by M C Beaton
'I have done nothing of the kind, and for your information I am on my way to see Mrs Josephs, the librarian. She has something important to tell me about Paul Bladen's death.'
Bill gave a little sigh. 'Agatha, when there actually has been a murder, a lot of distasteful scandal usually comes to light which has nothing to do with the case. A lot of people get hurt. Now if you're going to dig around an English village trying to make an accident look like murder it will have the same effect, and without any justification. Drop it. Do good works. Go abroad again. Let Paul Bladen rest in peace.'
He drove off. Well, I may as well go, thought Agatha stubbornly. She'll be expecting me.
Mrs Josephs lived at the end of a terrace of what were once workers' cottages. Hers was neat and trim, with a pocket-sized garden where for-sythia spilled over the hedge into the road in a burst of golden glory. A blackbird sang on the roof. From a field above the village came the sound of a hunting horn, and as Agatha turned and looked up the hill, she saw the hunt streaming across a meadow, looking oddly out of perspective from her angle of vision.
If Lord Pendlebury was part of the hunt, she hoped he broke his neck. And with that pious thought, she pushed open the small wrought-iron gate and walked up to the door and rang the bell. There was no reply. The sound of the hunt disappeared into the distance. A jet screamed above, tearing the pale spring sky apart with sound.
Agatha tried again, feeling almost weepy, wondering dismally if all the inhabitants of Carsely were going to hide behind their sofas when they saw her on the doorstep.
But Mrs Josephs had asked her to call. Mrs Josephs had no right to snub her. Agatha turned the handle of the front door. It opened easily. A small hall with a narrow stair leading straight up from it.
'Mrs Josephs!' called Agatha.
The little house had thick walls, and silence pressed in on Agatha. She looked in the downstairs rooms, small parlour, small dining-room, and tiny cubicle of a kitchen at the back.
Agatha stood at the bottom of the stairs and shifted from foot to foot.
How sinister that dim staircase looked. Perhaps Mrs Josephs was ill. Emboldened by that thought, Agatha climbed the stairs. Bedroom on the right at the top, bed made, everything tidy. Box-room full of pathetic pieces of broken china and old furniture and dusty suitcases. No drama here. May as well use the bathroom while I'm here, thought Agatha. Oh, I know! She probably meant me to go to the library. What a fool I am! But how crazy to go out and leave the house unlocked. This must be the bathroom. She pushed open a door which had a pane of frosted glass.
Mrs Josephs was lying on the bathroom floor, her eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Agatha let out a whimper. She forced herself to bend down, pick up an arm and feel the pulse. Nothing.
She turned and ran down the stairs, looking for the phone. She found one in the parlour and dialled police and ambulance.
The first to arrive was PC Fred Griggs, the village policeman. He looked like a village policeman in a children's story, large and red-faced.
'She's dead' said Agatha. 'Upstairs. Bathroom.'
She followed the bulk of the policeman up the stairs. Fred looked sadly down at the body. 'You're right,' he said. 'Can tell by just looking at her. Mrs Josephs was a diabetic.'
'So it wasn't murder,' said Agatha.
'Now what put such an idea into your head?' His small eyes were shrewd.
'She said last night in front of everyone at the Carsely Ladies' Society that she had something to tell me about Paul Bladen.'
'The vet what died! What's that got to do with the poor woman's death?'
'Nothing' muttered Agatha. 'I think I'll wait outside'
As she went out into the garden again, she could hear the wail of sirens; and then an ambulance, followed by two police cars, came racing up. She recognized Detective Chief Inspector Wilkes and Bill Wong. There were two other detectives she did not know and a policewoman.
Bill said, 'Did you find her?' Agatha nodded dumbly. 'What time?'
'Ten o'clock' said Agatha. 'I told you I was going to see her.'
'Go home' said Bill. 'We'll be around to take a statement'
James Lacey stood on his doorstep, peering down the lane. He had heard the sirens. Ever since he had failed to answer the door to Agatha's ring, he had been staring at that heading 'Chapter Two' on his computer screen. Then he saw Agatha trailing along the lane. Her face was very white.
'What's happened?' he called, but she flapped a hand at him and said, 'Later.'
He felt frustrated. He felt that Agatha held the key to some excuse to take him away from writing for the day. He should not have run away from her lunch like a schoolboy.
He returned to his machine and glared at it. Then he heard the sound of a car turning into the lane and dashed outside again. It was a police car. He watched eagerly as it drove up to Agatha's cottage and stopped. He recognized Bill Wong with another detective and a policewoman. They went inside.
He had brought it on himself, he thought gloomily. The wretched Raisin woman was on to something and he was excluded.
Inside her home, Agatha answered all questions put to her. How long had she been in Mrs Josephs's cottage? Just a few minutes? Had anyone seen her just before she arrived? Detective Wong. The Chief Inspector nodded, as though Bill had already confirmed that.
'What did she die of?' asked Agatha.
'We'll need to wait for the pathologist's report' said Wilkes. 'Now, I gather this arrangement to see her was made at the vicarage last night. What exactly did she say?'
Agatha replied promptly, 'She said, "Call on me at ten tomorrow and I'll tell you all about Paul Bladen."'
'Anything else?'
'Let me see. I think I remarked she was looking better and she said an odd thing, she said, "Revenge is mine'' '
'You're sure of that?'
'Absolutely. She added .. ' Agatha screwed up her eyes in an effort of memory. 'She added, "I am to get what is rightfully mine." '
'Indeed' commented Wilkes. 'Very cryptic. Quite like a novel'
'I am not making it up' snapped Agatha. 'I have a very good memory'
'Now, Mrs Josephs said, "Call me at ten," yet you went to her Chouse. Wouldn't you think she meant you to phone her?'
'No' said Agatha, 'we don't use the phone much in this village to talk to each other. We call in person'
'Mrs Josephs was due on duty at the library. Why didn't you go there?'
'Because I didn't think!' howled Agatha, exasperated. 'What the -, what the devil is all this about? She just died of natural causes, didn't she?'
'Odd you should think that, when I gather from Detective Sergeant Wong here that you are very ready to believe the death of Paul Bladen was murder'
Agatha threw Bill Wong a reproachful look. 'I was interested in Paul Bladen's death and I was just asking a few questions' she said defensively.
"Who all was at the vicarage tea-party last night?'
'It wasn't a tea-party. Cider and cheese. I can give you most of the names, but if you ask Miss Simms, the secretary, she makes a note of everyone who attends each meeting'
Wilkes stood up. 'I think that will do for now, Mrs Raisin. We'll probably be talking to you again. Not thinking of travelling anywhere, are you?'
'What?' Agatha stared at him. 'Me? Not travel - You think it's murder.'
'Now, now, Mrs Raisin, at the moment we are simply investigating the death of a diabetic. Good day to you.'
Bill gave Agatha a wink behind his superior's back and mouthed silently, 'This evening.'
After they had left, Agatha decided to try James again. Forget about romance. This was too exciting to keep to herself. But he did not answer his door and she took small comfort in the fact that this time his car was gone.
James had driven into Mircester. To heal the breach with Agatha, he had considered an offer of flowers or chocolates and then had hit upon a better idea. If he found out Miss Mabbs's address, that would be a better excuse than anything to
call on her.
Agatha went along to the Red Lion and eagerly discussed the death of Mrs Josephs with the locals but without really learning anything that she did not know already. She returned home rather tipsy and fell asleep, and did not wake up until five o'clock to hear her doorbell ringing.
Feeling bleary-eyed and hung-over, she went to answer it. Bill Wong stood there.
'Come in! Come in!' cried Agatha. Tell me all about it, but let me get a cup of strong coffee first. I had too much to drink in the pub.'
'How did you scare Lacey off?' asked Bill, ambling into the kitchen after her.
'I didn't... Oh, well, I did invite him for lunch yesterday, light the candles on the dining-table and flash the old cleavage. You couldn't see him for dust'
The doorbell rang. Til get it,' said Bill.
He came back a few moments later followed by James.
'Don't raise your voice' said Bill. 'Our Agatha's got a hangover. She's been drowning her sorrows in the pub. She got all dolled up like a dog's dinner expecting an old flame from London for lunch yesterday and he didn't show and she'd forgotten about you calling but you scuttled off anyway'
'Oh,' said James. 'It's a good thing I'm not a vain man or I might have thought it was all for me'
Bill smiled happily. 'Our Agatha's usually got bigger fish to fry, haven't you, Agatha? Why didn't your flame turn up, anyway?'
'I can lie as easily as you,' thought Agatha. "Threatened with a merger' she said. 'But he's going to take me to the Savoy for dinner to make up for his absence.'
James felt silly. I really must stop imagining this woman's pursuing me, he thought.
'So' said Agatha, putting down cups of coffee in front of them, 'tell us all, Bill. Why have I not to leave the country?'
'What is all this?' cried James, exasperated. 'It's about that librarian's death, isn't it? It's all the talk at Harvey's'
Agatha told him about the arranged call on Mrs Josephs and of finding Mrs Josephs dead. 'You, now, Bill' she said. 'Is it murder?'
'We're waiting for the pathologist's report' said Bill. I'll tell you this off the record. There's something funny'
'Like what?' asked Agatha.
'Forensic found scuff marks on the stairs, all the way up from the parlour to the bathroom. Mrs Josephs was wearing brown leather walking shoes. The stairs aren't carpeted. There were scuff marks which could have come from her shoes, and she was wearing those thick stockings and there are a couple of stocking threads caught in a crack on the stairs'
Agatha's eyes gleamed. 'You mean someone could have killed her in her parlour and then dragged her upstairs and dumped her in her bathroom?'
'I don't understand that' said James. 'If someone's going to kill her, why bother dragging the body up to the bathroom?'
'I'm speculating' said Bill. Tm going out on a limb and neither of you must breathe a word of this to anyone'
They both nodded like mandarin dolls.
'Everyone seems to have known she was a diabetic and injected herself with insulin. What if someone gave her a jab of something lethal and then dragged her up to the bathroom where she kept her syringes and left her there hoping we would think she had died as she was giving herself one of her usual injections?'
James shook his head, to Agatha's irritation. 'I still don't like it' he said. 'Everyone knows about the wonders of forensic science these days.'
'Any murderer is usually desperate or deranged' said Bill. It would amaze you how little they think.'
'Did the neighbours see anyone calling at the house?' asked James.
'No, but there's a lane runs along the end of the back gardens. Mrs Dunstable at the other end of the terrace said she thought she heard a car stopping just at the end of the back lane - you can't get a car along there - about eight in the morning. But she's deaf! She says she felt the vibrations of a car, can you believe it?'
'It would be odd if it turned out to be murder' said James slowly. 'After what she said to Agatha in front of all those women, it might cast doubts on the death of Paul Bladen'
'She might have committed suicide' Bill pointed out. 'Everyone said she was very depressed since the death of her cat. The scuff marks could have been made when she dragged herself upstairs. That's the news so far. I've got to get back to work. Thanks for the coffee, Agatha.'
When Bill had left, Agatha returned and sat down at the coffee-table and closed her eyes. 'Want me to go?' asked James.
'No, I'm thinking. If I had murdered Mrs Josephs and injected her with something, I wouldn't leave that lethal something among her bottles and pills in the bathroom. I'm not a very clever murderer. Think of the scuff marks. So I'm driving off with this bottle or ampoule I've used in my pocket. I'm sweating and panicky' She opened her eyes. 'I'd chuck it out the car window.'
'It's a thought' said James. 'And the road from the end of the back lane goes up to Lord Pendle-bury's. No harm in just having a look, I suppose. We'll take rubbish sacks so that people will think we're volunteers from the village keeping the countryside tidy. But if you find anything sinister, leave it there and call the police or they might think you planted it.'
They took Agatha's car. She drove to the back lane and sat there with the engine idling imagining she had just committed murder. She then drove off up the hill and suddenly stopped.
'Why here?' asked James.
'Because here's where I would chuck it if I were a murderer' said Agatha.
They started searching up and down the road on the right-hand side where anything a driver might have thrown out would have landed. Fortunately people in the Cotswolds are very litter-minded and so there was hardly anything after an hour's careful search to be found but an old broken fountain-pen and one sandal.
'The light's fading and I'm hungry' complained James.
'Let's try further up, nearer the estate' pleaded Agatha. 'Just a bit more'
'Damn, I promised Freda Huntingdon a few days ago that I would meet her for a drink at seven in the Red Lion. Besides, it's getting dark.'
'I've a torch in the car' said Agatha, now determined to keep him out as long as possible.
'Oh, well, just a little longer.'
They drove farther up the road and got out again, Agatha taking the torch and James poking aimlessly now in the hedgerow.
When Agatha after half an hour of patient walking and searching suddenly cried, 'Eureka!' James said crossly, 'Look, is it another shoe or something? Freda will be -'
'Come here! Look at this!'
He stumped over. Agatha pointed the torch at some tangled shrubbery and nettles in the ditch. Down in the bottom of the ditch was a little brown pharmacist's bottle.
'Well, I'll be damned,' he said, giving her a hug.
Glad of the darkness, Agatha blushed with pleasure.
'You wait here and guard it' she said excitedly. I'm off to phone Bill Wong.'
James waited and waited. He glanced at his watch, noticing by the luminous dial that it was nearly eight. Then he thought, I don't really need to stand here. He took a stick which he had cut earlier from the hedgerow to help him in poking around, stabbed it down into the ditch beside the bottle and tied his handkerchief like a flag to the top of it. Now he could go safely off to the pub and the police and Agatha would easily find his marker. He strode off down the road.
Agatha waited on her doorstep, biting nails. Bill had said, 'Wait right where you are,' and so she had done just that. But James must be wondering what had happened.
With a sigh of relief, she saw the police car nosing round into the lane and ran out to meet it. Bill and another detective were in the car. 'Hop in' he said, 'and take us to this clue of yours. We couldn't raise Fred Griggs. It's his night off'
Agatha could not believe it as they drove up the road and found no sign of James. Worse than that, she could not remember exactly where they had found the bottle and so they searched up and down the roadside for quite a long time before Bill finally found the stick with the handkerchief on top.
<
br /> 'At least he's marked the spot' said Bill, squatting down. He shone a powerful flashlight down beside the stick.
'There doesn't seem to be anything there, Agatha'
Agatha peered over his shoulder. 'But it was there' she cried. 'Oh, where is James? If he just calmly went off to the pub to meet that tart, I'll kill him'
Bill and the other detective searched slowly and carefully, but there was no sign of that bottle.
He finally straightened up with a sigh. 'Do you think Lacey's in the pub?'
'Oh, I'm quite sure he is' said Agatha viciously.
It was a busy evening at the Red Lion. The whole village seemed to be crammed into the pub. James was surprised when he received a tap on the shoulder and a voice murmured, 'Police. Would you step outside, Mr Lacey?'
He followed the man out and started guiltily as he was confronted with an unusually serious Bill Wong and a baleful Agatha.
'I shouldn't have left, I suppose' he said in a rush, 'but didn't you find the stick with the handkerchief on it?7
'We found that all right, but no bottle' said Bill. 'When did you get to the pub?'
'Just after eight. I was meeting Freda . . . Mrs Huntingdon'
'Did you tell Mrs Huntingdon or anyone else in the pub what you had found?'
'Well . . ' James shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
The policeman who had summoned him from the pub had gone back in and now emerged again in time to hear Bill's last question.
'If I might have a word with you, sir.' He drew Bill aside. James Lacey stared at the ground.jg^
Bill came back and looked up at James. 'So, I gather you said to Mrs Huntingdon that you and Mrs Raisin had found a clue to Mrs Josephs's death, that there was a pharmacist's bottle in the ditch and you had left your handkerchief as a flag to mark the spot. Mrs Huntingdon had said in a loud voice to a circle of locals, "We've got a sleuth in our midst. Isn't James clever?" And she told about the bottle.'
'Look' said James desperately, 'I'm not a policeman. I've looked on it all as a sort of game. But I may have put the stick in the wrong place. Let's go back and look again'
'Come along, then' said Bill. I'd already thought of that and sent for reinforcements'
