by M C Beaton
“So if you knew all that, why the hell did you stay the night?” asked Agatha, taking fish out of the fridge.
He shrugged. “I don’t like being spied on. Talk about something else. How’s the case?”
“Before I do that,” said Agatha. “I’m feeling guilty. It was because of me that your last engagement broke up.”
“Well, she was spying as well and I don’t like being snooped on. So what’s been happening?”
Agatha told him about her visit to the village hall and Gareth’s proposal and ended up by saying, “What has that wretched woman got to make all the men dotty about her?”
“Money.”
“They’re not all like you, Charles.”
“Nasty.”
“Well, you are awfully mercenary. Any dinner with you and you start croaking like a parrot, ‘Oh, I seem to have forgotten my wallet.’ Anyway, I think John was after her money, but Gareth does seem to be carrying a torch for her. I wanted to warn him but Toni pointed out it might make me the next target.”
“Clever girl. So what now?”
Agatha arranged fish on two plates and put them on the floor. When she straightened up, she said, “I think John’s dead body is somewhere. Where would you hide a body?”
Charles groaned. “It could be anywhere—down a well, in a bale of hay, buried six feet deep, lots of places. Forget about it for the evening. Stop brooding over your cats like a mother hen. Let’s go through and have a drink and watch some television.”
* * *
Agatha was suddenly tired. As Charles surfed the channels, trying to find something to watch, she suddenly fell asleep. Charles rose and took a burning cigarette gently from her fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray.
He found a film of Sweeney Todd and settled down comfortably to watch it.
Almost at the end of the musical, Agatha awoke with a jerk. She rubbed her eyes and said, “Sorry. I dropped off. What are you watching?”
“Sweeney Todd.”
“Oh, the chap who baked people into pies. Any good?”
“Not bad. Shut up until I see the end.”
Agatha leaned back in her armchair, bits of the Winter Parva murders swirling around in her brain. She began to nod off again. A picture of Pixie rose before her mind’s eye. “The steak pie was ever so good,” the dream Pixie was saying.
Agatha jerked awake again and stared at Charles. “Snakes and bastards,” she said. “Meat pies!”
“You hungry?”
“No. Listen to this. What if Walt got rid of John by cutting up his body and putting it in the steak pies?”
“This musical’s been getting into your brain while you were asleep. Anyway how would Walt have the time? The stag party was before the wedding and—”
“And steak pies were served at the reception. He could have been up most of the night. I must get hold of one of those pies,” said Agatha. “Let me see. He knows me and Toni. He’ll have seen you with me. Phil’s been in the village.”
“You’re nuts,” said Charles. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Oh, shove off, then. You’re no help.”
“Night, beloved. I’ll come and see you in your rubber room.”
Agatha phoned Patrick Mulligan. “Patrick,” she said, “I want you to get over to the bakery in Winter Parva in the morning and buy a steak pie and bring it to me at the office. I’ll explain later.”
* * *
The next morning when Patrick returned from Winter Parva, she told her staff about her suspicions. Mrs. Freedman sniffed at the pie. “It looks lovely and smells just as it ought.”
“Nonetheless, I’m taking it straight to that forensic laboratory in Birmingham and I’ll pay them for a rush job. I want them to tell me what the meat is. They’ll probably think I’m one of those people who are worried about horsemeat passing off as steak.”
* * *
Despite Agatha’s pleas, she was told the analysis would take a week. But as the days of waiting dragged on, she began to feel silly. Thank goodness she hadn’t told them she thought the meat was human flesh.
Two days before the analysis was due, Agatha drove to Carsely and decided to go to the Red Lion for a drink before going home. As she sat in the dark bar, she was almost tempted to book a room for the night. The past few days, she had endured a feeling of dread, almost as if she was being spied on. Of course, she thought, it could be Charles’s fiancée playing detective. Charles had not called and she did not know whether his engagement was on or off.
The long bar was crowded so she took her drink to a table in the corner. A tall, fairly handsome man at the bar turned round and looked at her. Agatha took out her compact but the bar was too dark to make out what she looked like. She picked up her bag but left her drink on the table and hurried to the ladies’ room. Agatha quickly repaired her make-up but when she returned to the bar, the good-looking man had gone. She took a gulp of her drink and deciding not to finish it, thought she’d better stop being silly and just go home.
She stood up, her head beginning to swim. Her legs seemed to have turned to jelly. She staggered towards the door and a strong arm went round her waist to support her. As her head continued to swim, she thought it must be the handsome man, but her vision was blurred.
She was thrust into the back of a white van. In a panic, she realised something was badly wrong, but that was her last thought before she fell unconscious.
* * *
The next morning, at the agency, her staff waited in vain for Agatha to arrive. Toni tried her home number and mobile number without success.
Then she phoned Charles. Any phone calls to him were usually blocked by his man, Gustav. But to her relief, it was Charles himself who answered. She quickly told him about her worries about Agatha, and, knowing he had a set of keys to Agatha’s cottage, she begged him to go over to Carsely and make sure Agatha was all right.
They all waited anxiously. At last Charles phoned to say Agatha was not at home and there was no sign that her bed had been slept in.
* * *
Agatha recovered consciousness. She had been frightened before in her career but never as frightened as this. She was bound and gagged and lying on a pile of flour sacks. She was in some sort of stores cupboard.
Twisting around and struggling at her bonds, Agatha’s eyes fell on one shiny black man’s shoe. It looked remarkably like the sort of shoes John Hale had worn.
The door opened and Walt Simple walked in. He grinned at Agatha and said, “I’m having a big sale of meat pies tomorrow at the final day of the bakery, and you, you old frump, will be in every one.” He kicked her in the side and walked out.
* * *
Toni and Patrick went round to police headquarters and demanded to see Bill Wong. They waited and fretted until Bill appeared. He listened in amazement to their tale of the missing Agatha and to Agatha’s theory that John Hale had been murdered and made into pies.
“She’s been reading too many detective stories,” said Bill. “If something has happened to her, it might be Luke Newton. I’ll pull him in for questioning.”
“No! You’ve got to get a search warrant and go to that bakery,” shouted Toni.
“Agatha sent a meat pie to Birmingham for analysis,” said Patrick. “Why don’t you phone them?”
“Leave it to me,” said Bill. “But Agatha often has these mad flights of fantasy. I’ll question Luke first.”
* * *
Back at the office, Toni said, “We’d better get over to that bakery. We daren’t wait.”
They set out in their cars only to be stopped on the main road out of Mircester by an overturned truck. They fumed and fretted as the time passed.
* * *
Bill and Alice were grilling a sulky Luke Newton. Luke was protesting for the umpteenth time that he had not seen Agatha when the door to the interview room opened and Wilkes summoned Bill. When Bill went out, Wilkes said urgently, “I’ve just had a call from the lab in Birmingham. There is hu
man flesh in that meat pie. Get rid of young Newton. The sooner we get to that bakery, the better.”
* * *
Agatha’s hands were fastened with plastic cuffs. She rolled around the room, looking for something sharp. Dimly, she heard the noises from the shop. If only she wasn’t gagged and could shout. She saw an old scythe propped up in one corner. She rolled towards it and then started to saw at one of the cuffs on her wrist.
It was slow and agonising work but extreme fear had leant her strength. At last, the cuff fell apart. Agatha unfastened the other one and then ripped the tape from her mouth.
She unfastened the ropes that bound her ankles and stood up shakily and tottered to the door.
It was locked. The noises from the shop had ceased. Agatha looked at her watch. Lunch time. Probably the bakery was closed.
She heard footsteps approaching and hid behind the door.
The room was dark. Walt walked in and strode towards the pile of flour sacks on the floor. He swung round just in time to see Agatha darting out the door.
With a cry of rage, he ran after her. Agatha ran into the bakery shop. She seized a large meat pie and threw it straight into Walt’s face. He clawed the meat off. Agatha grabbed more meat pies and threw them as she made towards the door. The door was locked. She let out a whimper of fear and Walt approached her, his eyes blazing with hate. “Help,” said Agatha weakly. And then gathering all her strength, she screamed, “Help!” at the top of her voice.
* * *
Charles had joined Agatha’s staff as they arrived at the bakery in time to hear that scream.
Patrick took a cosh out of his pocket and broke the glass on the doors, put his hand in and turned the key. The sound of sirens coming along the street could be heard behind them.
They all burst in to hear Agatha shouting, “He’s getting away. Round the back!”
The police arrived in time to hear Agatha’s shout and raced to the back of the bakery.
Charles gathered Agatha into his arms. She was shaking from head to foot. “There, now,” he said. “It’s all over.”
But Walt had disappeared. They searched the bakery without success and then the whole area round about. Gwen arrived from a shopping expedition and was taken into custody.
The whole village seemed to have gathered outside the bakery. There was to be an investigation later to find out which gabby policeman had told the villagers what was in the meat pies. Several began to vomit and others clutched their stomachs. The crowd began to disperse to form a queue outside the doctor’s surgery instead.
Bill said to Agatha, “You’d better come with us for questioning.”
“I can’t,” wailed Agatha. “I’ve peed myself.”
“We’ll find you clean clothes,” said Bill.
* * *
Agatha arrived at police headquarters and learned that Gwen had collapsed and had been taken to hospital.
Before the questioning began, a bag was handed in. Agatha was told Charles had gone to her cottage and had packed up a set of clean clothes. She was allowed a break while she donated a urine sample and got washed and changed.
Wilkes was furious. How the hell did this woman with no real detective training leap to the conclusion that the late John Hale was in the meat pies?
Wearily, Agatha described how she had finished a drink at the George, had felt dizzy, her vision was too blurred to see who was helping her out of the hotel and the next thing she knew, she was trussed up in the bakery.
At the end of the interview, Agatha was told a police guard would be put outside her cottage, but she said she was going back just to deliver her cats to Doris Simpson and then she was going to stay at the George Hotel.
* * *
Later that day, she was to learn through Patrick that a forensic team had found a trapdoor in the floor of one of the freezers leading to a tunnel which exited in the back lane outside. It was guessed that Walt had hidden down there until he felt it safe to make his escape.
* * *
A media frenzy enveloped Winter Parva for days. Pixie got her photograph on the front page of the local paper, saying that she and John had once been betrothed. That was subsequently found out to be a lie but Pixie did not care. She had enjoyed her moment of glory. Agatha gave interview after interview, much to the fury of Wilkes, who had been trying to claim that the discovery of John Hale’s macabre death had been the result of police work.
Agatha took that week off work to recover. She had a large bruise in her side where Walt had kicked her and her wrist had bruises where the cuffs had bit into them.
She grew extremely fond of Charles, who called daily to sit and talk nonsense and cheer her up.
Meanwhile, the search for Walt Simple spread throughout the country and abroad. A hot line was set up. Reports of sightings came from all over and were followed up but without any of them leading to finding Walt.
On the second last day of her stay at the George, Agatha went down to the bar for a preluncheon drink. The first thing she saw was that nearly handsome man at the bar. She had an impulse to join him at the bar instead of sitting down at one of the tables and waiting to give her order to one of the staff, but memories of all the mistakes she had made in the past, ending up with Paul Newton, crowded into her brain, and so she meekly took herself to a table in the corner.
She ordered a gin and tonic, wishing she could smoke. Charles would probably call on her soon. Dear Charles.
“Mrs. Raisin? It is Mrs. Agatha Raisin, is it not?”
Agatha looked up and blinked. The nearly handsome man was smiling down at her.
“That’s me,” said Agatha.
“I read about you in the newspapers. You are a very brave lady.”
Agatha smiled up at him. “Won’t you join me?”
“I’ll just get my drink.”
Agatha quickly flipped open her compact. Make-up all right. Damn! There was a little hair at the side of her mouth.
He came back and sat down.
“It must have been awful for you,” he said. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Jeremy Rutherford.”
“I’m getting over it,” said Agatha. “Are you a resident of Mircester?”
“No, I live in Walton Magna. It’s a few miles outside Mircester to the south.”
“And what do you do in Walton Magna?”
“I have an antique shop.”
“Have you always been an antique dealer?”
“No, I was in the army for years. Finished my army career two years ago.”
“So why antiques?”
“My father was a collector. He died two years ago and left me a house crammed with antiques along with his antique shop. At first I was going to put stuff up for auction, but I thought it would be fun to carry on the business and get rid of some of the stuff that was cluttering up the house at the same time. What about you? How did you get into the detective business?”
Agatha began to happily brag about her career until he interrupted her by saying, “Why don’t we continue this conversation in the dining room?”
Out of the gloom of the bar and in the bright light of the dining room, Agatha covertly studied her companion. He had thick brown hair streaked with grey, a pleasant square face, a firm mouth and a good figure.
* * *
Charles stood at the entrance to the dining room. He was about to join Agatha and her companion, but Agatha looked so happy and animated that he turned and went back into the bar instead. He felt Agatha needed something to take her mind off her recent horrible experience. He’d find out who this man was later.
* * *
After lunch, Agatha trailed up to her room, disappointed. Jeremy had not suggested they meet again. Probably married, she thought wistfully. He had been in the army and had known James. She resolved to see if James could tell her more about him.
She was supposed to tell the police when she was returning to her cottage so they could put a police guard on her door, but she was sick of the police. S
he felt Bill Wong should at least have called on her and Wilkes had treated her as if she were the criminal.
Agatha checked out of the hotel. She sat in her car, took a pair of tweezers out of her handbag and pulled that little hair out. She was amazed to see how tiny it was. During the meal with Jeremy, she had been too conscious of that offending hair, feeling it growing in size. She had been frightened to escape to the ladies’ room to deal with it in case Jeremy might be joined by people he knew. You silly cow, Agatha chastised herself as she drove to Carsely. If by any chance some friend had joined him, then you might have found out whether he was married.
She had phoned her cleaner, Doris Simpson, before she had left the hotel and Doris promised to take Agatha’s cats back to her cottage.
Agatha let herself into her cottage to a rare welcome from her cats, who usually punished her by ignoring her when she had been away.
She sat down on the kitchen floor and petted them, feeling the tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Agatha wanted a strong man to turn up, to take her in his arms and tell her he would look after her until the end of time. She wondered whether she would ever have the courage to go on detecting.
She got to her feet and dried her eyes. It was a beautiful spring day. She let the cats out into the garden, sat down on a chair at the garden table and let out a long slow sigh of relief. A cherry tree lifted its heavy pink blossoms up to the clear sky. Agatha employed a woman gardener. The lawn was covered in crocuses and daffodils nodded on the borders. A blackbird poured liquid song down from the rooftops. It was like falling off a tall building and suddenly discovering that you had not broken any bones, thought Agatha. Life was all right.
Chapter Eleven
Agatha phoned Bill Wong to say she was back at her cottage. Bill reported the fact to Wilkes and said they should send a police guard but Wilkes was furious with Agatha for having had so much publicity in the newspapers. He felt she had made the police look stupid and so he told Bill there would be no police guard because Walt would not dare show his face in the Cotswolds again. In vain did Bill point out that a man who was so obsessed with his mother that he should bump off her fiancé would surely try to see Gwen again and maybe get revenge on Agatha. So Agatha learned that she was to have no protection.
