A Spoonful of Poison

by M C Beaton

  Agatha patiently explained who they were and that she wanted to ask questions about Trixie Webster.

  “That cow,” said Cherry vindictively. “I hope she’s dead somewhere with a needle in her arm.”

  “Don’t you read the newspapers or watch television?” asked Agatha. “She’s now a vicar’s wife and lives in Comfrey Magna.”

  “Was that her? Blimey. I thought she looked a bit like the Trixie I used to know, but I thought she couldn’t possibly be. She was a redhead when I knew her, although, mind you, she dyed her hair. Come in.”

  She ushered them into a cluttered living room lined with books. “So what’s Trixie got to do with the goings-on at Comfrey Magna?” asked Cherry when they were seated.

  “We don’t know,” said Agatha. Toni was pleased with that “we.” Agatha usually said “I,” as if Toni were not present. “But we’ve just found out her drugs background and that she testified against you and the others. If she wanted to get hold of some acid, who would she go to?”

  “I don’t know. I’m long out of the drugs scene. Then, after she testified against us, no one would want to know her. But someone who was really into selling the stuff was Zak Nulty. I saw him the other day going into that pub, the Blodgers, on the Cirencester Road. You could try him, if you can find him.”

  “What does he look like?” asked Toni.

  “He’s very tall and thin and when I spotted him, he hadn’t changed all that much except he was going bald at the front and had his hair tied back in a grey ponytail.”

  “Whereabouts on the Cirencester Road?” asked Agatha.

  “Just after the T-junction on the London Road. On the left.”

  They thanked her and promised to let her know of any outcome.

  At the pub, there was no sign of Zak Nulty, but they realized they were hungry and ordered sandwiches and drinks.

  The pub began to fill up with an unsavoury-looking crowd of young people. Several of the men were eyeing up Toni. They probably think I’m her mother, thought Agatha dismally.

  After an hour, Toni said, “We may have missed him in the crowd. Let’s look outside. He may have gone to the bar, got a drink and gone outside for a smoke. There are a few tables outside.”

  Outside the pub, a large crowd was standing, filling the air with blue smoke. Toni nudged Agatha. Sitting at one of the tables was a tall thin man with a ponytail.

  Boldly Agatha walked up to him. “Zak Nulty?”

  “Who you?”

  “Someone who’s willing to pay you for a few minutes of your time-in private.”

  He grinned and rose to his feet. They followed him to the side of the pub. “Now, what’s it about?”

  “Trixie Webster.”

  “Who?”

  But his eyes flickered.

  Agatha opened her handbag and took out a roll of notes which she always carried tucked away in case she needed to bribe someone.

  He looked at the notes and said slowly, “What if I do?”

  “Did she ask you for any LSD recently? We’re not the police.”

  “I’ll put it this way,” said Zak slowly. “You tell the police and I’ll find you and break your legs.”

  “Okay,” said Agatha. “I just want to know.”

  “You someone from that village where she lives?”

  “Yes,” lied Agatha.

  He eyed the notes greedily. “How much is there?”

  “Five hundred.”

  He hesitated and then said, “Well, I don’t owe that bitch nothing. Yes, I got her some acid. Now, give me the money and don’t let me see you again and if the pigs come for me, you’re toast.”

  Agatha handed over the money and she and Toni hurried off to the car park.

  Toni drove off a little way and then parked the car. “Now, what do we do?” she asked.

  “Tell Bill.”

  “What! No confronting the suspect like Poirot? And what if Zak comes looking for us?”

  “Let me think. I know. We now know for sure that Zak is dealing drugs. We tell Bill to get the police to pick him up for dealing and possession. Then they can cut a deal with him. He testifies he gave Trixie the acid and that’s that. Let’s get to police headquarters.”

  But they were told that Bill was at home. Agatha’s heart sank. Bill’s parents always surveyed her as if something particularly nasty had turned up on their doorstep.

  Cherry Upfield fed her cat and settled down in front of her television set to watch a late edition of Midlands News. She sat up straight as a shot of a church covered in scaffolding came into view and the presenter said, “Repairs have begun on the church in Comfrey Magna, scene of recent extraordinary events.” As Cherry watched, there was an interview with the vicar, and standing next to him, smiling sweetly, was Trixie.

  Cherry’s eyes narrowed. That smug bitch. She’d still like to get even with her. She lifted the receiver on the phone next to her chair and dialled directory inquiries and asked for the number of Arthur Chance at the vicarage in Comfrey Magna.

  The phone rang several times and then a woman answered.

  “Trixie?” asked Cherry.

  “Yes, who is this?”

  Got a posh voice now, thought Cherry. “It’s me, Cherry Upfield.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know you,” said Trixie firmly, and Cherry was suddenly sure she was about to hang up.

  “Wait! I just want to give you a warning. Do you know Agatha Raisin?”

  “Go on.”

  “She’s on your trail. Got your drugs background. I hope you didn’t get any acid from Zak because that was where she was heading when I left.”

  Trixie hung up and stood, breathing hard. “Who was it?” called Arthur.

  “A well-wisher,” said Trixie.

  ____________________

  Agatha and Toni, having passed the formidable barrier that was Mrs. Wong who had grumbled at the lateness of the hour, told Bill all they had found out.

  He listened to them with excitement. “We never thought of checking a vicar’s wife out,” he said. “We’ll get on to it in the morning.”

  “Be sure you get Zak before he gets us,” said Agatha. “He said he would break my legs if I told the police.”

  “Leave it with me.”

  “So that’s that,” said Agatha as she said goodnight to Toni after dropping her off at her flat. “Thanks for all the driving. I’m still so tired, I’ll be glad to get home.”

  Once in her cottage, Agatha unwound the cats from around her ankles and decided to check her answering service.

  There was one message from Mrs. Bloxby. She said, “I hope it’s all right. I gave Mrs. Chance your address. She said she had some news that might help you.”

  Agatha checked that the burglar alarm was on. She wondered whether to phone Bill and then decided to do it in the morning.

  She slept uneasily, wishing not for the first time that she had bought a modern house and not an old thatched cottage where the timbers creaked and the thatch rustled.

  In the morning she showered and dressed and went downstairs. She opened her front door to bring in the pint of milk that she had ordered to be delivered every day. Agatha drank her coffee black but liked to have milk in the fridge for her pampered cats and for any visitors. She wondered where Charles was and wished he would leave a note every time he went away to say when he would be back. She debated whether to phone him but did not feel like dealing with his man, Gustav, who delighted in telling her that Charles was not at home, even when he was.

  She was bending down to pick up the bottle of milk when she saw a little dead bird lying beside it. Blue tits had a habit of pecking through the foil top of the milk and drinking the cream. Agatha went back into her cottage on shaking legs and called the police.

  Bill and Wilkes turned up, followed by a forensic team. Agatha explained how Mrs. Bloxby had left her a message to say that Trixie had called, asking for her address. The little bird was bagged up and the milk bottle sealed and taken away.

/>   Agatha suddenly had a horrible idea. “The office!” she exclaimed. “There’s milk delivered there. I’d better phone Toni and tell her to get round there and make sure no one touches it. Nobody’s due at the office for another hour.”

  “We’ll send a policewoman round there to meet her,” said Wilkes.

  Toni hurried round to the office. She looked down at the bottle of milk outside and decided it would be best to leave it until the police arrived. She unlocked the door and went in.

  She was just jacking up her computer when she heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” she called over her shoulder.

  Toni heard someone come in. “Did you get the milk?” she asked.

  “No, but you’re going to get it.”

  Toni swung round and stared in alarm at Trixie Chance, who was standing there with a knife in one hand and the bottle of milk in the other.

  “You and that lesbian boss of yours have ruined my life,” said Trixie. “Let’s see what she feels when she finds her little creature dead on the office floor-although she’s probably dead herself by now.”

  “I’m not a lesbian and neither is Agatha,” said Toni, standing up. “Put down the knife.”

  Toni moved behind her typing chair.

  “Why couldn’t you leave me alone?” snarled Trixie.

  “Because you caused the deaths of two women,” said Toni, while inside her head her mind raced. To have survived a brutal childhood, to have come out of it all into the sunshine of a glorious life and to have it threatened by this madwoman. Toni felt herself beginning to burn up with white-hot rage. She grasped the back of her wheeled typing chair and ran with it, slamming it into Trixie and sending her flying just as the door opened and a policewoman and policeman rushed in. Trixie was making a dive for the knife, which had fallen out of her hand, when the policewoman fired her Taser gun into her back.

  The policeman handcuffed Trixie while the policewoman said, “She’ll come round any minute now. What happened here?”

  Toni told her about Agatha’s warning. The police called for forensics and told headquarters to tell Wilkes of the latest development.

  More police arrived. Toni repeated her story over and over again while a recovered Trixie was taken away, swearing horribly.

  By the time Toni arrived at police headquarters to make an official statement, the press were gathered outside.

  Inside, she was relieved to find that she was to be questioned by Bill and Wilkes. She had dreaded being interviewed by the bullying Collins.

  When the interview was over, Bill said, “Do you want us to call your mother?”

  “No, it’s all right,” said Toni. “She’s living in Southampton now. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ll find Agatha waiting for you.”

  Still suffering from shock, Toni went out into reception to find Agatha sitting there. She eyed her uneasily. What if Agatha was a lesbian and that was the reason for all her generosity?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” demanded Agatha. “Have I got a smut on my nose?”

  “Trixie said you were a lesbian,” Ton blurted out.

  Agatha began to laugh. When she had finished laughing, she said, “Sometimes I wish I were. It would make life a lot easier. Men! I phoned Charles for support and he answered his phone for once and said he couldn’t make it because he had some female staying with him. Now, tell me what went on.”

  Toni sat down next to her and wearily described again what had happened.

  “Well, if the forensics turn up trumps, they’ve got her for two counts of attempted murder,” said Agatha, “so that’s good enough to be going on with. I’ve still to make an official statement, so I’ll be here for a while. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ve told the others to do the same. Forensics will be working in the office for most of the day.”

  Toni emerged and blinked as a battery of flashes went off in her face. The chief constable, George Robinson, was addressing the press. He put an arm around Toni’s slim shoulders. “All I can tell you,” he said, “is that this brave private detective tackled someone who was attempting to murder her. I will make a further statement later.”

  Agatha heard the commotion and opened the door. “This way, Toni!” the photographers were shouting.

  I’m the boss, thought Agatha jealously. It should be my press conference.

  But as she was about to push forward, Wilkes tapped her on the shoulder. “We’re ready for you now, Mrs. Raisin.”

  Agatha sat gloomily over the newspapers the next morning, reflecting sourly that Toni photographed like a dream with the sunlight glinting on her fair hair and her wide blue eyes and slim figure.

  She switched on the television. There was a late bulletin to say that Trixie Chance, wife of the vicar of Saint Odo The Severe, had been charged with two counts of manslaughter and two counts of attempted murder and with possession of an illegal substance.

  Agatha began to resent Toni. That girl kept getting all the glory. She wondered whether it might be an idea to set Toni up in her own agency. Then let’s see how she fared without the genius of Agatha Raisin to help her. Her own agency was doing well. She could certainly afford to fund Toni until the girl got on her feet, and if she didn’t, she could write it off as a tax loss.

  Fired up with this new idea, Agatha phoned Toni and told her to make herself free for a business lunch at one o’clock in the George, a pub opposite police headquarters

  Toni expected Agatha to be sour over the press coverage and was relieved to see a beaming Agatha waiting for her in the restaurant. Agatha had not been in the office that morning.

  “Sit down,” said Agatha. “We’ll order our food and drinks first. The steak and kidney pudding here is very good and I feel like some comfort food.”

  “I’m sorry about taking the limelight in the press coverage,” said Toni.

  Agatha waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all good for the agency. I have a plan for you.”

  “Like what?” asked Toni nervously.

  “Wait till we get our food. What are you drinking?”

  “Mineral water will do fine,” said Toni, “and the steak and kidney pudding.”

  When Agatha returned from the bar after placing their order, Toni said, “Why did she do it?”

  “Who? What?”

  “Trixie. I mean, she had a respectable life. Why did she put acid in the jam?”

  “Because she’s mad.”

  “Even mad people have a reason.”

  Agatha took out her phone and called Patrick. “Patrick,” she said, “did any of your police contacts give you any reason why Trixie did what she did?”

  Toni could hear the tinny sound of Patrick’s reply but not the words.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Agatha. “See you later.”

  She turned to Toni. “You’re not going to believe this. Evidently Trixie said she did it because she was bored and wanted to liven the village up a bit.”

  “Awful woman,” said Toni with a shudder. “Mind you, if she hadn’t come after us, she might just have got away with it.”

  Their food arrived. Toni waited impatiently until Agatha had taken a few mouthfuls of food and then asked, “What’s this idea?”

  “I’m going to set you up in your own detective agency,” said Agatha.

  “But I don’t know how to run a business!”

  “You’ll learn. You’re bright. Employ a secretary and two young people like yourself. No old detectives. We’ll call it the Spring Detective Agency. You know-spring-youth.”

  “What about the Gilmour Detective Agency?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Start thinking about who you would recruit and I’ll look around for premises.”

  Toni knew in that moment that Agatha resented the press coverage she had got. She reflected that it’s a sad business to find out the rock you’ve been leaning on for support has a great crack down the middle.

  “Think about it,” said Agatha, feeling obscurely
ashamed of herself. “If you don’t want to do it, don’t bother.”

  Toni was pretty sure that she would turn down Agatha’s offer. But something was to happen which changed her mind.

  Chapter Eleven

  TONI WAS SITTING that evening with her friend Sharon when the phone rang. It was Harry.

  “I just wondered how you were getting on,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” said Toni, and then, in a rush, she went on, “I’m not really. Agatha wants to set me up in my own detective agency and I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know anything about running a business.”

  “I wonder why she’s doing that,” said Harry. “I tell you what, I’ll take a year off from university and help you set up. I’m bored with Cambridge and I miss the detective work.”

  “No ties?” asked Toni anxiously.

  “No, no. Strictly business. It would be exciting.”

  Toni felt a wave of relief. “If you’re free, drop round and we’ll talk about it.”

  “Be with you in minutes.”

  “Who was that?” asked Sharon.

  “Harry.”

  “Not the fellow who wants you to read them Frenchies and go to crap opera?”

  “Yes, but he says it’s strictly business and I do need the help. He’s coming round.”

  “Great. I’m dying to see what this wannabe professor looks like.”

  Harry arrived so quickly that Toni wondered if he had been lurking at the corner of her street.

  Sharon eyed him with surprise. Harry, who had once worn a nose stud and shaved his head, now had a crop of wavy brown hair above a square handsome face. He was dressed smart-casual. Toni introduced them.

  “Let’s get started,” said Harry. “Is Agatha hiring the staff for you?”

  “No, she wants me to hire young people.”

  “Does she want you to fail?” asked Harry. “I mean, a retired copper like Patrick is a boon.”

  “Why would she want me to fail?”

  “Well, not fail. I’ve seen you on television. You have been taking the limelight away from her.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” said Toni.

  “Oh, go for it. What about a name?”