Agatha Raisin Kissing Christmas Goodbye ar-18

by M C Beaton

  And that is exactly what he did, giving her a cheery goodbye as she climbed down from the Land Rover.

  As she watched him drive off, her mobile phone rang. It was Agatha. "I passed my test," said Toni.

  "Great. We'll get you some old banger. I'll pick you up tomorrow."

  "Back to the village?" asked Toni uneasily. "No, we're going to find out more about Phyllis Tamworthy."

  Chapter Nine

  Alison had informed Agatha that her mother-inlaw had been brought up in the village of Pirdey in Lancashire. With Toni studying a route map beside her, Agatha drove northwards out of the Cotswolds.

  Rain smeared the windscreen and she switched on the wipers. A blustery wind was pulling ragged grey clouds across a large sky. Out on the motorway, spray from huge lorries made driving a misery. Agatha wished Charles had not turned down her invitation to come with them. In his company she often stopped thinking about James Lacey. Also, she liked being accompanied by a man after years of battling on her own. She sometimes felt it was still an old-fashioned world. A woman on her own was often treated by hoteliers and waiters like a second-class citizen.

  She had been pleased to learn that Phyllis Tamworthy had been brought up in a village. If she had been brought up in a large city, there would be little chance of anyone remembering her, thought Agatha, forgetting that anyone who remembered Phyllis would have to be pretty old. Phyllis's maiden name had been Wright. Agatha wished it had been something more unusual.

  They stopped off at a motorway restaurant to break their journey. Toni had recently read an article which stated that the diet of the working classes was still abysmal, consisting as it did of microwaveable meals and takeaway food. But Agatha was tucking into a large plate of greasy eggs and bacon with every sign of enjoyment.

  Soon they were on their way again. Agatha slid a CD into the player and the strains of a Brahms symphony filled the car. She did not like classical music but was trying hard.

  Toni had expected the village to be like Carsely but it was a grim little place stuck out on moorland. The rain had stopped but a yellow watery sunlight only enhanced the drabness of the place, which seemed to consist of one long straggling street. Agatha drew up outside a sub-post office and general stores. "Wait here," she said to Toni. She marched in and asked an Asian woman behind the counter where she could find some old residents.

  The woman, her sari a bright splash of colour in the dingy shop, volunteered the information that the elderly residents met in the community centre at the eastern end of the village in half an hour for tea.

  Agatha rejoined Toni in the car. "We need to wait for half an hour. The old folk meet up at the community centre. The woman in there says it's at the eastern end of the village."

  "What's the eastern end?" asked Toni.

  Agatha scowled horribly. Then she admitted, "Blessed if I know." She got out and went back into the shop, returning after a few minutes to say, "It's along on the left. We may as well wait outside until they all turn up."

  The community centre was in what had once been a villa. A pokerwork sign with the legend 'The Heights' swung in the wind.

  "I wonder why they call it that?" mused Toni. "The countryside around here is as flat as a pancake."

  "Who cares?" snapped Agatha and Toni gave her a hurt look of surprise.

  The fact was that Agatha was uncomfortable in Toni's company, the glowing youth of the young girl making her feel ancient.

  To make matters worse, when the elderly began to arrive and Agatha made to get out of the car, she stifled a groan and clutched her hip. "I'll help you out," said Toni.

  "Leave me alone," howled Agatha.

  She rubbed her hip furiously while she watched the old folks totter up the short drive to the centre.

  "Is something up with your hip?" asked Toni nervously.

  "There is nothing up with me," raged Agatha. "It was that long drive."

  "I can do some of the driving," said Toni. "I got my licence first time off."

  "I may let you." Toni as a novice driver might give Agatha something to feel superior about.

  When they entered the community centre, a stout matron was ushering men and women--mostly women--to seats at a long table where cakes and sandwiches had been laid out.

  Agatha approached her. "I am a private detective," she said. "I am investigating the death of Phyllis Tamworthy, whose name when she was brought up in this village was Phyllis Wright."

  "I think you should wait until they have had their tea," said the woman. "For some of them it's the only food they get. Pensions don't go far these days. I'm Gladys."

  "I'm Agatha and this is Toni."

  "If you and your daughter would like to sit over in the corner, I'll ask them when they've settled down."

  "She's not my..." began Agatha, but Gladys had walked away.

  Agatha watched the elderly ladies. She watched the wrinkled hands, some of them trembling as they reached for sandwiches. Is this what we all must come to? she wondered sadly.

  Toni covertly watched Agatha. Had she offended her in some way? She owed Agatha so much. Gratitude did weigh heavily, like a physical load.

  "I'm sorry," said Agatha suddenly. "I'm feeling a bit off-colour. I think if we find anything worthwhile here, we'll check into a hotel somewhere."

  Toni was about to say she would not mind driving back, but stopped herself. She had a feeling that the ferociously independent Agatha Raisin wouldn't like that suggestion.

  There was very little conversation amongst the elderly. For long periods, the only sounds were the clinking of cups and the chewing of jaws.

  At last Gladys strode into the centre of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "these ladies want to know if anyone remembers...who was it?"

  "Phyllis Wright," said Agatha.

  There was a gentle murmuring and then a very old lady croaked out. "I 'member her. She were at t'school same time as me."

  Another one said, "War she the fatty in Miss Gilchrist's class?"

  "Aye, that be her," said the first woman. "Teacher's pet. Allus sucking up to teacher and putting on airs but she warn't nobody."

  "I don't suppose Miss Gilchrist is still alive," said Agatha.

  "Her died...when was it?" said the first woman.

  "Right after her gave Phyllis a right bollocking. Said her had cheated."

  "What did she die of?" asked Agatha.

  "What's your name?"

  "Agatha."

  "I'm Joan and this here is Rose. Her died o' a heart attack and her so young. Course she seemed old to us then but she was about thirty or so."

  "When did Phyllis leave the village?"

  Joan sighed. "Good thing you're asking us about them old days. Can't right remember yesterday, but the old days are as clear as clear. Let me see. Her was working over at Bessop's Factory. Sauce makers they were. Now Hugh Tamworthy, he war a brickie and he war engaged to Carrie Shufflebottom. Then he won the pools. Next thing we know, Phyllis had got her hands on him and they disappeared for a bit and came back married. The brickworks over at Rumton was going under and Hugh bought it. They took a bungalow out o' the village in the country cos no one in the village would speak to them cos o' Carrie."

  "Where is Carrie now?" asked Agatha.

  "You'll find her at Sun Cottage, right at the end. Go back past the post office and out that way. The last one you come to."

  Outside, Toni said, "Phyllis is beginning to sound like one copper-bottomed bitch."

  "Let's hope this Carrie has all her marbles," said Agatha. "Seems a shame. Those two we were talking to must be the same age as Phyllis was and yet Phyllis seemed pretty hail and hearty. Oh, God," said Agatha passionately, "I hope I don't end up like those poor old souls."

  Sun Cottage belied its name. It faced north and was built of red brick, still sooty from the days of coal.

  "I wonder if Carrie ever married?" Agatha pushed open a rickety wooden gate and led the way through a small weedy front garden. She rang the bel
l. A dingy lace curtain at a window to the right of the door twitched. Then the door opened.

  Carrie Shufflebottom was proof that even the tremendously obese can live to old age. She was a massive woman with a large round rosy face and faded blue eyes. Her iron-grey hair was still thick.

  "What?" she demanded.

  Agatha patiently explained what they were doing and what they wanted to know.

  "You'd best come in," she said, turning away, her large hips brushing against each wall of a narrow passage.

  They followed her into a dark front parlour. The room was cold and sparsely furnished. Carrie sank down into a large battered armchair. Agatha and Toni sat on an equally battered sofa. A canary in a cage by the window chirped dismally and a rising wind moaned in the chimney. A grandfather clock in the corner gave a genteel cough before chiming out the hour.

  "I'm not offering you tea," said Carrie. "I've just had mine." Cake crumbs were strewn across her bosom. She was wearing a man's shirt and tracksuit bottoms and trainers.

  "So you want to know if anyone from around here might have wanted to murder Phyllis?" said Carrie. Her voice was surprisingly light and pleasant and not marred by the strong local accent of the villagers they had met. "I could have murdered her myself. Hugh Tamworthy was a good man. But innocent. The minute he won that pools money, she threw herself at him. She made my life a misery when we were both at school, poking fun at my name. I only saw Hugh one more time after his wedding. About two years after they were married he called round here, right out of the blue. He was that upset. I hoped for one mad moment that he'd come back to me." She gave a wry smile. "Men can be so insensitive. He came to tell me he'd fallen in love with a girl who worked in the office at the brickworks. He said he was going to ask Phyllis for a divorce. He said Phyllis didn't want children and he'd always wanted children. The girl's name was Susan Mason. I'm afraid I lost my temper and told him to get out. I said he'd jilted me and hurt me badly."

  "But he didn't divorce Phyllis," said Agatha.

  "I heard later two things had happened. Phyllis was pregnant with her first child and Susan had disappeared. She left the office one night and no one saw her again. The search went on and on but they never found her. Phyllis had a hell of a temper. She probably threatened the girl. Soon afterwards, they sold the brickworks and bought another one down south somewhere."

  "Did you ever marry?" asked Toni.

  "I decided to get an education. I went to university and ended up teaching at the village school until the government closed it down. Not a very adventurous life. No, I never married."

  "Are any of Susan's family still alive?"

  "There's a younger sister over in Stoke. Wanda. She married quite well. Married an accountant. What was his name? I know. Mark Nicholson. Hand me that phone book over there."

  'Over there' was the floor under the table. Toni handed her the phone book and she riffled through the pages. "Here we are. This must be him. Take a note." Agatha fished a notebook out of her handbag. "Mark Nicholson, 5, Cherry Tree Close, Stafford Road, Stoke-on-Trent."

  Toni drove Agatha in the direction of Stoke. Agatha, feeling the pain in her hip was getting worse, let her take over. To Agatha's irritation, Toni drove easily and well. "We'd better stop somewhere and get a street map," said Agatha. "There's a newsagent's."

  Toni parked neatly between two cars. Agatha scowled. She herself still needed the length of a truck to park properly.

  Toni darted into the shop and came out brandishing a street map. "Let me have it," ordered Agatha, who was hating not being in control. She studied it and then said, "We're in luck. It's on this side of Stoke. Go straight ahead through three roundabouts and turn sharp left at the fourth. That's Stafford Road. Cherry Tree Close is the third on the left."

  The close was one of those builders' developments where an effort had been made to make every house look different and yet the final result was that they all looked the same. They were two-storeyed houses built of grey stone. The uniform-sized windows gazed blankly out over small neat gardens. "Isn't it odd that Phyllis never mentioned having had a previous brickworks?" said Agatha.

  "Maybe ashamed of herself for having ruined Carrie's engagement and frightened off Susan"

  "I wonder. There's number 5. Let's hope some one's at home."

  Toni rang the bell. They waited and waited but there was no reply. "Let's get back to the car and wait," said Agatha.

  "She might be at work," remarked Toni. "Maybe not. She would be near to Phyllis's age. So she would probably be retired." Agatha lit a cigarette. "I wonder if it'll snow this Christmas"

  "Can you remember a white Christmas?" asked Toni.

  "Not one. This global warming would just come along when nobody wants it," complained Agatha.

  Toni repressed a smile. The scientists were worried about global warming, governments were worried about it, but Agatha Raisin was fed up because she wouldn't have a white Christmas. She said, "Never mind. It's usually dark and dreary in December and if you have a tree and a lot of lights and decorations, it'll look very pretty."

  "I've an awful lot of people to invite," said Agatha. "I don't think my dining room will hold them all."

  "Is there a hall in the village?"

  "Yes, but it's pretty dingy."

  "Still, you could decorate it and hide the dinginess. Or maybe you could get extra tables and put them together so that they ran from the dining room across the hall and into the living room," said Toni.

  Agatha brightened. "Now, that might work. A lot of the Ladies' Society were fed up because I didn't invite them to the last one."

  "Someone's coming," said Toni. "A car's arriving."

  A new Audi moved past them and drove up and into the garage at the side of number 5. "Good," said Agatha. "Let's go."

  The woman getting out of her car looked at them curiously. She was slim and well preserved with dyed blonde hair, large, slightly protruding hazel eyes, a small mouth, and a long thin nose.

  A Hermes scarf was tied tightly round her neck.

  Agatha judged her to be in her seventies and that she had had some plastic surgery.

  Agatha went up to her and explained who they were and why they were there.

  "I don't know that I can help you," said Wanda. "I mean, what can you do after all these years? The police searched everywhere."

  "Did they interview Phyllis Tamworthy?"

  "Oh, yes. Over and over again. Hugh Tamworthy was going to get a divorce and marry my sister. I think Phyllis frightened her into running away. But she didn't take any of her clothes or her passport."

  "Did you read in the newspapers that Phyllis was murdered?"

  "Yes, and I was glad to hear someone had at last got the guts to bump the horrible woman off."

  "Do you know where the Tamworthys lived when they were up here?" asked Toni.

  "They had a bungalow in Rumton."

  "Where exactly?" asked Toni eagerly.

  Agatha looked at her in surprise.

  "I'm sure it was at Rumton near the old brickworks. They've closed down now and it's a nursery and garden furniture place."

  Agatha longed to ask Wanda where she was on the day that Phyllis was murdered but knew that only the police could really go around asking questions like that.

  Instead she asked, "Can you think of anyone from Phyllis's past who might have wanted to kill her?"

  "Carrie Shufflebottom hated Phyllis for taking Hugh away. She was engaged to him. But she was always a gentle soul."

  Back in the car, Agatha rounded on Toni. "Why did you want to know where that bungalow was?"

  Toni's eyes shone with excitement. "Don't you see? Phyllis may have bumped her off"

  "We're looking for who killed Phyllis, not who Phyllis killed."

  "But if she was a murderess, then that would be even more motive for someone to kill her"

  "Oh, very well," said Agatha sulkily.

  They found the bungalow by asking at the nursery. An old lady answer
ed the door to them. Is everyone around here ancient? thought Agatha. Will we all end up in Carsely supporting ourselves on our Zimmer frames? She explained who they were and why they were visiting.

  "I remember Phyllis and Susan," said the old lady. "I'm Pearl Dawson. Come in."

  They went into a cluttered parlour, redolent of old body, peppermints and pine disinfectant. Mrs Dawson seemed to be crippled with arthritis. She winced as she lowered herself into a chair. "I need two hip replacements," she sighed. "But I've been waiting two and a half years now." As if to mock her, a voice from a small television set in the corner announced: "Today the government said that the National Health Service has cut waiting lists dramatically."

  "Oh, turn that thing off," said Pearl. "Nothing but lies."

  She was very thin and very wrinkled, with pink scalp showing through strands of grey hair.

  "Now, what can I tell you?" she went on. "I mind Susan. Such a pretty, jolly girl. Something bad happened to her. She'd never have run away."

  Toni said bluntly, "Do you think Phyllis might have killed her?"

  Pearl looked shocked. "Never even crossed my mind."

  "Let's just suppose," said Toni eagerly, "that Phyllis was sweet to Susan and offered her a lift home. Did you hear if there was anyone else around when she left the office?"

  "I heard she was working late," said Pearl. "The gossips said she often worked late, and Hugh Tamworthy as well. But he didn't that night. Phyllis had sent him into Stoke to pick up some curtain material she had chosen. It was late-night shopping there. Maybe Susan was waiting for him to call back. Some of the brickies said she was in love with Hugh."

  "So," said Toni excitedly, "Phyllis kills her. She's got to get rid of the body. Is there anywhere round about here where one could hide a body?"

  Pearl smiled. "You do have a good imagination, young lady. There's the garden, but nothing's been done to that for ages. There's an old well but the police searched that."

  Agatha began to get interested. If the police had been searching around the bungalow, they must have wondered about Phyllis.