over to join them at the fence. The largest of the three was a glossy chestnut with a white blaze down the middle of its face. The other two were roughly equal in size, one grey and one black. The chestnut nuzzled Roy’s shoulder and he stroked its nose. From somewhere inside her sweater Tamara produced an apple. Holding it in both hands, she squeezed, twisted and broke it in half. Agatha was impressed. Tamara was a strong woman. Had she and Mary ever gone head to head, Tamara would certainly have come out on top.
“That’s Saturn,” Tamara said to Roy, handing him half the apple. “You can give him this. Hold it in the flat of your hand. He’s very gentle.”
“He’s magnificent,” said Roy. Agatha was a little surprised at the way Roy was gazing at Saturn. The horses had the same sort of soft, adorable eyes as Wizz-Wazz, the donkey they had both come to know not too long ago, but they were far bigger creatures. In fact, up close, they were so big that Agatha decided to keep her distance.
“The police will ask,” she said, declining a proffered piece of apple to feed one of the other horses, “where you were on Saturday when Mary was murdered.”
“I was here,” said Tamara. “One of the girls was here with me until her parents came to pick her up.”
“And who are these two beauties?” Roy asked stroking the other horses. Agatha frowned at him. They had come here to question Tamara, but that was not the sort of question they needed to be asking. They were supposed to be investigating a murder, not patting ponies!
“Cloud and Midnight,” said Tamara. “You can probably guess which is which.”
“Do you know anyone else we might talk to who held a grudge against Mary?”
“There was one French girl—Claudette, I never knew her second name—who couldn’t stand her,” said Tamara. “I believe they actually came to blows. That was a real surprise because Claudette was such a lovely person. Then, of course, there was Deborah Lexington. That was a huge tragedy. It was all glossed over as an accident, but Deborah has never recovered. She can’t ride any more. Can’t even walk, from what I heard.”
“Really?” said Agatha. “I think we need to talk to both of them. Do you have their details?”
“I do for Deborah, I think.”
“Was she a friend of yours?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Her horses were beautiful and she made sure they were very well looked after, but I think she liked the idea of being associated with the sport more than the horses themselves. Her family had lots of money and she was keen that everyone knew it. She used to spray very expensive perfume around. She said she adored horses but didn’t want to smell like one. She and her brother live not too far away, but if you want to talk to Claudette, you had best contact the Colonel.”
“The Colonel?” Roy arched an eyebrow. “Sounds very mysterious.”
“Not at all,” Tamara smiled, running her hand down Midnight’s neck and pressing her face to the side of his head, something the horse obviously loved. That, thought Agatha, is clearly why she doesn’t invest in make-up. “The Colonel is one of the good guys. He’s involved in organising the events, the scoring and the overall rankings of the competitors. He must be nearly eighty now but he’s still very much on the ball. He knows everyone. He will definitely know Claudette.”
“Would he have been at the charity event at Mircester Manor Park?” Agatha asked.
“I doubt it,” Tamara said. “That wasn’t part of the competition calendar. The top riders wouldn’t have been there either. They would have been in France, preparing for the event in Bordeaux this weekend. They like to have as much time as possible to settle their horses and get them in shape after they’ve been transported any great distance.”
“Can you put us in touch with the Colonel?”
“Of course. We can phone him from my office.”
“Thank you,” Agatha said as they began to walk back towards the farmhouse. “You’ve been a big help. In return, we may be able to do something for you.”
“We may?” said Roy.
“Yes,” said Agatha, “and it’s more of a ‘you’ than a ‘we.’ You see, Tamara, Roy is something of a public relations and marketing genius. He is the man behind Wizz-Wazz the donkey.”
“I thought I recognised you!” said Tamara, turning to Agatha, realisation dawning on her face. “You’re the Donkey Lady, the one who was on TV saying ‘Snakes and b—’”
“That’s entirely beside the point,” Agatha butted in, skating over the brief moment of celebrity that had been generated by her infamous TV appearance with the flatulent Wizz-Wazz. “Roy is just the man to put your stables on the map.”
“I am?” said Roy.
“You are,” Agatha assured him. “You have all the right contacts to bring in sponsorship, and with Tamara’s help you’ll be able to reach out to everyone who should know about this fantastic facility. A fresh image, some marketing spin and you can give Montgomery Stables a real shot in the arm.”
“Well, I suppose I could,” said Roy, stroking his chin.
“But … but there’s no way I can pay for that sort of help,” said Tamara.
“We could start off,” said Roy, gazing towards the horses in the paddock, “with a few riding lessons in lieu of a fee, then work something out once things are up and running again.”
“That would be marvellous,” said Tamara. “Mrs. Raisin, I don’t know how I can ever thank you…”
“Just make it work,” said Agatha. “With Roy’s help, you have to turn this place into a huge success. That will be a real poke in the eye for the Brown-Fields.”
In the office, Tamara called the Colonel and introduced Agatha, who arranged to pay him a visit that afternoon. Once Tamara had dug out Deborah Lexington’s address, Agatha and Roy said their goodbyes, Piper escorting them to the car before galloping back when Tamara called him.
“That was a great idea, Aggie,” said Roy, buckling his seat belt. “I never thought about learning to ride before, but I know I’m going to love it. Saturn is just gorgeous, isn’t he? I’ll have to get all the gear, of course—the boots, those trousery things, the black hat…”
“I want you to keep an eye on Tamara,” said Agatha. “She seems perfectly nice, but she had plenty of reason to want Mary dead. She is also
clearly a great source of information about Mary’s friends and enemies. I need you back here to start working with her tomorrow and finding out all you can.”
“Find out all … Oh my God!” Roy gasped, holding a hand to his chest. “I’m going under cover!”
* * *
Roy babbled with excitement all the way back to Mircester. He was going to learn to ride, he was investigating a murder and he was to be working on a covert operation. He was practically a secret agent! Agatha was relieved to be able to drop him off in Mircester at an upmarket department store where she knew they would be delighted to sell him the finest equestrian clothing at eye-watering prices. She realised that she would have to suffer a mini fashion parade when she got home later, but it would be worth it to have some peace and quiet while she found her way to the Colonel’s house. She put in a quick call to Toni to ask her to dig up some background on Deborah Lexington, then set off.
Colonel Steven Warbler-Dow lived in Maugersbury, just outside Stow-on-the-Wold. Agatha had been given specific directions about how to reach the house, but more than once had the feeling that she must have gone wrong. The roads were so narrow and flanked so tightly in places by enviably opulent family homes that she felt as if she must be on a driveway, passing through the carefully tended gardens. Where houses gave way to hedgerows, she caught glimpses of glorious countryside, folds of green rolling into distant hills bathed in sunshine.
Before long, she identified a turning that took her to the short stone-chip driveway of the Colonel’s house. To the right was a lawn, separated from the drive by a flower bed bursting with spring colour. Ahead was the house itself, a large two-storey L-shaped villa with an elaborate thatched roof that made Agatha’s own look positively primitive. Along the ridge line the thatch was doubly thick, the edges cut in a traditional skirt of curves and points, before it swooped down, curving gracefully around upstairs windows that peeked out from beneath the grey reeds. Where part of the ground floor extended out beyond the upper wall line, the thatch cascaded lower still, the angle of the roof allowing it to cover the extension. It was a delightful house, large enough, Agatha guessed, to swallow both her cottage and James’s, but small enough still to be a very comfortable home.
She parked close to the house, beside a wooden garage that she estimated could house at least three cars, and stepped out to be greeted by a loud “Hello, there!” from an elderly man striding confidently towards her. He was tall, with a grey beard and a balding head, a combination that Agatha had never found particularly attractive, although his beaming smile and twinkling blue eyes more than compensated for him having hair growing in the wrong places. You must have been a handsome devil in your youth, she thought, and you haven’t lost it entirely.
“You must be Agatha,” he said.
“And you are the Colonel?” she responded, shaking his hand.
“Steven, please,” he said. “Come inside. Can’t talk in this scorching sun.”
They walked towards the house, past a tangled heap of rusting metal that Agatha had first taken to be a sculpture but now realised was an old lawnmower.
“What happened to your mower?” she asked.
“Damn thing was always breaking down,” explained the Colonel, chuckling. “So I shot the bugger. Put it out of its misery with my old shotgun. Left it there as an example to the others.”
“The others?”
“Abbott and Costello.” He smiled. “Here comes one of them now.”
A silver disc, looking like a miniature flying saucer, glided across the lawn towards them.
“Automatic lawnmowers,” said the Colonel. “I’ve got two of them. They patrol the lawn. They’re programmed to know where the edges of the lawn are so that they don’t stray into the flower beds. They cut only a little on each outing and deposit the cuttings back onto the lawn as compost, then they make their way back to their charging stations to recharge on solar power. All very eco-friendly.”
The disc buzzed past them. I wonder what Boswell and Hodge would make of that, Agatha thought—scrap metal, probably.
“Amazing,” she said, making an attempt to appear interested.
“Now what was it that you wanted to talk to me about, young lady?”
Agatha glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see Toni standing there. Young lady? He meant her! The Colonel was turning out to be a bit of a charmer.
“Show-jumping,” she smiled, “and murder.” She explained about Charles and how he had been accused of Mary’s murder.
“I heard about that,” the Colonel said, scratching his beard. Agatha noticed that the tips of two fingers on his right hand were missing. “Nasty business. I’ve met Sir Charles a few times over the years. Seems like a decent sort.”
“He is indeed,” Agatha agreed, “absolutely decent. No doubt about it. A decent sort.”
The front door stood open, inviting them into a hall where the walls were hung with framed photographs of soldiers posing with horses in an assortment of exotic locations as well as with camels in the desert, elephants in the jungle and all sorts of military hardware.
“My study will be best.” The Colonel held open the door to a wood-panelled room dominated by a desk not unlike the one in Agatha’s office. A large, thick ledger with a well-worn green leather cover lay in the middle of the desk. Agatha sat in a deep-buttoned dark-red leather armchair and the Colonel settled into a similar chair on the other side of the desk, fishing a smartphone out of his pocket and placing it beside the ledger.
“So how can I be of help, my dear?” he asked.
“In order to find the killer, I need to know more about Mary, about her friends and, more particularly, her enemies. I’m focusing on those involved in competitive show-jumping. Tamara Montgomery told me you knew absolutely everyone.”
“That is true,” the Colonel said, touching one of his truncated fingers on the smartphone screen. The ledger magically opened, revealing a laptop computer inside. He clearly enjoyed Agatha’s look of amazement. “Cool, eh? That’s what you young people say, isn’t it?”
“Very impressive,” Agatha conceded.
“Obviously you know that I’m heavily involved in organising events,” he turned the ledger so that the laptop screen faced towards him, “but the lists of names and contacts I have here are strictly on a need-to-know basis. It would be thoroughly bad form for me to share.”
“We already have lists of Mary’s acquaintances,” Agatha explained, avoiding using the word “friends,” as she seriously doubted Mary had had any of those. “I really need to know more about what went on at these events so that I can work out who might have wanted to murder … Lady Mary.” She used Mary’s title deliberately, hoping that a show of respect for rank would go down well with the Colonel.
“I don’t really concern myself with tittle-tattle and barrack-room gossip,” he said, “but I will help as much as I can. I’ll just see if my wife can rustle something up for us.” He prodded his phone with a blunt finger. There was a click as an invisible intercom system switched on. “Jen, how about some tea and biscuits?”
“Thanks,” came a voice from loudspeakers somewhere in the room. “I’d love some.”
Click.
“Not really the plan. Still, best plans never survive contact with the enemy, eh?” The Colonel chuckled. “Adapt and survive. How about this instead?” He jabbed another icon on his phone screen, and a section of wooden panelling behind him opened up, revealing a drinks cabinet. “A little sherry, maybe?”
“That would be very nice,” Agatha smiled. “Where do all these high-tech gizmos come from?”
“Most of them I build myself,” the Colonel explained, pouring them both a drink from a crystal decanter. “Spent my working years in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers. I’ve always loved horses, of course, but I think I’ve always loved machines and gadgets just a little bit more. The future is high-tech, young lady.”
He handed a glass to Agatha and saw her looking at his f
ingers.
“Wounded in action,” he said, holding up his hand.
“Were you shot?”
“No, rotor blades got me. I stepped out of a helicopter and saluted my generals.”
“With two fingers? That wasn’t a very nice salute.”
“They weren’t very nice generals.”
“Just as well they weren’t your privates…”
The Colonel chuckled. “I like you,” he said. “If I were forty years younger…”
“I’d be a schoolgirl and you’d be arrested.”
He guffawed with laughter and gently clinked glasses with Agatha before lowering himself into his seat again.
“All I can really tell you,” he said, “is that Mary Darlinda Brown-Field was a young woman with a lot of problems. She could be very charming, but she also had a knack of upsetting people. I’m sure you know that already.”
“First-hand experience,” Agatha agreed, “but I have no real experience of the sort of competition environment at show-jumping events, or the people involved. I’ve only ever been to one small charity event.”
“The big events are quite something.” He nodded. “The international scene is for the super-rich. Jen and I are, you might say, comfortably well off, with my army pension and some family money, but those who compete at the top events live a lifestyle that most can only dream of.”
“Is Claudette one of those?”
“Claudette Duvivier? Do you know Claudette?”
“No, but I would very much like to meet her.”
“Let me see what I can do,” he said, picking up his phone. He chose a number from a speed-dial list and Agatha listened patiently to a one-sided conversation. “Claudette, my dear! Yes, yes, I’m looking forward to it. Yes, Jen will be coming, too. Claudette, I have someone here who would love to meet you. Her name is Agatha Raisin. Really? La dame what? All right…” He covered the phone with one hand and spoke softly to Agatha. “She wants to know if you are la dame d”âne … the Donkey Lady.”
