by M C Beaton
He feverishly began to pack. He should never have come to this Cotswold version of Brigadoon.
He settled his bill and carried his suitcase out to the car. A thin ghostly mist had descended on the village. An old elm tree outside the pub was silhouetted against the mist, looking threatening, like a tree in a fairy story.
He threw his suitcase in the backseat and tried to start the car but the engine would not turn over. Roy phoned the Automobile Association, who said it would take an hour to get to him as they were very busy. He contemplated going back into the pub for lunch, but the villagers were filing in for the lunchtime session and he wanted to avoid another confrontation.
He locked the doors of his car and settled down to wait. He was bored. He remembered he had a flask of brandy in the glove compartment. One nip wouldn’t put him over the limit. He fished out the flask and took a swig. Almost immediately, he felt a fiery pain in his throat and a wave of nausea racked his thin body. Outside, the elm tree seemed to have grown a face and was leering at him. He let out one terrified scream before he blacked out.
* * *
“There’s that young man in his car,” said Jenny as she and Peter were about to walk into the pub.
“Silly fool,” said Peter. “I’m going to send him on his way.” He peered in the window.
The mist shifted and a weak ray of sunshine fell on Roy’s chalk-white face. Peter tugged at the door of the car but found it locked.
“He’s had a seizure.” He grabbed a rock from the inn courtyard, ran round to the passenger side and smashed the window. He unlocked the door.
“He’s in such a bad way,” he shouted to Jenny. “I don’t know if it would even be safe to wait for an ambulance. Oh, there’s that detective.”
Bill Wong with Alice came driving up. They had come back to the village to question people again.
Peter quickly told Bill about the problem. They eased Roy out of his car. Bill administered CPR. Roy mumbled something but his pulse was weak. He was laid on the backseat of the unmarked police car. Bill bagged up Roy’s flask and left Alice to guard Roy’s car for any further evidence and then raced off in the direction of Mircester with the siren blaring.
* * *
Agatha was horrified when she received a call from Bill, asking if she knew any members of Roy’s family. “His parents are dead and he hasn’t any brothers or sisters,” said Agatha. “What’s happened?”
“He collapsed in his car in Piddlebury. There was a brandy flask on the seat beside him. It looked at first like a heart attack but a doctor at the hospital said he’d seen a case like this before and he’s pretty sure it’s digitalis poisoning. He extracted some spores from the back of his throat. He says it looks like foxglove. There’s a lot of foxgloves in cottage gardens and people don’t often know it is a very poisonous plant.”
“Will he live?”
“Yes. He got the right treatment in time. If he hadn’t been found right away, it could have been deadly.”
“When can I see him?”
“Maybe tomorrow. Look, Agatha, what the hell is going on in that village? You’re not keeping information back?”
“No. I can’t get anywhere. It’s an odd place. There are usually newcomers in Cotswold villages who would be happy to talk, but in that little place, they all close ranks. It’s as if they would rather have a murderer in their midst than let in the outside world.”
* * *
Agatha switched on her computer and logged into the cases her small staff were currently covering. Mrs. Freedman came back into the office, carrying a shopping bag, and shied guiltily as she saw Agatha.
“Just nipped out for a moment,” she said.
“I’ve been here an hour,” said Agatha severely.
“Well, I often work overtime. And my work is up to date.”
Agatha told her about Roy. “Don’t you think that’s one case you should drop?” said Mrs. Freedman anxiously. “Don’t you think you might be next?”
“I’ll just watch what I drink,” said Agatha. “New hairstyle?”
Mrs. Freedman patted a head of tight grey curls. “It’s a new hairdresser. Ever so good, he is. Gives a really stiff perm.”
Simon came in. “Oh, you’re back,” he said to Agatha. “I heard about Roy on the radio. Would you like me to go there instead of you?”
“No, I’ll get back tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to see Roy. I’m surprised Toni left so abruptly.”
“She’s gone off with James Lacey,” said Simon.
“But she said she was going to Bulgaria!” exclaimed Agatha.
Simon had no intention of telling Agatha that he had been stalking Toni, and that he had followed her to Birmingham Airport. “A friend of mine happened to be at Birmingham Airport. He had met Toni at one time when she was having a drink with me. He said she was lovey-dovey with some man old enough to be her father.”
“It can’t have been James,” said Agatha.
“Tall, black hair going grey at the temples, handsome, six feet tall, blue eyes?”
Agatha slumped down in her chair. “What can we do? This is a disaster. I’ll phone Toni on her mobile.” Agatha waited anxiously but Toni’s phone went straight to the messaging service. Agatha rang off. “I can’t nag her. It’s her life.”
James may have been Agatha’s ex-husband, but she felt he was her James. Part of her missed her old obsession with him. In fact, Agatha without any obsession to colour her days often felt at a loss.
Her phone rang. It was Charles Fraith. “What’s all this about Roy?” he asked.
“The village murderer appears to have tried to poison him,” said Agatha. “I must see you, Charles. Where are you?”
“I’m in Mircester.”
“Meet me in the bar of the George. I need your help.”
* * *
“You look almost feverish,” commented Charles. “Gin and tonic?”
“Please.”
“Now, this business of Roy is very scary,” said Charles.
“There’s something worse than that.”
“Can’t imagine. What?”
“Toni’s gone off on holiday with James.”
“Ah.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Calm down. I saw James briefly some days before he left. He was planning to go to Spain to write a travel book on budget accommodation. It’s not like five-star hotel accommodation where a man of James’s years with a young blonde would pretty much pass unnoticed. He’s going to have to put up with people thinking she’s his daughter.”
“What came over him? He’s usually so sensible. First he’s going to marry the village frump, then he dumps her—and that’s right out of character—and then he falls for Toni. We must do something.”
“No, Agatha. Leave them alone and they’ll come home, wagging their tails behind them. And keep your mouth shut when they do come back. I’ll bet anything, Toni will be feeling silly and James will be feeling like an idiot and the last thing they’ll need is you jumping all over their feelings. Now, let’s go and see Roy.”
“Bill said I could see him tomorrow.”
“Not like you to obey orders. Drink up!”
“Should we buy white coats and pretend to be doctors?” asked Agatha as Charles parked outside the hospital.
“No, it’s the visiting hour.”
“He’ll have a police guard.”
“So? We’re his uncle and aunt. This James business is fogging your brain.”
“But Bill will find out and he’ll be furious.”
“Oh, I’ll think of something. He’s probably still in intensive care. Let’s make our way there.”
* * *
Agatha hated hospitals with their long corridors and their smells of disinfectant.
“That must be where he is,” said Charles, stopping suddenly and pointing to where a policeman sat on a chair outside a room. “I think we need to get rid of him. Let’s retreat round the corner.”
“There are CCTV cameras all over the place,” said Agatha. “I’m going to try the direct approach.” Followed by Charles, she marched up to the policeman.
She held out her business card. “I am Agatha Raisin, Mr. Silver’s friend, and this is Sir Charles Fraith. He has no relatives. We would like to check on his condition.”
“I’m not to let anyone in who isn’t hospital staff or police,” said the officer. “But I can tell you, he’s recovered consciousness.”
“Then ask him if he wants to see us,” said Agatha. “It is the visiting hour.”
“I’ll need to phone for permission.” The policeman walked a little way away from them, turned his back, and took out his phone.
Agatha, followed by Charles, walked straight into the room. Roy was propped up against pillows, speaking into his phone. “Yes, that’s me. Roy Silver. What? No, I’m not afraid. I’m used to danger. I have solved cases for Agatha Raisin before.”
Agatha coughed loudly and Roy gave a squawk of alarm and rang off.
“You’re well enough to phone the press, I see,” said Agatha. “Quick! What happened?”
Roy had just finished telling them about the brandy flask and that it had been discovered that his car engine had been disabled when the policeman came into the room and ordered them out. “Did you see anyone?” said Agatha, as they were hustled to the door.
“No one,” said Roy. “But that vicar’s wife’s got it in for me.”
“Out!” shouted the policeman.
* * *
“I’d better get back to that wretched village,” said Agatha.
“I’ll follow you down,” said Charles.
Agatha gave him a gruff thanks, to hide the fact that she was relieved not to be going to Piddlebury on her own. “I think I’ll drop over to Carsely first and see how my cats are getting on and maybe visit Mrs. Bloxby.”
“Then I’ll see you down there,” said Charles. “I’ll drop you back at your car.”
* * *
Doris Simpson was busy cleaning Agatha’s cottage. Agatha’s cats were playing with Doris’s cat, Scrabble, in the garden and seemed indifferent to Agatha’s arrival.
“I should have got a dog,” said Agatha huffily. “Dogs are affectionate.”
“You don’t want one o’ them,” said Doris. “Like children, they are. Now, cats are independent and can look after themselves. Did you hear about Mr. Lacey breaking Mary Gotobed’s heart?”
“Yes. Very unlike him.”
“Well, Mary’s got herself engaged.”
“To James?”
“No, to Tom Sodbury, him what has the farm over near Ebrington.”
“That was quick work.”
“Mary’s been married twice before.”
“How does she do it?”
Doris wiped the kitchen table. “Seems to me there’s some women who are just the marrying kind.”
Agatha paid her and then went up to the vicarage where she received a warm welcome from Mrs. Bloxby.
“Have you heard the news about Mary Gotobed?” asked Agatha.
“Yes, indeed. But hardly surprising.”
“Why is that?”
“I always found her manipulative and sly. Mr. Lacey had a good escape.”
Agatha’s face darkened. “The silly idiot’s got a crush on Toni and they’ve gone off on holiday together.”
“Oh, well, that won’t last.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Mr. Lacey is a proud man. People will assume Toni is his daughter. He won’t like that one bit.”
“But what about Toni? I don’t want her getting hurt.”
“Oh, I should think she will find that Mr. Lacey abroad is not quite what she expected.”
* * *
Toni had forgotten that James was investigating budget holidays and had imagined herself lazily sipping a long cold drink beside a swimming pool. But she found herself in a small hotel in a back street off the Ramblas in Barcelona. It was clean but very basic, a family hotel, where the owner welcomed James and “his daughter.” James had said acidly that Toni was not his daughter whereupon the owner had a hurried consultation with his wife before allocating them their rooms.
But James had been embarrassed. On the first day, he told Toni that he would be investigating other budget hotels and suggested she went sightseeing on her own. Toni made her way to the Ramblas, Barcelona’s famous main street. It started to rain so she went into a café, ordered a coffee, and looked bleakly around her. What had gone wrong? They had gone out for dinner the previous evening. James had been courteous and polite, but distant, as if he were entertaining a young relative with whom he had little in common.
Then, at breakfast, he had immersed himself behind a Spanish newspaper. Toni felt her temper beginning to rise. James was in a huff because the proprietor had thought she was James’s daughter. What else was the man supposed to think, thought Toni, and then realised that they would probably get the same treatment in every hotel they went to and James would get gloomier and more embarrassed. It had all been one awful mistake.
The café was filling up. A girl of about her own age asked if she could share her table and Toni nodded. Toni realised the girl had spoken English. “Are you here on holiday?” she asked.
“Yes, but my family live in Madrid.”
“You’re Spanish! Your English is excellent.”
“I was educated in England. Are you enjoying yourself? My name is Marie.”
“I’m Toni.” Toni surveyed her new companion. Marie had large brown eyes and long black hair. She was wearing a flower-patterned short sheath dress and flat sandals. “And no, I am not enjoying myself.”
“Is it because of the rain? Look! The sun is beginning to come out.”
Toni had a sudden desire to confide in her and found herself telling Marie about James.
“That will not do at all,” said Marie seriously. “Say you are married. Do you want your children to grow up with an old man?”
“I don’t know what happened,” said Toni miserably. “We had such fun. Now, he’s as cold as ice.”
“He has the decency to see it will not work. My family has an apartment here. I am staying with my sister. Join us for a few days.”
“But what will I tell James?”
“The truth. I will collect you this evening. Give me the name of your hotel.”
Toni wrote it down. “He cannot think highly of you to choose such a place.”
“He’s a travel writer. He’s writing about budget holidays.”
“I will call this evening. In the meantime, we will go to your hotel and collect your case and get you installed.”
* * *
James, returning that evening, was handed a note by the owner. He read, “Dear James, It really is not working out and I am going to stay with a friend. I will call this evening at eight o’clock to explain things. Toni.”
James felt he would give anything not to face Toni. He felt he must have run mad. But duty dictated that he was obliged to see this friend and make sure Toni was going to be all right.
He was sitting at the table outside the small hotel when he saw Toni approaching with another girl.
Toni introduced her new friend. She explained how they had met. “You see, James, it would be a better arrangement,” said Toni. “I am going to stay with Marie for a week and then I will change my air ticket and leave for England.”
“I am really very sorry,” said James. “I had forgotten about the vast age difference. Please don’t tell Agatha.”
Chapter Six
Charles had just gone over Agatha’s notes. “There’s one person you seem to be forgetting,” he said.
“Who’s that?”
“Brian Summer.”
“But he was cleared of the drug charge!”
“He’s weird,” said Charles. “Why stay on in this village? He says the police questioning upset him and he had to take time off. So why not clear off to somewhere where the police aren�
��t questioning? Then there’s Ada White. It was her elderberry wine that did the damage. Can she really be innocent?”
“She wasn’t anywhere near Gloria’s at the time of the murder.”
“You forget. No one had to be near Gloria’s. All anyone had to do was nip in the back door and leave that bottle in the cellar. All these alibis aren’t worth a damn.”
“I think the bottle was placed there that morning. The murderer couldn’t risk Gloria offering a drink to, say, the vicar, and the wrong person being poisoned. Also, you’ve forgotten. The bottle and glass were taken away.”
“Have it your way. But let’s see Brian Summer.”
* * *
Ada said Brian was out walking in the woods. “He’s very fragile,” she said defensively. “Don’t you go upsetting him.”
“Whereabouts in the woods?” asked Charles.
“I don’t know. I don’t go persecuting him.”
“The woods aren’t large,” said Agatha as they set out. Sunlight was shining in slants through the old trees. It was very quiet. Not a bird was singing. They wandered on, looking to right and left.
At last they reached the glade where Agatha had found Brian the last time she had hunted him, but the glade was empty.
“This is odd,” said Charles, bending over a flat stone under an old oak tree. “Come and look at this, Aggie.”
“Don’t call me Aggie. What is it?”
“That looks like dried blood.”
The stone was a square slab of limestone. Agatha bent down and peered at the dark splashes on it.
“I think it’s some sort of altar,” said Charles. “Do they practise witchcraft in these parts?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” said Agatha gloomily. “There are still covens in the Cotswolds. I remember a case before. They actually advertise forthcoming events in some magazine. Pretty harmless.”
“Not if they’re sacrificing something. There’s a full moon tonight,” said Charles. “Might be worth staying up tonight in the woods.”
“And if nothing happens?”
“We can make mad, passionate love under the trees.”
“I didn’t think you did love,” said Agatha acidly. “I only thought you did sex.”
