by M C Beaton
"Will Bert continue to run the brickworks now he doesn't have to?" asked Agatha.
"No, he wants to sell. He never liked the job anyway."
Agatha glanced at Fran and Sadie. They seemed to be making up lists.
"Fran and Sadie are making lists of everything to divide up. Not that there's really anything of value. Come through to the morning room," said Alison.
The morning room conjured up in Agatha's mind a charming refuge full of sunlight and comfortable chairs. But when Alison pushed open a door and ushered her in, she found herself in a small, dusty, dark room. The darkness was caused by a pile of boxes against the window. The only furnishings were a small round table covered with a dingy lace cloth and two battered leather chairs.
"I see nobody used this room," said Agatha.
"Mother-in-law preferred the drawing room. The manor was too large for her. She would have been happier in a small bungalow but she was devoted to the memory of my father-in-law. He bought this place and so she was determined to stay."
"And yet she had recently changed her mind?"
Alison sighed. "I sometimes wonder if she really liked her own children. None of them were happy. Jimmy hated the shop. Bert did his best with the brickworks but after a time he began to lose interest."
"I heard the business wasn't doing too well."
"He wasn't gambling or anything. He was beginning to be late with orders and builders were moving their business to other brickworks. He'll be glad to get out of it."
"If you will forgive me for saying so," said Agatha, "you seem an ill-assorted pair."
For a moment, Alison looked angry. Then she shrugged. "I was brought up on a farm. Although my father was rich and a gentleman farmer, he liked us--that's me and my sister, Hetty, and brother, George--to do the farm work. I hated it. I'm no oil painting and the other rich farmers' sons wanted to marry pretty girls. I met Bert at the Moreton-in-Marsh agricultural show. I was sitting by myself in the beer tent. The other tables were crowded and he asked if he could join me. We got talking and we soon had a mutual bond discussing bullying parents. He hated the brickworks and I hated farming. One thing led to another and we got engaged. He was my ticket out of farming. He said if I married him I wouldn't need to see another cow or sheep again.
"Phyllis--Mrs Tamworthy--was against me from the start. At my wedding she was on her worst behaviour and my family were furious. She actually got drunk, insisted on making a speech, and ran Bert down in front of everyone."
"He must have hated her," said Agatha.
"But he didn't kill her," said Alison fiercely. "He always made allowances for her."
"What about Jimmy? Now, he hated that shop."
"That was a bit of cruelty I'll never understand," said Alison. "She appeared to dote on him."
"And he never married?"
"Bert said when Jimmy was younger, there were a couple of girls interested in him but Phyllis soon saw them off. He found out later when one of the girls was married to someone else that Phyllis had told her that Jimmy was subject to bad epileptic fits."
"What about Fran? She's divorced. Did Phyllis have anything to do with that?"
"Not really. Fran longed to belong to the upper classes. She met this stockbroker, Peter Meadows. He was such a snob. She met him on holiday and they got married abroad. Later, when he got to know her family, he turned nasty and said they were common. But she was pregnant, so the marriage struggled on for a few years until the divorce. He was a pill, but Fran blamed her mother for not being posh enough."
"Dear me. And Sadie?"
"Sadie seems happy with Henry but he doesn't have much money and Phyllis wouldn't give her anything for her daughter's education. Lucy had to go to a state school. Oh dear, I seem to be giving you a lot of motives for murder. But I know these people. I keep thinking it was someone from the village who took away the parsnips and replaced them with hemlock. I thought before that the tale of the death of Socrates we got at school was all bunkum or the Greeks must have mixed the hemlock with something else. But there was a case in Perthshire in the nineteenth century where a farmer's children had made up his sandwiches with what they thought was parsley but was hemlock. The top of the plant is just as poisonous as the root. He died the same way as Phyllis. No convulsions, no vomiting, just slow paralysis."
"How do you know this?"
"We've all been looking up hemlock poisoning on our computers."
"Is there any hope," asked Agatha, "that Phyllis might have made the mistake herself?"
"Won't do. If that were the case, we'd all have been poisoned."
"Are the rest of them quite happy with the idea of my investigating the murder?"
"Yes, they've all come round, except Henry, who thinks it's all a waste of money."
"You say you have your own money. Couldn't you have made Bert give up the brickworks?"
"He was just about to. He wouldn't do it before because he feared his mother's contempt."
"Does your father still have the farm?"
"No, he died. Terrible accident. He climbed up the grain silo for some reason and fell in. He was smothered in the grain. He left us all a great deal of money. He had invested well and he was a bit of a miser."
Agatha's brain was beginning to whirl with all this information. She had a nasty little picture of Alison climbing up the silo after her father and shoving him in.
"Isn't it odd?" said Alison. "These days the world is full of therapy-speak and you hear people on television saying that they come from a dysfunctional family. What is a functional one? I wonder. Does it exist?"
"I'm in the wrong line of business to tell you that," said Agatha.
Toni, mindful of Mrs Freedman's earlier instructions, went to the animal refuge and located all the missing animals except one cat.
As she did not have transport, she thought of phoning up the owners and telling them to call at the refuge. She phoned Mrs Freedman. "Don't do that, dear," said Mrs Freedman. "You'll make it look too easy. You wait there and I'll be round with my car."
To Toni's relief, Mrs Freedman turned up in a Land Rover. They borrowed carrying cases from the refuge, bore the animals off to the office and phoned the delighted owners.
When the last one had gone, Mrs Freedman said to Toni, "You're looking a bit peaky. Why don't you run along to your flat and have a nice lie-down."
Toni retreated to her flat. She made herself a light lunch and then slept for two hours and awoke feeling much refreshed but also restless. Her friends must be wondering where she had got to. Since joining the agency, she had not seen any of them, partly because she had been busy and partly out of fear that her brother might track her down if he learned where she was. Would her name be in the newspapers? It would have been too late for the attack on her to be reported in that day's newspapers. But what about tomorrow? Then she relaxed. They would probably just say that a man had been charged with attempted rape. Her name would not be mentioned until the court case came up. Doris Crampton opened her cottage door to see who had knocked. An inoffensive elderly man stood on the doorstep.
"I am Phil Marshall," said Phil politely. "I am helping to investigate the murder of Mrs Tamworthy."
"Are you police?"
"No. Private detective."
Doris made as if to close the door. But Phil looked so unthreatening with his white hair ruffled by the breeze and Doris had a longing to gossip.
"Come in," she said, "but I can't really tell you anything."
Phil followed her into the cottage parlour. "You have a nice home here," he said.
"For how long?" demanded Doris.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because we pay rent to the manor, see. When the whole place is sold, the new owner might turf us out. I'll say one thing for Mrs Tamworthy, she never raised the rents. That's why we was all so upset when we heard she was planning to sell. It weren't really nothing to do with the building plot."
"Dear me. It must all be very worrying for you," sai
d Phil.
"Sit down," said Doris. Phil sat down in an armchair beside the fireplace and Doris took the seat opposite him.
"I find it surprising that Mrs Tamworthy didn't raise the rents," commented Phil. "From what I've heard about her, she seems to have been a hardnosed businesswoman."
"She was that. But you know, sir, I don't think she did it out o' kindness. Kept reminding all of us how generous she was and there was always at the back of her voice and in her eyes a sort of threat. We was all frightened to cross her. I think she liked her bit o' power. But no one in the village would have harmed her. I mean getting rid of her would mean her children taking over and there would be nothing to stop them raising the rents or selling the place."
"But she was going to sell anyway," Phil pointed out.
"We kept hoping she'd come round. See, she liked upsetting people."
"To get to the murder," said Phil. "Did she always make that salad herself?"
"Right proud of it, she were. There's a big kitchen garden up at the manor and she'd go herself to get the vegetables. There's a gurt big shed at the end where the picked fruit and vegetables are stored."
"There is a gardener, of course?"
"Yes, that's Fred Instick. He's getting on and the work's hard. He kept asking for an undergardener but she wouldn't listen to him. Told him to get Jill, the groom, to help. Jill did it sometimes because she was sorry for Fred but usually pointed out she had her hands full with the horses. He'll be worried about his house, now. Don't think anyone now'll want to keep on an old gardener."
"I'd like to meet him. Where is his cottage?"
"It's at the back of the stables."
Said Phil, "You say Mrs Tamworthy was very proud of her salad and yet she did not serve it at dinner."
"No, sir, always at high tea. She said it were right good for her bowels."
"How did she get on with her children?"
"They didn't come round much. Just on her birthday and Christmas. 'Cept for Jimmy. He was round a lot."
"It's a big house. Didn't he live with her?"
"No, poor sod lived above the shop. She charged him rent, too."
Phil looked shocked. "I'm really not surprised someone has murdered her."
Doris smiled for the first time. "Let me get you some tea, sir."
Fran had agreed to be interviewed by Agatha. She sat in front of Agatha, nervously plucking at her skirt.
"At first," said Fran, "we were really all against you trying to find out who murdered Mother. But then the police began to make each one of us feel guilty. Something's got to be done. Jimmy's going ahead putting the shop up for sale. It's too early. None of us is going to get a good price with the suspicion of murder hanging over our heads. Besides, it's just a little shop, no post office counter. The villagers go on grumbling about keeping the old ways but most of them shop at the supermarkets. The ones who go to Jimmy get their groceries on tick and then he has the awful job of making sure they pay their bills."
"Was your mother--how can I put this--was she ever very maternal?"
"Not that I can remember. Dad adored us. We had marvellous Christmases when we were small. It was only after he died that Mother--well--turned. I sometimes wonder if she was jealous of us all."
"Was Jimmy always destined to be a shopkeeper?"
"No, he was working in computers as a website developer, a firm in Mircester. The firm went bust just after Dad died. He was looking around for another job when Mother bulldozed him into running the shop."
"The shop did not belong to the estate?"
"No, she bought it for him and gave it to him as a Christmas present. You should have seen his face. I thought he was about to cry."
"And Bert?"
"Well, Dad had taken him into the business and he was happy working with him."
"And you are divorced?"
"Yes. He was snobbish but it was as if Mother went out of her way to look common when he was around. She wouldn't help out with Annabelle's education."
"Didn't you get a good settlement from the divorce?"
Fran turned red. "I had an affair. I looked on it as a passing fling but my ex got a private detective on to it. He said if I didn't just walk away from the marriage, he would bring out my adultery in court. I should have stood my ground and fought for some money for Annabelle's education, but I was so ashamed and Mother said, "Don't worry about it. I'll give you an income." It wasn't enough."
"When your daughter grew up, did she come to resent her grandmother?"
"Annabelle doesn't resent anyone. A girlfriend with money suggested they open a dress shop in the King's Road in Chelsea. It did and does very well."
"Annabelle isn't married?"
"My daughter is a lesbian."
"Oh. Do you own your own house?"
"No. Mother bought it for me. Or rather, she bought it and took the rent out of my allowance. It's a poky former council house in Mircester."
"And you all knew about your mother's special salads?"
Fran shrugged. "Couldn't not. As far as I can remember, she's served up the beastly things."
"But you'll be able to sell the house now?"
"Yes, thank God. We're all going to try and stay here at the manor until this dreadful murder is solved. It must be someone from the village."
"Why?"
"Because none of us has the guts. She really ground us down."
"Is the kitchen door always open during the day?"
"Yes, anyone could have come in that way. You know what these villages are like. Lots of inbreeding. I think it was done by someone mad."
"Where is Jimmy at the moment?"
"He's up at the shop, clearing out."
"Perhaps I might go up there for a word with him. And then perhaps Sadie might like to talk to me."
"I really don't think my sister or Bert can tell you anything further."
Agatha had to park a little way away from the shop. There was a crowd outside and the road was almost blocked by tractors and cars.
She walked forward and pushed her way to the front of the crowd. A rejuvenated Jimmy was shouting, "Everything must go. Fifty pee a box."
He's practically giving the stuff away, thought Agatha.
Groceries and vegetables from the shop had been piled into separate boxes. The boxes were disappearing rapidly as the villagers bought and bought, carrying stuff back to their cars and tractors and returning for more.
Jimmy's thin face was flushed and his eyes were shining. Hardly the grieving son, thought Agatha. She retreated to her car and decided to wait. It wouldn't be long before everything was gone.
One by one, the vehicles laden with groceries began to move off. Agatha's stomach rumbled. She fished in the glove compartment of her car and found a Mars Bar, ate it, and lit a cigarette.
When the last vehicle had gone, she climbed stiffly from her car, her treacherous hip sending pain shooting down her leg. She limped towards the shop and then heaved a sigh of relief as the pain subsided.
"Mr Tamworthy?"
Jimmy, who was closing the shop door, turned round. "Oh, it's you."
"I wanted to ask you a few questions, if that's all right."
He hesitated and then said reluctantly, "You'd better come in, but I don't think I can be of much help."
He led the way into the shop. The wooden shelves were empty of groceries. A few newspapers and a cabbage stalk lay on the floor. Agatha followed Jimmy through the shop, into the back shop, and up a wooden staircase. He opened a door at the top and ushered her in.
She found herself in a bleak little room. Jimmy sat down at a round table at the window. Agatha sat down opposite him. She looked around. There were no books or paintings. The table she was sitting at was flanked by three hard upright chairs. A battered sofa and coffee table were placed in front of a television set. She wondered whether his bedroom might contain more signs of individuality.
Jimmy's face was a polite blank.
"Can you think of anyone at
all who might have wanted to kill your mother?" began Agatha.
"Mum irritated a lot of people but not enough to make anyone want to kill her."
"Did she have trouble with anyone apart from the villagers recently?"
He shook his head. Then he said, "Blentyn's were annoying her a bit."
"Who are they?"
"A building developer. He was anxious to start building on the bit of land where those ruined houses are. Mum kept telling him to wait. The boss, Joe Trump, he said that recession was coming and if she didn't hurry up, he'd be unable to sell the houses. He was quite threatening."
"Where can I find Blentyn's?"
"Out on the industrial estate at Mircester."
"You must have hated your mother for having stuck you in this shop," said Agatha.
"She was my mother. You can't hate your own mother."
"It happens," said Agatha. "What will you do now?"
His brown eyes gleamed. "I'll travel. I'll go to all the places I ever wanted to see."
"When is the funeral?"
"We don't know. The police said they would let us know when they are releasing the...the...body."
His eyes filled with tears and he shouted, "I was enjoying myself. This was my day! Why did you have to come along and spoil everything?"
Suddenly nonplussed, Agatha rose to her feet and muttered, "I'll talk to you later."
She clattered down the wooden stairs and out through the shop. It had begun to rain. Long fingers of rain were trailing across the stubble of the fields.
Agatha cursed herself as she walked to the car. Why had she run away like that? A real detective would have persevered.
Toni looked down from the window of her flat that evening and shrank back as she saw her brother coming along the street with two of his mates. They were glancing up at the buildings, searching for something. She had a sickening feeling they were looking for her.
She took another cautious look. She had phoned a friend, Maggie Spears, earlier and had asked her to come round. To her horror, she saw the three stop and start to talk to Maggie. Maggie said something, tossed her head and walked on. Then, to Toni's relief, Maggie walked straight past the entrance to the flats.
