by M C Beaton
“Bill Wong’s just turned up.”
“He won’t dare to speak to either of us with the police around,” said Patrick. “But I recognise that sergeant over there. I’ll have a quick word.”
He ducked under the tape. Agatha shivered and waited.
Patrick eventually came back. “He says it looks like Jed and the wife were stopped in their car on the Mircester road.”
“Think they did all the murders?” asked Chris.
“Can’t think why,” said Patrick. “Why don’t you go home, Agatha? I’ll wait here and phone you with any news.”
But Agatha had just seen Simon being driven off.
“I’ll go to police headquarters and wait for Simon.”
* * *
When she sat in the reception area at police headquarters, Agatha was joined by Toni. “Patrick phoned me,” she said. “I came to see if Simon was all right.”
“I think so. He must have had a bad shock,” said Agatha. “He should really go to hospital for a tetanus shot. That pond was filthy. I’m angry with him.”
“Why?” demanded Toni. “If it hadn’t been for him, maybe they’d never have found the body.”
“Maybe.” Agatha stifled a yawn. She took a pocket mirror out of her bag and looked at her face. She had pouches under her eyes and lines of fatigue down either side of her mouth. The youth and beauty that was Toni glowed beside her.
I wish a fairy would wave a magic wand and let me look like her for just one day, thought Agatha.
Simon emerged, wearing a grey track suit, much too big for him and with the trousers rolled up at the bottom. “Oh, Toni,” he said, ignoring Agatha, “how great of you to come.”
“Where are your own clothes?” asked Toni.
“They kept them in case I shoved the blacksmith in the pond myself. They’re just being nasty, because he was probably down there for weeks.”
“Have you had a tetanus shot?” asked Agatha.
“Yes, the police doctor gave me a checkup as well. You know, Toni, I would love a good cup of coffee. Is there somewhere we can go?”
“Nowhere open this early,” said Agatha. “I am here as well as Toni, you know. Let’s go to the office and have coffee and you can tell us all about it.”
* * *
In the office, Simon clutched a mug of coffee and described his adventures.
“You should have told me what you were doing,” admonished Agatha. “On the other hand, the police should be grateful. They’d never have got on to it if you hadn’t investigated. Well done!”
“You would think I had killed the man myself the way they went on,” said Simon. He stifled a yawn.
“Get home to bed and don’t bother coming in today,” ordered Agatha.
“Do you want me to answer these phones?” asked Toni.
“Let them ring,” said Agatha. “I’ll prepare a statement and make sure everyone knows Simon is the hero of the day.”
When Simon had left, Agatha typed out a statement and handed it to Toni, who began to answer the phones and read it out.
Patrick Mulligan appeared an hour later. “They charged Jed Widdle with the murder of the blacksmith.”
“That was quick,” exclaimed Agatha. “Surely it will take them a few days to find forensic proof.”
“You’ll never believe this,” said Patrick. “When the silly ass was wrapping up the body and putting rocks in the bag, he dropped in his driving license at the same time. Wilkes is charging him with the other murders.”
“He can’t have any proof.”
“Well, the police got a bruising in the press over the unsolved murders and they’re determined to get him to cough to them. He may admit to it.”
“Why on earth?”
“It seems Jed is deeply in love with Mrs. Crosswith. They’re persuading him that if he admits to all the murders, they won’t charge her with anything.”
“That’s nasty. How did you hear all this?”
“I went to the police canteen and heard all the gossip. They sometimes forget I’m not a member of the force anymore.”
“Roy Silver is on the phone,” said Toni.
“Tell him I’ll call him later.” Poor Roy, thought Agatha. He must be furious at having missed out. “Go home, Patrick,” said Agatha. “I’m going to get some sleep later.”
“Go home now,” said Toni. “I’m not a bit tired. I can run things with Phil and Mrs. Freedman.”
Chapter Seven
Agatha wearily let herself into her cottage. The phone started to ring. She had recently changed to an ex-directory number so she felt safe to answer it.
It was Paul Newton. “I thought you might be at home. I’ve been watching events on television. Are you all right?”
“Just tired.”
“Want to meet up for a meal later and tell me about it?”
Agatha hesitated for a moment. Then she said, “It’s my time to treat you. I’ll meet you in the Black Bear in Moreton-in-Marsh at seven.”
“That’s great. See you then.”
Just as she put down the receiver, the phone rang again. It was Charles. “Hullo, Agatha,” he said.
“Goodbye, Charles,” retorted Agatha and hung up. She had suddenly decided she was fed up with Charles treating her in his usual cavalier way. Maybe she didn’t fancy Paul, but an evening with a man who admired her was preferable to the company of Charles who too often looked on her with a cynical eye.
* * *
Contrary to her usual behaviour when out on a date, Agatha arrived at the Black Bear wearing comfortable clothes and the minimum of make-up.
Paul rose and kissed her on the cheek.
Why! He’s rather what I would call husky, thought Agatha, coming to the opinion that she had previously formed too harsh an opinion of him.
After they had ordered their food—steak pie and chips for both of them—Paul asked Agatha about the latest murder and Agatha was glad to talk it over to an appreciative listener.
When she had finished, Paul leaned across the table and took her hand. “It’s a dangerous job. Have you ever considered giving it up?”
“I don’t think I would be good at anything else,” said Agatha, “except my old job of public relations and I did get really tired of that.”
“Never think of getting married again?”
“After two marriages which didn’t work out,” said Agatha, gently removing her hand, “I’m a bit wary of the idea.”
* * *
Toni received a phone call from Luke. “My dad’s gone out for the evening.”
“Doesn’t he usually?”
“No. Is he seeing your boss?”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Toni. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing. Feel like going to a movie tomorrow?”
Toni hesitated. She liked him but not that much. “This latest murder means we are all working overtime,” she said. “I’ll phone you.”
* * *
Paul was saying, “I thought all women dreamed of marriage. No responsibilities. Have some loving man to look after them.”
“Well, that’s only a dream,” said Agatha cynically. “The reality is different.”
Paul’s phone rang.
He listened and said impatiently, “Okay. I’m coming.” He rang off and said to Agatha, “There’s trouble with the lambing. I’ve got to go. Luke sounds frantic. Do you want to come with me?”
“I’m still tired. Off you go. I’ll get this. It’s my turn.”
* * *
As she watched him leave, Agatha felt her waistband tightening. Why did I eat all that steak pie? she mourned.
She asked for coffee and then fell into a dream of being a farmer’s wife, which had more to do with Hollywood and cheap romances than reality.
But reality in the form of Charles Fraith came into the restaurant. “I drove over to see what you were in such a snit about,” he said, sitting down opposite. He looked at Paul’s empty plate. “You’ve been on a date and he left.”
<
br /> “It was Paul Newton.”
“Who’s Paul Newton?” asked Charles.
“Just someone who wants to marry me.”
“Why?”
“What an insulting thing to ask.”
“Your track record with men has been awful,” said Charles.
“You included,” snapped Agatha.
He gave a little shrug. Charles was like her cats, thought Agatha angrily. Doling out affection when it suited him and dropping in and out of her life like a cat using a cat flap on the door.
“So what’s all this about the latest murder?” asked Charles.
Agatha told him the latest news, feeling herself beginning to relax. Charles was a good listener.
When she had finished, Charles said, “I often feel sorry for young Simon. You don’t seem to rate him much, but he does have a way of finding out things. And do you think Jed Widdle will confess to all the murders to save Mrs. Crosswith?”
“Seems to be possible.”
“But could it be true?”
“I don’t know. But the police have been under pressure so they’ll want it to be true. Jed Widdle won’t be able to afford a very good lawyer. I mean, a good lawyer could make mincemeat of the case against him for the first two murders. No actual proof. But no one approached Jed for an alibi because he was never even suspected.”
“Don’t you want to give up?” asked Charles. “I mean, it’s dragged on so long that even if Jed didn’t commit the earlier murders, I don’t see you finding out anything now.”
“It’s tempting,” said Agatha. “I may get married and be a lady of leisure.”
“To this Paul Newton? What does he do?”
“He’s a farmer.”
“Oh, come on, Aggie. See yourself as a farmer’s wife?”
“Why not?” said Agatha sulkily.
“Is he a toy boy?”
“No, he’s about my age.”
Said Charles, “If he hasn’t been married before, be careful.”
“He has,” said Agatha. “And he has a grown-up son.”
“And what does the son think of his future stepmother?”
“For heaven’s sakes, Charles. I’ve only had a few dates. His son phoned this evening. Something’s up with the lambing.”
“Ah, I can see you out in the field in the driving rain with mud on your boots, Agatha. A real daughter of the soil.”
“Oh, do shut up. I’m going home. I’m tired.”
* * *
It was a particularly dreary next few days for Agatha. She had to deal with two nasty divorce cases which involved a lot of standing around in freezing weather while Phil took photographs for evidence. Divorce cases always made Agatha feel grubby. Her thoughts kept turning to Paul Newton’s well-appointed farmhouse and the security of marriage.
He sent her flowers and phoned her, saying he couldn’t wait to see her again.
By the week-end, she caved in and went out on another date with him. She talked to Paul a lot about her life and about her previous marriage to James Lacey.
“So I’m the only man in your life?” asked Paul.
“I do have men friends, Detective Bill Wong and Charles Fraith, but no one serious.”
“Did you say Charles Fraith? Sir Charles Fraith?”
“Yes. Why?”
“There was something in The Times this morning. I’ve got a copy in my briefcase.” He fished out the paper and turned to the social columns. “Here it is. You’ll know all about it, of course.”
Agatha read that Charles was engaged to a Caroline Featherington. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. Why had he said nothing to her?
“You look surprised,” said Paul.
“I knew he was planning on proposing,” lied Agatha. “I didn’t expect him to pop the question so soon.”
“I was going to wait,” said Paul, “but your friend’s engagement has given me courage.” He brought a small jewel box out of his pocket. He handed it to her. “What about it, Agatha?”
Agatha opened the box. She was aware of the eyes of the other diners about them fastened on her. A solitaire diamond ring flashed and sparkled in the candlelight on their table.
All Agatha suddenly saw, looking at that ring, was an antidote to the long, single years ahead. No more visits from Charles. No more holidays with feckless, faithless Charles.
“Thank you,” she said and put the ring on her engagement finger as the people at the table next to theirs began to clap. Paul called for champagne.
“What does Luke think about this?” asked Agatha.
“I haven’t told him yet, but he’ll be pleased.”
* * *
After a night of rumbustious sex, Agatha appeared in the office to tell the staff of her forthcoming wedding. They all clustered around to admire the ring. “I see Charles is getting married as well,” said Toni.
“Is he?” said Agatha casually. “Good for him.”
Toni covertly studied Agatha’s face. She had seen Agatha in love before and Agatha did not seem to have the same happiness or elation that she had had then. Worse than that, Toni had received a phone call early on in the morning from a furious Luke, saying he would do anything to stop the marriage. Ought she to warn Agatha? Better not. Agatha would find out about Luke’s disapproval soon enough.
* * *
But in the following weeks, Agatha did not find out. Luke was not exactly friendly and seemed to make a point of going out whenever she arrived at the farmhouse, but he had given her his congratulations.
As for Agatha, she acted her new role as countrywoman with enthusiasm, even going so far as to take cookery lessons from Mrs. Bloxby. Her very acting served to remove her from reality and make her feel comfortable and useful. She forgot about the murders and the fact that Jed had, in her opinion, been wrongly charged with the three of them. Charles had not rung or called.
* * *
One Saturday, the phone rang. Luke answered it. When he rang off, he said, “That was the police, Dad. They think they’ve found that tractor of yours and want you to go to police headquarters.”
“I’ll go right away. Coming, Agatha?”
“It’s all right,” said Luke. “You go. I’ll look after Agatha. Time I got to know my future stepmother better.”
“That’s the stuff,” said Paul. “Back soon.”
* * *
When Paul had left, Luke said, “I’d like to show you the latest arrival. The prettiest little ram you’ve ever seen.”
“Right you are,” said Agatha, glad the young man was being friendly at last. She pulled on a serviceable pair of rubber boots and put on her Barbour.
Luke led the way across the fields. The day was cold and spots of rain were beginning to fall. “We’re walking miles,” complained Agatha at last.
“It’s a big farm. You see that little stone building over there? That’s where the ram is.”
“Why isn’t it with its mother?”
“It is.” He swung up the door. “In you go.”
Agatha peered into the gloom. Then she swung round in alarm as the door banged shut.
“What are you playing at?” she shouted.
“You can stay in there and rot unless you promise to break off your engagement to my dad,” called Luke. “No one ever comes near here. You can shout your bloody head off. No one will hear you.”
* * *
Paul returned home to find a typewritten note on the kitchen table. He read: “Dear Paul, I am sorry I cannot go through with the marriage. Please forgive me, Agatha.”
He ran upstairs to his son’s room. “What’s this?” he shouted at Luke, waving the note. “What happened to her? There was no call from police headquarters. It was a hoax. Where is she?”
“Said she was sick of it all and didn’t want to face you,” said Luke. “It never would have worked out.”
* * *
Simon had managed to persuade Toni to join him for a drink. Like Charles, Toni felt sorry for Simon and tho
ught Agatha might have given him better detecting jobs after he had found where the body in the pond was.
They had just started on their drinks when a red-faced young man approached their table. He looked down at Toni. “You Luke’s girlfriend?” he asked.
“No,” said Toni. “I know Luke, but I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Pity. Someone should stop him.”
“Doing what?” asked Toni.
“That woman his father’s engaged to, he says he’ll kill her rather than let his father marry her.”
Toni and Simon exchanged startled looks. As the young man lumbered back to the bar, Toni said, “I think we’d better look for Agatha. She’s probably out at that farmhouse.”
“She can look after herself,” said Simon, annoyed that this rare chance of being with Toni was being spoiled.
“You stay there if you like,” said Toni. “I’m going.”
“Oh, all right. But we’re going to look silly,” said Simon. “Did Agatha say where the farm was?”
“I’ve got the address and number,” said Toni. “I’ve been there. It’s not far.”
* * *
Paul answered the door to them. “Is Agatha here?” asked Toni.
“She’s left me,” said Paul heavily. “Come in.”
He led the way into the kitchen and showed them the note.
“Agatha would never do this!” said Toni. “Do you know your son has been threatening to kill her?”
“Rubbish!”
“Ask him!” said Toni.
Paul went to the foot of the stairs and shouted, “Luke! Come down here.”
Luke came into the kitchen and stood with his head down. “Where’s Agatha?” demanded Toni.
“I don’t know,” he said. “She left that note.”
“I bet she didn’t,” said Simon. “Bet you wrote it yourself.”
“That’s enough!” said Paul. “Stop accusing my son of lying and get out of here.”
“If I can’t find her by this evening,” said Toni, “I’m calling the police.”
* * *
Out in the yard, Simon said, “What do we do now?”
“Start looking around. Look. There are two sets of footprints. One large, one small, heading out of the yard.” They followed the muddy prints to the edge of a field and stood looking around.
“I don’t think he would actually kill her,” said Toni. “Maybe do something to give her a scare. Maybe lock her up somewhere, but it wouldn’t be in any of the buildings near the farm, because she could shout and be heard.”
