Agatha Raisin Love, Lies and Liquor ar-17

by M C Beaton

  “You mean the cracker with legs up to her armpits?” asked Cyril.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s awful. She’ll never survive.”

  “I don’t know why you both stay here,” said Agatha. “I mean, what’s in it for you?”

  “I’m not leaving here until I find out who murdered Geraldine.” Agatha glanced quickly at Dawn Hammond. Dawn was studying her fingernails as if she had never seen anything so interesting before.

  “You must have been very fond of her,” said Agatha.

  “We were going to get married before Charlie Black came along.”

  “I liked that film, Rebecca” commented Dawn, looking up. “Sometimes I feel I’m living in it.”

  “Now, then, precious,” said Cyril, giving his wife an oily smile, “you know I love only you.”

  “So why can’t we get the hell out of here?” demanded Dawn.

  “I’ve told you and told you,” snapped Cyril, the smile disappearing. “Her murderer is still at large.”

  “It seems,” said Agatha, “that Charlie Black did work for Brian McNally, who I gather might be some sort of drug baron. As a favour to Charlie, he kidnapped me trying to find out where the rest of the jewels were. Maybe he hired someone to sweat Geraldine and things got out of hand.”

  James came into the dining room. “Rain’s easing up,” he said.

  “Have you heard the news about that Deborah woman?” asked Cyril.

  “No, what?”

  “Went out at high tide and was swept out to sea.”

  “This is horrible. I’ll go round to the lifeboat station and see if there’s any news.”

  “Better wait until the tide goes down,” said Cyril.

  “I’ll go with you,” said Agatha. She realized in that moment how safe she had always felt with James at her side. Anything was better than sitting in this hotel wondering if someone was coming in to murder her.

  The manager approached. “The press are in the bar. I kept them in there until I knew you’d finished your breakfast.”

  “I’ll be off,” said James.

  “You can’t go until the tide goes down,” said Agatha, “or you’ll be the next casualty. Please wait for me. I won’t be long.”

  James seemed unaware of the Hammonds as he sat wrapped in misery. He could dimly hear Agatha regaling the press with stories of the brilliance of her detective agency. It was all his fault Deborah had come after him. He should never have phoned her.

  At last Agatha came back carrying her coat. “The rain’s stopped,” she said. “Where is the lifeboat station?”

  “Along at West Point. I know where it is.”

  Watery sunlight gilded the heaving grey waves as they walked along, followed by the press.

  “What are they doing, coming after us?” asked James.

  “I told them about Deborah. It took their minds right off my lack of success.”

  “Sometimes you horrify me, Agatha.” James walked on in moody silence.

  At last they reached the lifeboat station. The slip was empty. “Still out looking for her,” said Agatha.

  They all stood staring out to sea. Then one of the reporters who had been scanning the sea through his telescopic lens cried, “The boat’s coming back.”

  They waited anxiously until they saw a little speck which grew gradually bigger and bigger. From behind them came the wail of a siren and then an ambulance drew up.

  “She might be alive,” cried James. “Please God she’s still alive.”

  The boat came nearer and nearer. “There’s a woman on board,” called the man with the lens. “She’s wrapped in blankets and drinking something.”

  Much as she disliked Deborah, in that moment all Agatha could feel was admiration for any woman who could stay alive in such a sea.

  The boat came ever closer. Now they could plainly see Deborah. An ambulance crew with a stretcher went down to meet the lifeboat.

  Deborah was helped onto a stretcher while camera flashes went off all around.

  As she was carried past James, she said, “Darling, I was coming to meet you.”

  Agatha winced.

  She then joined the press, who were shouting questions at the lifeboat captain.

  He held up his hands for silence and said, “It is incredible that she is alive. She is obviously a very powerful swimmer. How she managed to swim away from the sea wall and not get sucked into the undertow is beyond me. Then the current got hold of her and carried her along the coast. The waves were so high we nearly missed her.”

  Agatha’s one dismal thought was that she had no hope of competing with Deborah. First those legs and now a heroine.

  James fell into step beside Agatha as they walked back to the hotel. “It’s not what you think,” he said.

  “I was thinking of a large gin and tonic.”

  “The thing is,” said James, “I was supposed to have dinner with her and rushed down here at the last minute. So I phoned to apologize. She must have taken it as a come-on.”

  “You didn’t seem in any hurry to repulse her,” commented Agatha.

  “How could I? She had come all this way. I’d better go to the hospital, I suppose.”

  “Don’t forget to take flowers. Oh, good, there’s Patrick.”

  Agatha chattered to Patrick on the road back. When they reached the hotel, James said, “I would like a word in private with Agatha, Patrick.”

  “Right,” said Patrick. “I’m off to the police station.”

  James turned to face Agatha, an apology hovering on his lips.

  “Hey, there, you two,” called a cheerful voice. “I’ve just arrived.”

  Charles Fraith came strolling out of the hotel.

  James’s face darkened. He muttered, “I’d better get to the hospital,” and strode inside.

  “He was about to say something important to me,” raged Agatha when Charles joined her.

  “If it was that important, he can say it later,” said Charles. “I’d forgotten what a ghastly place this is. Let’s walk somewhere civilized for a coffee and you can fill me in on all the details.”

  In reception, James heard himself being hailed by the manager. “Come into my office and have a glass of champagne,” called Mr. Beeston.

  “What’s the celebration?” asked James, following him into the remains of what had once been a grand office with stained-glass windows and a magnificent mahogany desk.

  “The bosses who own this place have told me they’ve had a terrific offer for this hotel.” He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured two glasses.

  “I can’t think who would want it,” said James. “It’s about to be washed away any day now.”

  “It’s going to be one of the grandest casinos in England. They’re going to build an enormous sea wall and have the entrance in Brighton Street.”

  “Brighton Street?”

  “The main street that runs parallel to the front.”

  “I forgot the name of it. But there are shops there.”

  “They’re buying them out.”

  “I’m surprised the residents didn’t have something to say about it.”

  “There’s a meeting in the town hall tonight. The councillors and the mayor are all for it. It’ll bring a lot of money into the town. I don’t think the residents will object. The casino bosses have promised to raise the sea wall and extend it along the front.”

  “It’ll spoil the view.”

  “Ever seen anyone in a casino looking out?”

  “But the people who live along the seafront. A large wall would cut off the light from their houses.”

  “They’ll just have to realize it’s the wall or their houses falling into the sea.”

  “Who are these bosses?

  “Regan Enterprises. An Irish firm, I believe. Drink up. Happy days.”

  So James drank, his mind working furiously. What if there was criminal money behind all this, money that needed to be laundered somehow? Why should this Bria
n McNally, who appeared to be a major player in the criminal world, turn up simply to do an old lag a favour by sweating the whereabouts of some jewels out of Agatha? Perhaps he had bigger fish to fry in the area. It was a long shot, but he was determined to go to that meeting.

  “At what time is the meeting tonight?” he asked.

  “Seven o’clock.”

  “Might take a look-in?”

  “More champagne?”

  “No, I’ll leave you to it.”

  James drove out to the hospital on the edge of town. He stopped at a florist’s on the way and bought a bunch of flowers. He must be firm with Deborah and tell her that when she had recovered she should return to Carsely immediately.

  Because she had become a local celebrity, Deborah had been put in a private room. To James’s dismay, as he opened the door it was to find she was giving a press conference. He tried to back out, but Deborah saw him and called, “Come in, darling.” Camera flashes went off in his face.

  “Is there a romance here?” asked one reporter.

  “Maybe,” said Deborah with a flutter of eyelashes.

  “No,” said James firmly. “I am here with my ex-wife to help her in a detective investigation. I’ll leave you to it, Deborah.”

  He made a hasty retreat. It was only when he was outside the room that he realized he was still clutching that bunch of flowers. He gave them to a passing nurse and asked her to deliver them to Mrs. Fanshawe.

  “I wish you hadn’t come back,” Agatha was saying for what seemed to Charles like the umpteenth time.

  “We’ve been over this and over this,” said Charles, “and you never give me the real reason. The real reason is that you’re still besotted with James and you think I’m queering your pitch.”

  “Well, he’s twice been about to tell me something important and the last time you butted in. I mean, you take off when you feel like it, leaving me in the lurch, so why can’t you just take off again?”

  “Oh, all right. But not today. I’ll set out tomorrow. You’ve never asked me to push off before. There’s some villain around who thinks you know where some jewels are, and you still haven’t found out who murdered Geraldine Jankers. I thought you’d be glad of the extra help.”

  “I’ve got James and Patrick.”

  “Aggie, I thought you had grown out of James.”

  “I have! But I want to hear what it is he’s going to say and he won’t say it if you’re still here!”

  “In other words, I’m of use to you only when you feel like it?”

  “That’s how you’ve treated me.”

  They glared at each other angrily. Then Charles began to laugh. “Listen to us! You’d think we were lovers or something. Okay, Aggie, I’ll be off tomorrow.”

  Back at the hotel, James waylaid Agatha as she walked in, looking excited. Charles went off to his room.

  But James had no tender words to say or apology to make. He was full of what he had found out about the casino. Fighting down her disappointment, Agatha listened carefully. Then she said, “We’ll both go tonight. By the way, Charles is leaving tomorrow.”

  “Why is that? Oh, never mind. I can’t wait to get to this meeting tonight.”

  Up in his room, Charles switched on a small television set to watch the news. His interest sharpened as a picture of Deborah Fanshawe appeared on the screen. She was lying in a hospital bed looking very beautiful. Charles wondered how she had managed to find make-up to do her face or the lacy nightdress she was wearing when she had been taken straight to the hospital from the lifeboat.

  A malicious smile curved his lips. He would get some flowers and go and see this beauty. That would irritate Agatha no end, and Charles felt like annoying her.

  He went downstairs and asked for directions to the hospital. Betty, the receptionist, had just finished arranging flowers in a vase on the desk. Mr. Beeston’s voice sounded from the office, calling her in. Charles waited until she had left, picked up the vase full of flowers and went out of the hotel and round to the car park.

  Deborah was beginning to get bored. She had slept a little after the press left and awoke feeling refreshed, but very annoyed with James Lacey. What on earth did he see in that charmless woman, Agatha?

  The door opened and an expensively dressed man entered carrying a vase of flowers. He had fair well-barbered hair and neat features.

  “Hullo,” he said. “I’m Charles Fraith. I heard all about your adventure and thought I’d drop in and see you.”

  “Fraith? Do you live at Barfield House?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  Deborah gave him her best smile and said, “Please sit down.”

  Sir Charles Fraith, she thought. Was he married?

  “What brings you down here?” she asked.

  Charles set down the vase of flowers on a side table. There was very little water left in it, most of it having slopped onto the floor of his car.

  “I’m a friend of Agatha Raisin.”

  Deborah’s face darkened.

  “Anyway, she’s fed up with me,” said Charles, “so I might push off tomorrow. I say, you look great after all you’ve been through. Didn’t know the hospital ran to such glamorous nighties.”

  “The staff here are very kind. One nurse lent me make-up and another drove round to the hotel to pick up this nightdress and a few things from my room. All for the press conference, of course.”

  “So why are you here?” asked Charles.

  “I came to see James. He was running after me and I rather fancied him. But when I got here, he told me he wished I had never come.”

  “He’s like that, old James. Confirmed bachelor.”

  “But he married that Raisin woman.”

  “Didn’t last, did it?”

  “And what about you? Are you a confirmed bachelor?”

  “Been married once. That was enough. Still, you never know when I might change my mind. Now, tell me about how you managed to survive.”

  So Deborah told him, almost automatically, while her mind was calculating the advantages of being the next Lady Fraith. She would have a title. She would open fetes and things.

  When she had finished, Charles asked, “When do you get out of here?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I could drive you home.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I don’t want to leave my car down here.” Deborah hadn’t quite given up on James Lacey. “I may stay on for a few days until I completely recover. What about you?”

  “I’ll probably be around for a few days as well. We could have dinner or something, if you feel up to it.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  Agatha left her room a mess of discarded clothes when she went to join James that evening. She had reluctantly discarded items like high heels, short skirts and blouses with plunging necklines for a warm sweater and trousers, walking shoes and coat.

  James was elated and full of energy. Agatha wondered how she could prompt him into saying what he had been going to say.

  The town hall was a red brick Victorian monstrosity that not even John Betjeman could love. The hall was full.

  Lined up on the platform and fronted by the mayor wearing his gold chain of office were several middle-aged and elderly men in dark suits. Agatha assumed they were the town councillors. To the left of the stage three men in very expensive suits and suntans were seated observing the proceedings. James pointed at them. “I bet they’re from Regan Enterprises,” he said.

  The mayor began by making a speech about all the benefits the casino would bring to the town. Then he asked for questions. A woman rose to protest. She said they didn’t want a casino. They had enough trouble with drugs without encouraging young people to get a gambling addiction. There was a roar of applause.

  The mayor, a fat balding man with a pompous air, ridiculed her, saying that because of people like her, job opportunities would be lost and the town would never get that much-needed sea wall.

  He answered each quest
ion in the same way until gradually the hall fell silent.

  “Agatha!” said James suddenly.

  But Agatha Raisin was on her feet marching towards the platform. She mounted the steps at the side and took the microphone from the startled mayor’s hand.

  “Are you all sheep?” she cried. “Stand up to these bullies. Sea wall, indeed. What do you pay these tremendous council taxes for? There should be enough in the kitty to build one. Why should pensioners starve to pay the damned council tax and then get this idea of a casino pushed onto them?”

  There was a tremendous roar of applause. An elderly pensioner got to his feet and shouted above the noise, “You sock it to them.”

  “I think there should also be a full examination to make sure any money for this casino is clean. That is solely my opinion. Remember the case of the IRA man who was laundering money through buying property in Manchester?”

  To James’s alarm, he saw two burly security men hurrying towards the stage. He got to his feet.

  “So I’ll put it to a vote,” shouted Agatha. “If you don’t want this casino and think that the council should pay for a sea defence, raise your hands.”

  A forest of hands went up.

  The two security men rushed onto the platform, wrenched the microphone from Agatha’s hand and began to drag her off the stage.

  James confronted them. “Leave her alone.”

  “Get lost,” said one, releasing Agatha to swing a punch at James. James socked him on the jaw and he went down. Agatha belted the other one on the face with her capacious handbag.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she panted.

  Carried on a wave of tumultuous cheers, they hurried from the hall with flashes from the cameras of the local press photographers going off in their faces.

  “Run,” said James. “We’ll get my car and get out of this town for the rest of the evening.”

  They arrived panting at the garage, got into James’s car and drove off.

  “You are a wretched woman,” said James with a laugh. “But, by God, you were magnificent tonight. You’ve put yourself even more at risk than you ever were before. We’ll need to think what to do with you.”

  “I’m not running away,” said Agatha.

  “We’ll talk about it over dinner. We’ll go to Brighton. By the time we get back, it should be quiet.”