by M C Beaton
* * *
Charles was bored and he realised Agatha never bored him and he missed her company. So when Agatha arrived home, it was to find him in her living room, happily watching television, with her cats on his lap.
“What are you doing here?” snapped Agatha. “I had a visit from your fiancée this morning, using an assumed name and asking me if I knew you.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said yes and I hadn’t seen you in months.”
“Well, that’s all right,” he said lazily.
“To add to the fun,” said Agatha, sinking down wearily beside him on the sofa, “my ex-fiancé crashed in begging me to reconsider. Your Caroline said she’d changed her mind about employing me to find a lost dog and left as well.”
“What an exciting life you do lead,” said Charles, “and how boring mine is of late. Got any farther with the Winter Parva murders?”
Agatha helped herself to a gin and tonic and sat down beside him again and began to talk about all the latest developments.
* * *
Outside, seated in Caroline’s car—the latest Audi, Paul noticed appreciatively—they waited and watched. “Are you sure that’s Charles’s car?” asked Paul.
“Yes, of course I’m sure. If she’s just a friend and he leaves to go home, then it’s all right. But if he stays the night, the engagement is definitely off.”
“Get down! The door’s opening.”
Agatha and Charles came out and got into Agatha’s car. “Let’s follow them,” said Paul.
* * *
They drove to a Thai restaurant in Evesham and took a table at the window. Charles looked across the street and recognised Caroline’s car parked opposite. He hated being spied on. He was hungry and he was determined to enjoy his meal.
Agatha was saying, “I might go to Winter Parva tomorrow and see if I can pick up any more gossip.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Charles, thinking, I may as well give dear Caroline something to really worry about. “Did you really not want to get married, Agatha?”
“It did seem tempting until his son tried to kill me twice.”
“Tell me about it.”
So Agatha did. She had nearly finished her tale when she looked at him wide-eyed and clutched his hand.
“Gwen’s son!” she exclaimed.
“What about him?”
“Say he’s like Luke. Say he’s close to his mother and hates his father. So he bumps off his father. George Southern has something on him so he bumps George off as well.”
“But Gwen is getting married again, isn’t she? So if he were that possessive, he’d kill John.”
“Blast! There is one missing bit. Kimberley Buxton. She claimed she was assaulted by Bert Simple and yet it was all hushed up. Her father got the blacksmith to sharpen that sword.”
“We’ll go tomorrow,” said Charles.
“Hadn’t you better phone your fiancée?”
Charles glanced out the window. He was furious with Caroline for spying on him.
“No, I won’t bother,” he said.
* * *
Back in Carsely, Caroline and Paul waited for Charles to leave Agatha’s cottage but the time dragged on until they saw all the lights in the cottage going out.
“That’s it,” said Caroline bitterly. “I don’t want to speak to him again. I’ll take you back to my place and you can pick up your car.”
As she drove back up out of the village, Paul said tentatively, “This may be the wrong time to ask, but what about us seeing more of each other? I do enjoy your company.”
“I’d like that,” said Caroline slowly. “I’d like that a lot.”
* * *
As Charles and Agatha drove off the following morning, Charles was very quiet. He was wondering at his own folly of having spent the night in Agatha’s cottage. He was sure the spying Caroline would have followed them back to Carsely. He wondered whether he should phone her and explain things, but he had been so bored since his engagement, despite the fact that he had kept telling himself he was doing the right thing.
He would leave it to her, he thought lazily. If she really cared for him, she would demand an explanation and he would deal with it then.
Spring had finally arrived in the Cotswolds. The trees shimmered in the sunlight with bright new green leaves and daffodils raised their golden trumpets to the sky as if in celebration.
David Buxton was not at home and Kimberley was at school, but Mrs. Buxton answered the door to them. She looked frightened and alarmed when they asked if Bert Simple had really attempted to sexually molest Kimberley.
“It was all a bad joke,” she said, her thin arms hugged across her flat chest. “Go away. Why can’t you leave it alone?”
She slammed the door in their faces.
“Frightened to death,” said Agatha.
“Where next?” asked Charles.
“Maybe we should try Bessie Burdock. She was in that pantomime. I’d like to know more about Gwen’s marriage.”
* * *
Bessie Burdock drove the screaming toddlers she was looking after into the garden and settled down for a chat.
In answer to their questions, she said, “I don’t know if Bert beat her and that’s a fact. There was a bit of talk. But Gwen always looked so cool and elegant. There was one thing, I bring to mind, now that you ask. It was about three years ago, Gwen and her son Walt were at a village dance. Gwen looked lovely. She was dancing with her son and I swear they looked like a couple. Gwen never showed her years. Bert bursts into the dance and orders both of them home. Walt said they were staying and his father punched him in the face. Someone started shouting about calling the police and Bert got all oily like and said he’d been drinking and he was sorry and then he just left.
“Walt and Gwen sat together for a bit, talking quietly and then they left, too.”
* * *
“So,” said Agatha outside. “There’s a big motive.”
“But Gwen is getting married and happy ever after and all that,” said Charles.
“I’m going to that wedding next week,” said Agatha. “I want to see if the couple are really happy and if Walt is happy as well.”
* * *
When Charles got home, his man, Gustav, handed him a small package. “This was shoved through the letterbox,” he said.
Charles took the package into his study and opened it. It contained a small jewellery box with the ring he had given Caroline inside. There was no note.
He sat down slowly. He should really phone and ask for an explanation, but all his life he had avoided confrontations as much as possible, so he lazily decided just to wait and see what happened.
He would attend that wedding with Agatha. Like her, he was curious to see the happy pair.
* * *
The day of the wedding dawned bright and sunny. It was unseasonably warm. People shook their heads and said that this was the only summer they were likely to get, for when the real British summer came around, it would probably be as wet as usual.
Charles was dressed casually and Agatha, thinking that as she was not an official guest and there was no need to wear a hat, was wearing a cool dark blue silk trouser suit.
After Caroline, thought Charles, Agatha’s company was like slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers after wearing shoes that pinched.
Guessing that John Hale’s side of the church would not have many people while Gwen’s would be crowded with the villagers, Agatha said to the usher, “Friends of the groom.”
Mrs. Bloxby’s husband was to perform the wedding ceremony. Agatha and Charles were seated in a pew at the back of the church. At one point, Agatha stood up and looked around, hoping to see Mrs. Bloxby, but she was nowhere in sight.
The sun shone down through the old stained glass windows. The church was fragrant with the scent of flowers and incense. The organ played softly. The crowd whispered in anticipation as Walt took his place at the front of the church.
“But where’s John?” muttered Agatha.
The organist broke into the opening strains of the wedding march. Agatha twisted her head and looked round at the church porch. Gwen stood there flanked by two bridesmaids. She was wearing a mediaeval dress of gold silk embroidered with seed pearls. On her head was a small Juliet cap and her long hair was worn loose.
Walt turned and saw his mother and hurried down the aisle. Agatha could hear frantic whispering.
Agatha got up, followed by Charles. Gwen was retreating to her wedding limousine.
The two bridesmaids were standing outside. “What’s going on?” asked Agatha, approaching them.
“John’s late,” said one.
Agatha and Charles returned to the church to sit down and wait and see if John turned up.
After half an hour, Walt strode up to the altar and addressed the company.
“I don’t know what’s happened to John. Please go along to the reception in the village hall.”
“I don’t like this one bit,” said Agatha. “I keep thinking how Paul’s son tried to kill me.”
“Agatha, let’s go to the police. Normally, they wouldn’t investigate. But maybe you could convince them to go to his flat and break the door down.”
* * *
Wilkes appeared cynical but said he would send Bill Wong round to have a look. Agatha and Charles drove after Bill’s car to John’s address. When they began to follow him up the stairs, Bill turned round and said, “Wait outside. This is police business.”
“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for us,” said Agatha stubbornly.
Bill knocked loudly at the door. There was no reply.
“Break the door down!” urged Agatha.
“I can’t do that,” protested Bill. “I need a warrant.”
Charles stepped in front of Bill and tried the door handle. The door was unlocked. Bill went in, calling, “Mr. Hale!”
The living room and bedroom in the small apartment were empty. On the table by the window was a typed note. Bill fished out a pair of latex gloves and picked it up. He read: “Dear Gwen and Walt, I am so sorry, I can’t go through with it. I am going abroad. All my love, John.”
“It’s not signed,” said Bill.
“So anyone could have typed that,” said Agatha.
Walt burst into the flat. “Where is the bastard?” he shouted. “Mum is crying her eyes out.”
“He has left a note to the effect that he can’t go through with it. No, don’t touch the note. When did you last see him?”
“Last night,” said Walt. “We had a stag party for him in the green room at the theatre.”
“Play any tricks on him?” asked Bill.
“No. I can’t understand it,” said Walt. “He seemed happy.”
“Why would he go and leave the door unlocked?” asked Agatha.
“Everyone out,” ordered Bill. “I’ll send a forensic team round.”
* * *
Charles took himself off. Agatha went to her office and asked Patrick Mulligan to get in touch with his police contacts and find out if the forensic team had discovered anything sinister. Agatha did not believe that the note was genuine.
Patrick phoned her that evening to say that there were signs that John had really left. His toothbrush and shaving kit were gone along with clothes and his passport. No signs so far of any violence.
When Agatha rang off, she wondered whether Walt were like Luke. Perhaps he didn’t want his mother to marry. Maybe he had killed John. Well, let’s imagine, thought Agatha, that he killed John but somewhere outside the theatre. Where would he hide a body?
* * *
In the morning, she held a conference with her staff, asking them if they had any suggestions.
“I’d dump it in that pond,” said Simon. “Say Walt did murder John, then he would assume the police would never look there, that is, if by the remote chance they thought John had been murdered. I’ve got scuba diving equipment. I’ll go down there this evening if you like and take a look around.”
“Good idea,” said Agatha. “One of us had better come with you as a lookout.”
“What about Toni?” asked Simon.
“I’ve got a date,” lied Toni.
“I’ll go,” volunteered Patrick.
“Good,” said Agatha. “I’m going back to Winter Parva to see if anyone will gossip to me now. I’ll start with Pixie Turner.”
* * *
To Agatha’s surprise, Pixie Turner welcomed her instead of trying to get rid of her as she had done before. Now that there was no possibility of any press arriving, Pixie was devoid of make-up and wearing a faded T-shirt and jeans.
“Isn’t it awful John disappearing like that,” said Pixie when she and Agatha were seated in the cluttered living room. “Poor Gwen. She must be devastated.”
“Was Bert Simple a wife beater?” asked Agatha.
“I did hear a bit of gossip about that, but, look here, there’s so much wife beating goes on in the Cotswolds, they should show it at some country fair as a rural pastime.” She threw back her head and laughed, revealing squiggly discoloured teeth.
“Is Walt very close to his mother?”
“I guess so. Boys always are.” Her eyes narrowed. “Hey, what are you getting at? Do you think Walt bumped off John because he’s got one of those eedpussy something complexes?”
“No, and don’t tell anyone anything about my questions.”
“Wouldn’t breathe a word. It’s a shame the bakery’s to be closed. The steak pie they served at the reception was ever so good. Isn’t that interesting that you think Walt killed John.”
“I never said that!” howled Agatha. “I don’t want Walt Simple to sue me.”
* * *
Simon appeared in the office at the end of the day. “Nothing in that awful pond but rubbish,” he said.
“I wonder if there’s anything going on in that village hall at the moment,” said Agatha. “A body could be stuffed somewhere under that stage and no one would be the wiser. I’m going over there.”
“I’d better come with you,” said Toni.
“Are you sure?” asked Agatha. “I must admit I’d be glad of the company.”
“I’ll come too,” said Simon quickly.
“No, it’s all right. You’re tired,” said Agatha. “We’ll have a bite to eat first, Toni. I’ll feel more comfortable detecting after dark in that poxy village.”
* * *
They went in Toni’s old Ford, Agatha not wanting her own car to be recognised. They parked round the back of the village hall and got out. It was a soft spring evening. The stars above were just beginning to come out. It was the sort of evening when that perpetual teenager that lurked somewhere inside Agatha thought again about romance and the lack of it. Would her heart ever beat quickly again at the sight of some man? Falling in love was a heady drug and Agatha missed it.
They approached the side of the hall until they were in its black shadow. Toni took out a pencil torch. “That’s the door there,” whispered Agatha. “See if it’s locked.”
Toni tried the handle. “It’s locked but I think I can spring it.” She took a thin strip of metal out of a bag at her waist and slid it into the door and jerked. There was a click and the door sprang open.
Agatha took out her own torch. “I don’t think we can risk switching on the lights.”
They prowled around in the darkness. There were trunks full of costumes but not one contained a body, nor was there anything sinister behind old bits of scenery.
“Bad idea,” said Agatha.
“Shh!” hissed Toni. “Someone’s come onto the stage.”
“Why on earth did you bring me here?” came a woman’s voice.
“That’s Gwen!” exclaimed Agatha.
“I had to get you somewhere alone. Walt just glares at me.”
“And Gareth. What’s going on?” wondered Agatha.
She and Toni stood by the trap where they could clearly hear wh
at was going on up on the stage.
“Walt is still furious with John for having dumped me,” said Gwen.
“Gwen, you know I’ve always loved you. Walt will be going off to university. We could get married.”
“The last thing I want to think about at the moment is marriage to anyone,” said Gwen. “Take me home.”
“But say you’ll think about it, please,” begged Gareth.
“I’ll think about it. I must get back or Walt will wonder what’s happened to me.”
Their voices faded as they left the stage, Gareth still pleading.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Agatha.
* * *
In Toni’s car, Agatha said urgently, “We’ve got to warn Gareth.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Toni cautiously.
“Why not? If I’m right about Walt, Gareth could be next on the list.”
“He’s in love,” said Toni. “He’ll be furious with you. He’ll tell Gwen, who’ll tell her son about our nasty suspicions and then you might be the next target.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Agatha huffily, not wanting to tell her young assistant that she was probably right.
Chapter Ten
Toni dropped Agatha in Mircester and Agatha got into her own car and drove to her home.
As she got out of her car, Agatha was suddenly aware of a feeling of menace. She stood for a moment, frozen with fear. A car turned into Lilac Lane, illuminating her in its headlights.
The car stopped and Charles got out. Agatha breathed a sigh of relief. This case was getting to her and making her imagine things.
Charles followed her into her cottage. “Shouldn’t you be squiring your fiancée?” asked Agatha.
“She sent the ring back.”
“Come through to the kitchen while I feed my cats and tell me about it.”
“There’s nothing to tell. She simply posted the ring back to me.”
“And what explanation did she give?”
“I didn’t ask. I knew anyway.”
“What did you know?”
“That she was following me, that she saw me having dinner with you and no doubt followed me back here and waited to see if I would spend the night.”
