Hot to Trot

by M C Beaton

  “It wasn’t much of a battle really,” said Agatha, “but it did help to get me arrested for murder.”

  “Obviously you didn’t do it,” Deborah smirked, “even though I bet you would have liked to after she snatched your lovely Sir Charles away from you.”

  “I had no reason at all to like Mary, but—”

  “But you didn’t kill her because you were halfway down the drive having a heart-to-heart with Sir Charles. You were seen. You had about as much chance of strangling the bitch that night as I did.”

  “If it wasn’t you and it wasn’t Agatha, then who was it?” Toni interjected. She had put down her pad and had started tinkering with her phone. Agatha scowled at her.

  “How should I know?” said Deborah. “You’re the detectives. Get out there and detect! Let me know if you find who did it and I’ll give him a medal. Now go. I’m feeling tired.”

  Jacob ushered them out to the hall. Toni took a step into his den.

  “Is this where you spend all your time?” she asked. “Do you ever go out … socialising?”

  “I work mainly from home,” he said. “I go out to meetings from time to time, and to do a little shopping, but having everything here means that I’m on hand when Debbie needs me.”

  “Can she be left on her own?” said Toni.

  “A nurse comes in. I’m able to go out then.”

  “With your muscles,” she smiled, running a finger over a dumb-bell, “I’d have thought you could manage far heavier weights than this.”

  “Bit of a pectoral strain,” Jacob explained, gently rubbing his chest. “I’m taking it easy.”

  “You need to be careful,” she said, looking round the room. “This is a lovely house.”

  “Not as big as the house we were brought up in, but it suits us. We moved here when our parents died. Then there was Debbie’s accident…”

  “That must have been awful for you.”

  “Toni,” hissed Agatha, growing increasingly impatient with Toni’s flirting. “It’s time we were going.”

  * * *

  Toni wound down the car windows as Agatha fastened her seat belt. The sun had made the inside of the vehicle unbearably hot.

  “Phew!” she said, starting the engine. “It’s like a furnace in here. They say there’s a change in the weather coming next week. It won’t be so hot.”

  “Thank you for the weather forecast,” said Agatha, “but it’s not only hot in here. It was getting pretty steamy in there too. What on earth were you playing at? ‘Do you ever go out?’ and ‘You could manage far heavier weights.’ We’re supposed to be working, finding things out, not fishing for dates.”

  “I was finding things out.” Toni giggled. “Come on, it’s nearly lunchtime—let me buy you a long, cool drink!”

  It took only moments for them to retrace their route back to Duns Tew, where Toni pulled into the car park behind the White Horse. At the rear of the inn, wooden tables bathed in the sunshine, but while a cold drink in the garden was an attractive option, when they went inside, the cool flagstones on the floor were irresistible. Agatha kicked off her shoes and let her feet enjoy the chill of the stones.

  “Food here looks great,” said Toni, picking up a menu.

  “Just a gin and tonic for me,” said Agatha, sucking in her stomach. “I’m still a little full from yet another meal at the Red Lion last night. You’d best have a lemonade—designated driver.”

  She took a look around while Toni ordered their drinks. The bar area was quiet, but the White Horse had the look of a place that never stayed quiet for long. The heavy wooden beams sported traditional horse brasses but the exposed stone walls were hung with quirky modern artwork, creating an atmosphere in the seventeenth-century inn that made Agatha want to settle in for the duration. In the past, on one of those days she sometimes spent drifting through the Cotswold countryside with Charles, they probably would have stayed all afternoon. They probably would have booked a room for the night. Those days, however, were definitely in the past. She took a seat at a small table and planted her feet on the cool floor. Toni delivered the drinks.

  “So if you weren’t trying to snare young Jake,” said Agatha, “what were you up to in there?”

  “The house has the look of a place that is pretty much empty,” said Toni. “It felt odd. The kitchen and what looked like a garden room at the back of the house were unfurnished.”

  “Maybe not so odd,” said Agatha. “Deborah must practically live in that room. Jake has the rest of the house. Too many bedrooms, too much space for a young guy. Why should he care about furnishing it all?”

  “It looked like it had been furnished, though. There were furniture marks on the carpet in his den, and if he and Deborah came from a bigger house after the death of their parents, you would expect them to bring lots of furniture with them. I think the house has been cleared.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Take a look at this.” Toni handed Agatha her smartphone. “The mail on the table at the bottom of the stairs looked like it came from lawyers and estate agents. Then I found this online.”

  On Toni’s phone screen was a photograph of the house they had just left. The picture was on an estate agent’s website. Agatha scrolled through other pictures of the house. Deborah’s room had been photographed without her bed or monitors. Jacob’s den had neither gym equipment nor computer screens. The other rooms were equally bare. The house looked unoccupied.

  “Looks like it’s ready for a buyer to move straight in,” said Agatha.

  “Ideal for a quick sale,” agreed Toni, “and it has been sold. Look at the price.”

  Agatha was surprised by the seven-figure sale price. She was well aware of the high property values in this part of the country, but that was a huge sum for a house like the Lexingtons.”

  “That will put a lot of cash in their pockets,” she said. “Certainly enough to hire someone to take revenge on Mary.”

  “It’s still a weird and risky kind of contract killing,” Toni said, “and we don’t know what their financial situation is. We don’t know how much Deborah’s medical care may be costing them.”

  “Then we must find out.” Agatha sipped her drink. “Or rather you must. I need to see Charles this afternoon and update him. Come on, let’s find a shady spot to finish these drinks in the garden.”

  * * *

  Toni dropped Agatha at home before heading into the office. Agatha phoned Barfield House to check that Charles was home. Gustav answered.

  “What do you want?” he grunted.

  “Really, Gustav,” Agatha scolded him. “You could try to be a bit nicer to me. We are still on the same side, after all.”

  “The way things are,” said Gustav, “I can trust no one. Sides mean nothing.”

  “Is Charles at home this afternoon? I want to come and see him.”

  “I believe so. I will warn him.”

  “Thank you, Gustav. Every phone call with you fills me with joy … as soon as I hang up.”

  There was a click. He’d beaten her to it.

  Agatha took a quick shower, reapplied her make-up and picked out a sky-blue crêpe dress with a delicate yellow flower pattern, a low V neck and cinched sleeves. A thin belt at the waist made it ideal for her figure. It was summery, but she was seeing Charles, not just any ordinary client, and if Toni the weather girl was right, then the fine weather was due to end and summer could fast be fading into the distant future again. This dress deserved to be worn in the sunshine, and now was the time to do it.

  She was halfway down the garden path, heading for her car, when she heard James calling to her. He was standing in the doorway of his cottage, a book in one hand and a teacup in the other, as always.

  “Aggie, are you off out, darling?” he said. “That’s a splendid dress.”

  “Thank you, James. In a bit of a hurry. Off to see Charles.”

  “Oh, right … Er, wondered if you fancied dinner tonight. I’ll cook.”

 
“Something light maybe,” said Agatha, feeling the belt quite tight around her middle. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

  “A salade Niçoise, then!” Charles grinned. “I have just the wine to go with it.”

  “Oh, but I have Roy staying.”

  “Well, I suppose … Roy is welcome too, naturally.”

  “Lovely. Talk later.”

  James sauntered back into his living room and sat down with his book. He found himself staring at the pages without reading. Romantic notions had never come easily to him. He had always been solidly pragmatic rather than wildly sentimental, and that little episode on the doorstep had ably demonstrated the wisdom of his ways. Somehow his attempt to conjure up a romantic dinner for two had resulted in a friendly dinner for three. Still, Roy wasn’t such a bad chap, and Aggie had looked very attractive in that blue dress. She was, of course, wearing it to meet another man, Charles, who, now that his wife was out of the way, was presumably back on the market again.

  He snapped his book shut. If there was a challenge to be faced, he wasn’t about to shy away from it. Sir Charles Fraith could not dodge in and out of Agatha’s life as he pleased. Whatever mess she was trying to extricate reckless, unreliable Charles from, he had to make it clear that she would always have steadfast, dependable James to fall back on. So … dinner for three, then.

  On arriving at Barfield House, Agatha decided to avoid the frustration of another encounter with Gustav. Rather than ring the doorbell, she walked round to the terrace at the side of the house. At this time of day, she knew precisely where Charles would be.

  The French doors to the library stood open to encourage any breeze that might choose to drift in from the lawn. Agatha paused in the doorway.

  “Charles, there’s some strange woman on the terrace.” The reedy descant of Mrs. Tassy shredded the atmosphere like a dagger drawn down a window pane. Agatha sighed and shook her head. Mrs. Tassy knew exactly who she was. Referring to her as “some strange woman” was the old lady’s way of making it known that she disapproved of Agatha arriving in an unorthodox manner, unannounced. Mrs. Tassy sat tall in a wing-backed chair, her crown of silver hair framing her grey face. Her high-necked, long-sleeved black dress reached almost to her ankles, conceding nothing to the spring heatwave. She tutted at Agatha and returned to the book she was reading.

  Charles looked up from the paperwork on his desk. Silhouetted in the doorway, with the sun behind her, the pleasing outline of Agatha’s body was visible through the fabric of her dress. He smiled.

  “I take it the Brown-Fields are absent,” said Agatha, nodding towards Mrs. Tassy, “if the undead have resurfaced?”

  “At their London flat,” said Charles. “Come in and grab a seat, Aggie. I’ll get us a drink.” He rang a small handbell on his desk and called towards the open library door. “GUSTAV!”

  Gustav duly appeared and glowered at Agatha.

  “Oh … you are here,” he grumbled.

  “Oh…” Agatha mimicked him, examining her arms as if to check, then giving him a shrug, “so I am.”

  Charles asked Gustav to bring them gin and tonics. “And a sherry for the wraith,” added the old lady.

  “Aunt, Agatha and I need to talk about her investigation,” said Charles.

  “Go ahead,” said Mrs. Tassy. “I have been persecuted and ostracised in this house for months. I refuse to be banished from this room. I am reading a book, and this is the library, where one reads books.”

  Agatha started to bring Charles up to date. She decided to keep the relationship between Darell and Mrs. Chadwick under wraps for the moment, but explained about Tamara and then mentioned Deborah Lexington. Gustav appeared with their drinks.

  “Will that be all?” he asked. “Or are other guests likely to materialise?”

  “That will be all, Gustav,” said Charles, then turned back to Agatha. “Lexington … I’m sure my father had friends by that name.”

  “Would that be the Idbury Lexingtons?” came the voice of Mrs. Tassy. “They used to visit when you were away at school, Charles, or up at Cambridge. The girl, Deborah, was a teenager by then, the boy slightly younger—Jason, I believe…”

  “Jacob,” said Agatha.

  “Yes, yes, that’s what I said—Jacob. It was rather nice seeing children playing on the lawn. They were full of vigour, full of life. They used to lead poor Gustav a merry dance. Played all sorts of tricks on him. They stopped coming after the parents died in a dreadful fire at a hotel in Greece…”

  “Turkey,” said Agatha.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said the old lady tetchily. “She does like to contradict, does she not, Charles?”

  “It’s Agatha’s job to get things like that right,” Charles laughed.

  Agatha explained about Deborah’s altercation with Mary.

  “You knew nothing about that?” she asked.

  “Didn’t know Mary then,” Charles explained, “and you know that I’ve never taken any interest in the horsey crowd.”

  “It’s strange that the Lexingtons used to visit all those years ago,” said Agatha.

  “Lots of people used to visit,” said Charles. “It’s just a coincidence.”

  “In a murder investigation, we can’t afford to write things off as coincidence. Coincidences are highly suspicious.”

  “You consider Deborah Lexington a suspect?”

  “A fairly unlikely suspect, given her circumstances,” Agatha admitted. “We’re still looking at her and Tamara and … Well, there won’t be any shortage of suspects. I’m meeting another person of interest tomorrow. A Frenchwoman, Claudette Duvivier.”

  “How is her English?” asked Charles, sounding keen to get involved. “I could translate, if you like.”

  “It’s best if you’re not involved,” Agatha said, “and we are apparently off to Bordeaux.”

  “Is that going to be at my expense?”

  “No, Charles, I have been invited. It appears to be a freebie.”

  “Careful. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

  “You of all people should know that’s not true!” Agatha laughed. “I’ve lost count of the free lunches and dinners that you and your elusive wallet have wangled. Whoops!” she added, glancing at her watch. “Is that the time? I should be going.”

  “Let me walk you to your car,” offered Charles.

  They strolled together in the sunshine, pausing for a moment to take in the view over the lawn to the mature parkland beyond. At the car, Charles slipped his arm around Agatha’s shoulder.

  “Thank you for everything you’re doing,” he said. “I would be lost without you.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face away and the kiss landed on her ear.

  “Steady, tiger,” she said gently. “Let’s keep this a professional relationship. Otherwise one or both of us could yet end up in jail.”

  She stepped into the car and headed for home.

  Chapter Seven

  Agatha arrived home to a rapturous reception from Boswell and Hodge. They miaowed and purred and wound themselves around her legs.

  “Take it easy, guys,” she said, stooping to stroke each in turn. “I know this is cupboard love—you just want to be fed. Come on, then.” The cats pranced in front of her, tails high, heading for the kitchen. No sooner had she filled their food bowls than she heard the front door creaking open. There was a low groan of pain and a stagger of footsteps. Agatha rushed into the hall. Roy Silver stood there, face flushed, legs wide apart, supporting himself with one hand on the banisters and the other on the living room door frame. He was wearing pale-blue jodhpurs, a dark-blue polo shirt with a horse motif, and a look of excruciating discomfort.

  “It’s agony, Aggie!” he wailed. “I shall never be able to close my legs again. No jokes, please.”

  “What on earth has happened to you?” Agatha held a hand to her face to cover a smile.

  “Riding … had my first riding lesson with Tamara. I thought you just sat there and held onto the
reins. Turns out you have to balance, sit up straight, move with the horse … My legs haven’t ached like this since that time you made me run a marathon.”

  “It was a five-kilometre charity fun run, Roy, and you walked it.”

  “While you were schmoozing with the sponsor.”

  “It was a team effort.”

  “I need a long soak in a hot bath,” he said, starting to climb the stairs.

  “I’ll get you a glass of wine,” said Agatha. “I take it your riding days are over?”

  “Not at all!” he called, reaching the top of the stairs. “I’ll be back in the saddle tomorrow. Loved every second of it. It’s just a shame we have to suffer so much for life’s pleasures…”

  “James has invited us round for supper,” Agatha called after him.

  “Not for me,” came the reply. “I really don’t feel up to it.”

  Agatha called James to let him know Roy would not be joining them. She was sure she could detect a note of relief in his voice. She opened a bottle of Chablis that had been chilling in the fridge and took a glass upstairs for Roy. The bathroom door stood slightly ajar.

  “Roy, I’ve got a glass of wine for you.”

  “Oh, you are an angel! Bring it in. Don’t worry, I’m totally bubbled.”

  She peered round the door to see Roy luxuriating in her bath, steam rising through a mountain of white froth. She handed him the wine glass and he took a sip before letting his drinking arm loll over the side of the tub.

  “Ah, bliss,” he said. “That was a busy day, you know. We’ve been talking to potential sponsors and made a start on a mail-out to possible clients.”

  “Anything new I should know about Tamara?”

  “She had a friend stay over last night. There was a car at the stables this morning and she was washing up plates and glasses when I arrived. I’m pretty sure it was a male friend, but she wasn’t telling. She was a bit coy about it. You know, when she took off that old baggy sweater to lead Saturn while I bounced around on his back, she was wearing a T-shirt and she actually has a remarkably trim figure. Clearly very fit and strong.”