by M C Beaton
Over tea in the garden, they consulted their notes. “I think we should have a joint go at Sam,” said Agatha. “I feel she’s holding something back.”
They finished their tea and walked along to the manor. “It’s the village fete in Carsely today,” said Phil. “They have good weather for it.”
* * *
James and Toni were working happily together at the tombola stand. “We’ve a better lot of prizes this year,” said James. “Usually they just recycle the rubbish they won the year before. Buy a ticket, Mrs. Arnold?”
Carsely’s most spiteful resident bought a ticket and Toni spun the wheel. “You’ve got a prize,” she said. “Number 83.”
“Nothing but a tin of sardines,” grumbled Mrs. Arnold. “Cheapskates.”
Simon watched Toni from behind a secondhand book stand. She was wearing her blond hair loose on her shoulders and it gleamed in the sunlight. She was laughing at something James was saying. The brief shorts she was wearing showed off her long tanned legs and she had a white shirt knotted at the waist.
They seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. Thank goodness James is so old, thought Simon. He guessed James must be in his early fifties and Toni was not yet twenty. Then he remembered Toni’s penchant for older men but shrugged it off. James had always been like an uncle to Toni.
He did not want to be caught lurking around. He decided to go back to Mircester. Toni parked her car in the square. He would wait there at the end of the day and see if she would join him for a drink.
* * *
Mrs. Bloxby, serving at the cake stand, felt uneasy as she watched James and Toni. Toni, she knew, was totally unaware of her beauty. She suddenly wished that Mary Gotobed would return to the village very soon.
At the end of the day, James said, “Well, we’ve got rid of practically everything. The vicar is acting as treasurer. I’ll take the money over to him. Do you want to push off?”
“I’ll help you pack up the stand,” said Toni. “I’ve still got time.”
“Heavy date this evening?”
“Just with myself,” said Toni. “There’s a showing of The Artist, that French film, at the arts cinema.”
“I never saw that,” said James. “Tell you what, I’ll take you as a thanks and then we can have a bite to eat afterwards.”
* * *
Simon saw Toni drive up and park in the square. To his dismay, James parked his car next to hers. They both got out and walked off together. Simon followed them. He saw them go into the arts cinema. He thought of buying a ticket, but realised, if Toni saw him, she might guess he was checking up on her.
He went back to the office instead. He sat down at his computer and sent an e-mail to Agatha. “Everything quiet here. How are you getting on? Toni and James worked the tombola stand at the fete in Carsely together and have now gone to a movie. Nice to see him looking after her. Simon.”
* * *
Agatha and Phil returned to the manor. They had tried earlier without success. This time, Fred answered the door. He stared at them for a long moment, shrugged and walked away into the manor. But he left the door open. After a little hesitation, Agatha and Phil followed him in. They could hear Fred’s voice in the drawing room, “That dirty old cow is back,” and Sam’s petulant reply, “Couldn’t you have got rid of her?”
Agatha walked into the drawing room, followed by Phil. “What is it now?” demanded Sam. “I’m tired of answering questions.”
“I have a feeling you know something,” said Agatha. “Something you’re not telling us.”
“If I knew anything at all, I’d have told the police. I have nothing more to say to you,” said Sam. “Shove off.”
* * *
“I still think she knows something,” fretted Agatha. “Oh, well, let’s have dinner and plan a campaign for tomorrow.”
Agatha went up to her room first to fetch a jacket because the evening was becoming chilly. The leaves on the trees outside her bedroom window were turning gold at the edges, a herald of autumn, bad weather, dark nights, and thoughts of old age to one private detective.
She took her small notepad computer down to the restaurant. “What’s on the menu?” she asked Phil.
“Usual pub grub,” said Phil, “except they do have steak and kidney pie this evening. Don’t you want to move inside? It’s not warm anymore.”
“I like the fresh air,” said Agatha. “I’ll have the pie and a glass of red wine.” She lit a cigarette and switched on her computer.
Agatha read the e-mail from Simon and scowled horribly. “Toni worked with James at the tombola,” she said to Phil, “and then he took her out for a movie and dinner.”
“Mary’s away at the moment,” said Phil. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s young Simon I’m worried about. He must have been stalking her.”
But Agatha was worried. She knew young Toni’s weakness for older men. But James would never … would he?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a siren racing past outside. Agatha ran out of the pub, followed by Phil. An ambulance followed by a police car was screeching to a stop outside old Mrs. Tripp’s cottage. A group of villagers had gathered outside.
The vicar’s wife was standing there, her face white. “What’s happened?” asked Agatha.
“She wanted me to read to her,” said Clarice. “As I was leaving, she asked me to pour her a glass of that dreadful chocolate liqueur that she likes. I did that and then I left. I was just at the gate when I heard these terrible noises. I ran inside again. She was groaning and holding her stomach and the smell was awful. I phoned the ambulance.”
“Why weren’t you inside trying to help?” asked Agatha.
“I c-couldn’t,” she stammered. “I didn’t know wh-what to do. I h-had to get out of there. That awful smell.”
The crowd fell silent as Mrs. Tripp was carried out on a stretcher. She looked as small as a child.
A policewoman approached Clarice. “I must ask you to come with us.”
“But my husband…”
“I’ll tell Guy,” said Agatha.
As his wife was being driven off and a forensic team arrived followed by Wilkes, Alice and Bill Wong, the vicar came hurrying up.
Agatha approached him. “Your wife’s been taken off for questioning,” she said.
“But, why? What’s been happening here?”
Agatha told him. “I must go to headquarters immediately,” said Guy Enderbury. “My poor wife.”
* * *
Agatha waited and waited until a thin new moon rose above the village and the crowd grew thicker. “Reckon it be that poisoner again,” said someone and a little frisson of shock ran through the watchers.
Somewhere amongst this crowd is a murderer, thought Agatha. She covertly studied the faces although it was hard to see in the dark. Much to the fury of the police, a television crew arrived and soon the scene was lit with blue light. They were told to dismantle their equipment and clear off, but while the scene was brightly lit, Agatha’s eyes moved quickly from one face to another. Sam and Fred were on the outskirts, their faces impassive. Jenny was standing close to Peter Suncliff as if for support. Jerry Tarrant approached Agatha.
“This is dreadful,” he said. “At least it might show this lot that we are surely dealing with someone from the village.”
Alice Peterson came up to join them. “Mr. Marshall,” she said. “I hear you were seen entering Mrs. Tripp’s cottage earlier. We are going back to headquarters to leave the forensic team to do their work. You must come with us to headquarters.”
“Go on,” said Agatha to Phil. “I’ll follow you.”
* * *
Agatha parked in the square outside police headquarters. She phoned Patrick and told him the latest news. “See if you can find out quickly what sort of poison she was given,” said Agatha. “I know it takes time but usually they have some initial idea.”
She rang off and was about to get out of her car when she suddenly saw James and Toni, cr
ossing the square. Toni was laughing at something James had said and he was looking down at her with an indulgent smile on his face. The little scene was lit by the tall lamps surrounding the car park.
Agatha had been about to go and confront them but she suddenly sank back in the driver’s seat. Oh, dear, she thought. What on earth does James think he is doing?
The couple reached the corner of the square and turned off down one of the cobbled lanes, leading to Toni’s flat. Forgetting all about Phil, Agatha got out and set off in pursuit.
Toni’s flat was on the first floor of an old building. Agatha stood in the darkness between two streetlamps on the other side of the road and looked up at Toni’s living room window.
The light came on illuminating James saying something. Toni appeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Then they disappeared from view, obviously having sat down.
Agatha felt a jumble of intense emotions sweeping through her: loneliness, jealousy and worry.
Then she remembered why she was in Mircester. I must think of something I can do, she thought. James is being silly.
At police headquarters, she took a seat in the reception area and sent an e-mail to Charles. “Help,” she wrote. “It looks as if James is romancing Toni. Do you know anything about it? Can we do anything? Love, Agatha.”
After half an hour of waiting, her phone rang. Patrick’s voice came on the line. “I’m at the hospital,” he said. “I pretended I was visiting a relative and went to the corridor where the old girl’s room was. A policeman on duty knew me. I asked what was up with her and he said she had been given a huge dose of laxative. I said they’d found that out pretty quickly and he said that they seemed pretty sure.”
“Must be Clarice, the vicar’s wife,” said Agatha.
“They think she must be the murderer.”
“Seems odd that a poisoner should only give the old girl a laxative,” said Agatha.
“Well, Mrs. Tripp is old and the dehydration could have killed her.”
“But Clarice phoned for an ambulance.”
“If I find out any more, I’ll get back to you,” said Patrick and rang off.
The vicar arrived and demanded to see his wife. He was accompanied by a lawyer. He was ushered through into the nether regions of headquarters.
After half an hour, Phil appeared. “What a grilling!” he exclaimed. “You would think I had done it.”
Agatha told him what Patrick had said.
“That’s odd,” commented Phil. “If she really meant to kill her, she surely would have slipped something stronger into her drink and then she would have cleared off and not called for an ambulance.”
“Now she’s got a lawyer, I don’t think they can hold her,” said Agatha. “Unless she confesses, I doubt if there would be any proof that she actually gave Mrs. Tripp the laxative. The old girl may have taken the stuff herself and overdid it.”
Agatha phoned Patrick again. “Did you find out whether Mrs. Tripp took the laxative herself?”
“Not yet. I’ll try in the morning.”
The hours passed. Outside, the sky began to lighten. Phil had fallen asleep. But Agatha was too churned up with thoughts of James and Toni to sleep.
At last Clarice appeared, red-eyed with weeping and supported by her husband. The vicar curtly refused a lift in a police car and said their lawyer would drive them home.
“Clarice,” began Agatha, approaching her.
“Leave me alone!” shouted Clarice as she was hustled out of police headquarters by her husband and lawyer. The reception area was suddenly lit with flashes of light from the press cameras outside.
Phil, now awake, said, “What shall we do?”
“You go to the hospital, say you’re her nephew, and get in to see her.”
“Won’t work,” said Phil. “She was never married. The cop on duty will go and tell her that her nephew has called, she’ll say she hasn’t a nephew and then I’ll be in trouble.”
“Oh well,” sighed Agatha, “back to the village. What a waste of a night.”
They emerged from police headquarters. The press had gone. Agatha suddenly stood stock-still on the steps. James Lacey was crossing the square to his car.
Agatha ran straight across to him. James heard her coming and swung round in surprise. “Why, Agatha! What…?”
That was as far as he got because Agatha smacked him full across the face. James seized her arms and pinned them behind her back. “What the hell has got into you?” he demanded.
“You spent the night with Toni,” yelled Agatha.
“I spent the night in Toni’s flat on the sofa because I had been drinking and wanted to sober up before I drove home. Furthermore, what business is it of yours?”
“You know Toni’s weakness for older men. You are trying to seduce her.”
“I am trying to get out of here so that I can go home and shower and shave and then I am going to propose marriage to Mary Gotobed when she returns this morning.”
He released Agatha and stood back. “In future, mind your own business.”
“Come along,” said Phil quietly, tugging at Agatha’s arm.
Agatha let him lead her back to her car. She suddenly felt tired and old and wanted to cry.
* * *
Later that morning, James, spruced up and with a diamond ring in his pocket, went to pick up Mary and take her to a restaurant in Broadway. When he saw her again, he felt a stab of surprise. A treacherous thought entered his head that Mary looked, well, dowdy.
He had told her it was to be a special lunch and yet she had not put on any make-up and was wearing a droopy grey cardigan over a faded green blouse and a wool skirt that dipped at the hem.
In the restaurant in Broadway, James shook out his napkin and looked out of the window. It was beginning to rain, a fine, soaking drizzle.
“I hope you brought an umbrella,” he said to Mary.
She patted her tight helmet of curls with a complacent hand. “I had a feeling this was a special occasion,” she said, “so I went to the hairdresser. I’ve got one of those plastic hoods in my bag. Now, what have you been up to since I’ve been away?”
“Nothing much,” said James, trying to banish an image of Toni’s glowing face. How awful, he thought. I’ve become an old lecher. I must not see her again.
They chose their food. Mary talked amiably about her elderly mother—remarkable for her age—while James tried to fight down a feeling of being trapped.
It’s all Agatha’s fault, thought James. She got me used to dramatic ups and downs and adventure.
He could feel the ring in his pocket. When he escorted Mary out to his car, she put on her plastic hood. He could tell she was disappointed in him.
But the ring stayed in his pocket.
* * *
After catching up on sleep, Agatha and Phil met up to discuss what to do next.
“I’m sure we haven’t a hope of getting near Clarice,” said Agatha. “She and Sam seem to be pretty close.”
“She’ll probably get the awful Fred to say she isn’t at home.”
“True. But we’ll park a little way away from the manor and see if she comes out.”
“Agatha, can I say something?”
“If it’s about James Lacey, forget it!” snapped Agatha.
They walked out of the inn and got into Agatha’s car and drove the little distance to just before the entrance to the manor. Agatha parked under the shelter of a large sycamore. “Rain,” she said bleakly. “I suppose the good weather couldn’t last forever.”
“There goes Fred,” said Phil. “No, you don’t need to hide. He’s walking the other way.”
“Now he’s out of the road,” said Agatha, “we may as well see if she answers the door herself.”
They rang and knocked and waited. At last the door opened and Sam surveyed them. She half made to close the door and then gave a little shrug. “Come in.”
They all sat down in the drawing room. “Now what?” demanded
Sam.
“I feel you know something—that you are holding something back,” said Agatha. “I asked you about this before.”
“Oh, do give up!” exclaimed Sam. “I don’t know a thing.”
“Were you near Mrs. Tripp’s cottage before she fell ill?” asked Phil.
His mild voice and manner seemed to have a calming effect on Sam. “No, but is she dead?”
“No,” said Phil. “It appears someone put a strong dose of laxative in her drink.”
“Really? Well, she always was an old shit,” said Sam and began to laugh.
“It’s no laughing matter,” said Agatha severely. “At her age, it could have killed her.”
“Well, I had nothing to do with it. Probably some villager who got tired of being trapped reading to her.”
“Do you think Clarice might have had something to do with it?” pursued Agatha. “You are her friend, are you not?”
“Yes, I am, and I’m sorry for her. It’s hell being a vicar’s wife in a small village, being used as a dogsbody by everybody.”
Chapter Five
“What we need to find out,” said Agatha the following day, “is if it was generally known that Gloria was a binge drinker. Also, someone would also need to be aware of her pattern of drinking—that she fled to the bottle when she was upset. This village is getting me down.”
Agatha’s phone rang. It was Toni. “We’re suddenly getting a bit overloaded with work here,” said Toni. “Any chance of you coming back?”
Agatha wished with all her heart she could just walk away from this case. But returning meant facing Toni and worrying about James. “Give me some more time,” said Agatha. “I’ll send Phil back.”
After she rang off, she said to Phil, “That was Toni. We seem to have a lot of work and they always need a photographer. Why don’t you leave? It only takes one of us to ferret around this peasant-ridden hellhole.”
* * *
After Phil had packed and left, Agatha stayed on in the pub garden over a cooling cup of black coffee. The weather had turned fine again and sunlight flickered through the leaves of the trees which shaded the garden, casting moving shadows over Agatha’s worried face as she scanned her notes.
