by M C Beaton
"I'll be right there," said Agatha. She rang off. "Got to go."
When Agatha had left, Mrs Bloxby said, "Agatha needs a psychiatrist."
"Mrs Bloxby!"
"No, I don't mean for herself. I mean she should sit down with one of those police psychiatrists and tell him all she knows about Phyllis Tamworthy and her children."
"I might be able to help there," said Phil. "There's a retired psychiatrist who dealt with criminals. He lives in Bourton-on-the-Water. His name is Dr Drayton. I hope he's still alive."
Agatha passed what she considered a wasted day. Anything to do with domesticity Agatha considered a wasted day. Electricians and plumbers had to be brought in to move the fridge and dishwasher and refit them to leave space for the large cooker. When everything was finished, the cooker sat there, squat, shiny and big, looking totally out of place.
When the men had finally gone, Agatha's phone rang. It was to be the first of many newspapers. The story had got out. How Agatha longed to take the credit for finding that skeleton. The only thing that stopped her was that Charles would lecture her and Toni would put her down as a jealous old bat.
Toni was in her flat having tea with George Pyson when Agatha rang her. George had just delivered one very comfortable leather armchair and a sturdy round pine table and had carried the ones those replaced down to his Land Rover, so Toni had made him tea.
"Toni," said Agatha, "get your glad rags on and full make-up and get to Carsely. The press will be here to interview you quite soon."
"Do I have to?" pleaded Toni. "You could handle it."
"They want you," said Agatha gruffly. "So hurry up."
Toni told George what had happened. He looked at her outfit critically. She was in her usual jeans and T-shirt.
"Have you got high heels and a skirt?"
"Yes."
"I'll wait in the car while you change. You don't need much make-up except lipstick and mascara."
Agatha opened the door to them an hour later and looked gloomily at Toni. The girl looked as if she had legs up to her armpits and with her eyelashes darkened, her eyes seemed even larger.
"The press, some of them, are in the sitting room."
Toni entered and blinked. Crammed into Agatha's sitting room were reporters, photographers and television cameramen.
Agatha listened sourly as Toni, falteringly at first, and then gaining confidence, told her story.
Then Toni was asked, "Why did you guess a body might be there? What made you leap to that conclusion?"
Toni smiled. "I work for Mrs Agatha Raisin, who must be one of the most brilliant detectives in the country. She taught me everything I know. She encourages me to use my imagination. She could easily have said, "Don't be silly," but she said I was to go ahead."
God bless the girl, thought Agatha as the press began to demand photographs of them together.
When the session was finally over and Agatha was showing them out, she noticed George Pyson sitting in the Land Rover outside.
She turned and said to Toni, "What's he doing here?"
"He drove me over." For some reason Toni felt that it would not be wise to tell Agatha about the furniture. Agatha seemed to disapprove of George.
"Of course. You don't have a car," said Agatha. "We'll get one tomorrow. Invite George in and I'll open a bottle of wine."
Terry Gilmour watched his sister on television's late-night news. He felt bitter and mean with jealousy. The house was like a tip, strewn with bottles and cans and empty pizza cartons. His mother had suddenly appeared the day before. Shaky but stone cold sober, she had announced she was going to stay with an old school friend in Southampton who had managed to get off the booze and who was going to help her.
He began to cry drunkenly. He had no one to turn to. Even his friends were beginning to make excuses not to see him. He dimly remembered punching one of them in the face two nights before, but the rest of the evening was lost to him.
"I'll make them all sorry!" he shouted to the uncaring messy room.
Agatha studied George carefully and watched him closely when he talked to Toni, but she could detect no romantic interest there. A voice in her not usually overworked conscience was telling her that she was behaving like a jealous old maid. The phone rang and she went to answer it. It was her young friend, Roy Silver.
"What's been going on?" he cried. "Finding a skeleton? You might have told me."
"As you can imagine, I'm busy. Press by the hordes."
"Press?" Roy was always trying to get himself some publicity. "Can I come down this weekend?"
"All right. But you might have to sleep on the sofa if Charles is using the spare room."
"See you."
George had got up to leave. "Do be careful," he said. "There's still a murderer out there."
After he had gone, taking Toni with him, Agatha received a phone call from Phil.
"Mrs Bloxby had this great idea," said Phil. "She says what you need is a psychiatrist." Agatha felt a stab of hurt. "I'm surprised--" she was beginning furiously when Phil interrupted. "No, not for you. A retired police psychiatrist. We tell him everything we know about Phyllis and he might guess that there was something in her character which made her into a murderee."
"I don't need a shrink for that," said Agatha. "She murdered someone herself by the look of things, so it's easy to imagine someone wanted to kill her. In fact, there must be so many people who wanted to kill her, I don't know where to start."
"I've made an appointment for us," said Phil. "Of course, I can always cancel it."
"May as well give it a try," said Agatha. "Where? What time?"
"He lives in Bourton-on-the-Water. Ten tomorrow morning."
"Not far. I'll pick you up at half nine."
Agatha yawned and stretched. Time for a good night's sleep. If only one hadn't got to eat the whole time. She was poking about in her freezer when the doorbell rang.
Probably Charles, she thought, and, not bothering to look through the spyhole, she swung the door open. Jimmy Tamworthy stood on the step, his face white, his eyes glittering. "I want a word with you," he hissed.
"It's late," said Agatha, barring the doorway. "Call on me at my office tomorrow."
"You'll hear me now, you bitch. How dare you go around saying my mother was a murderer! I could kill you."
"Another time," babbled Agatha. She nipped inside and slammed the door in his face. She crouched down in a chair in the kitchen while he rang the bell and hammered and kicked the door. Why aren't I phoning the police? she thought.
Why am I such a wimp?
She marched back to the door and shouted, "I've called the police!"
There was a sudden silence. Then a final kick at the door. A car door slammed and she peered through the spyhole and saw him driving off.
Agatha phoned Bill Wong at home, having to tell his formidable mother that it was a matter of life and death before she would call her son.
Bill listened carefully and said, "We should arrest him."
"I don't know. Could you maybe just give him a warning, Bill? I can't help thinking that if I had had a mother like Phyllis, I'd be off my trolley as well."
"All right. I'll speak to him tomorrow and put the fear of death into him. Hang on a minute. My mobile's ringing."
He seemed to be gone a long time. Then he finally came back on the phone and said, "You'd better get over to Toni's flat. The police are on their way."
"What's happened?"
"That wretched brother of hers has hanged himself."
"Oh, God. I'll go immediately."
Agatha was gathering up her belongings, ready to leave, when she froze in horror. A key was turning in her front door. She ran into the kitchen and seized a carving knife.
When she returned to the hall, brandishing the knife, it was to find Charles smiling at her.
"Going to kill me, Aggie?"
"How did you get in?"
"I copied your keys."
"Snakes and ba
stards! How dare you? Oh, never mind. We've got to get to Toni's. Her brother has hanged himself."
When they arrived at Toni's flat, it was to find her being attended by a policewoman.
"Is there anything I can do?" asked Agatha.
Toni rose from the sofa where she had been sitting with her friend, Maggie, and flung her arms around Agatha and burst into tears.
"There, there," said Agatha, patting the girl awkwardly on the back. "We'll see you through this. Do you know where your mother is?"
Toni dried her tears. "She sent me a letter the other day. The police have contacted her. Her friend is driving her up from Southampton."
Agatha asked the policewoman, "Did he leave a note?"
"Fortunately he did. Trying to make everyone feel guilty."
"Will you need Miss Gilmour tonight? I'd like to take her home with me."
"I need to stay here for my mother," said Toni.
"Does she need to identify the body tonight?" Agatha asked the policewoman.
"No, tomorrow will do." She turned to Toni. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to let me phone for a doctor? He could give you something to make you sleep."
Toni shook her head.
"When was he found?" asked Agatha.
"Two hours ago."
"But Bill Wong phoned me not so long ago."
"He's off duty. Probably one of his colleagues at the station realized Miss Gilmour is part of the murder inquiry we're investigating and phoned him."
The doorbell rang. "Can't be your mother already," said Agatha.
"It'll be George," said Toni. "I got Maggie here to phone him."
Agatha felt slightly miffed that Toni had not thought to phone her.
George Pyson came into the room. "There's a bed and breakfast down the street. I've booked a double room for your mother and her friend. I know the owner. She's very kind. She says if I phone her when they are due to arrive, she'll get up to let them in."
"Do you want us to wait?" asked Agatha, feeling superfluous.
"No," said Toni weakly. "I think George will take care of everything. And my friend, Maggie, says she'll stay the night."
As they drove off, Agatha said, "You know, he must be interested in her. But he's too old."
"He's only in his early thirties and he's a goodlooking fellow. Don't interfere."
"I've invested a lot of time and money in that girl," said Agatha. "Next thing, she'll be off, married to George and too pregnant to do any work."
"I never thought of you as being mercenary, Aggie."
"I'm a businesswoman, I'll have you know."
"Quite. But bug out."
Chapter Ten
Phil, Charles and Agatha drove to Bourton-onthe-Water the following morning, after Agatha had telephoned Toni. Toni said her mother was actually sober, and her delight at that seemed to have taken some of the misery out of her brother's suicide.
"How did he kill himself?" asked Phil.
"Hanged. Drilled a hook into the kitchen ceiling and hanged himself from that, Toni says."
"That poor girl!"
"She had a miserable time with him," said Agatha. "I'll buy her a second-hand car when we're finished in Bourton." They drove into the car park and walked through to the village. "Would you look at that!" exclaimed Agatha. "Look at all the people and at this time of year. I think the tourists just never stop."
"Loads of Chinese," said Charles. "They're allowing them out on package tours to the Cotswolds."
Bourton-on-the-Water is a famous beauty spot with a glassy stream flowing through the centre, old bridges and old houses. The day was sunny and clear with a cold wind sending the last of the leaves scurrying along the street in front of them.
"It's round here."
"I wonder if this is really a good idea," said Agatha. "I always think psychiatrists are like fortune-tellers and psychics. People only go to them to indulge their vanity."
"People like you always think that," said Charles, turning to admire the back view of a pretty girl with long legs.
"What do you mean, people like me?"
"People who need a psychiatrist themselves."
"That's snide."
"Think about it, Aggie. You're pining after an ex-husband who was a pain in the bum when you married him and you aren't even in love with him any more."
"I'll have you know, you miserable little, penny- pinching -"
"Children! Children!" admonished Phil. "We're here."
The house was small and grey; one of those old Cotswold houses which weather so well that it is hard to determine its age.
The door was opened by a tall rangy female in tight jeans, high boots and a peasant-type blouse. She had masses of frizzy blonde hair, a narrow face and pale-blue eyes.
"Wot you want?" she asked.
"Dr Drayton."
"You 'ave the appointment?"
"Yes," said Phil. "Mr Marshall."
"Wait."
"These Poles get everywhere these days," said Charles. "But what a looker!"
She returned. "Come in."
They followed her into a book-lined study where an elderly man sat in front of a log fire. He had thinning grey hair and very thick glasses. He was hunched forward in a leather armchair, wearing an old Harris tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows.
"Sit down," he ordered. "Turn my chair round, Sasha, so I can see them."
Sasha did as she was told. "You may leave us," said Dr Drayton.
"You want tea?"
"No, I don't think that will be necessary."
He might have asked, thought Agatha, looking around to see if there was an ashtray in the room and not finding any.
"Where did you find the girl?" asked Charles.
"An agency. Now, I believe you wish to consult me." He took a small tape recorder out of his pocket and switched it on.
Agatha began at the beginning. He interrupted her only occasionally to ask for descriptions of various people. Charles, who often put Agatha down as scatty, was amazed at the clear and concise report she gave.
When she had finished, Dr Drayton said, "I wonder what her upbringing was like? Leave this with me and I will give you my conclusions. May I have your address?"
Agatha fished out a card and handed it to him.
"Thank you." He rang a small bell. Sasha appeared. "They are leaving," he said. "Show them out."
Sasha led the way to the front door. As Agatha and Phil walked down the short garden path, Charles nipped back before Sasha could close the door. They waited outside the garden gate. Agatha saw Charles giving Sasha his card.
It's all right for men, she thought sourly. He's in his middle forties and yet he can chat up a young girl like that. Now, if I chased after George Pyson, say, I'd be called a harpy.
Phil and Charles helped Agatha buy a small second-hand Ford. With Charles driving it and Agatha following after they had dropped Phil off at his cottage with stern instructions to rest, they went into Mircester and parked in the main square.
Toni had just returned from identifying the body. Her mother was red-eyed but composed. "I got you a car," said Agatha gruffly. "Here are the keys and the paperwork."
"Oh, thank you," said Toni. "You are so generous."
"I'm not really," said Agatha. "You can hand the car back to me if you ever leave. Where's George?"
Mrs Gilmour said, "He's at the undertaker's to arrange the funeral. So kind."
I must warn her about George, thought Agatha. That was immediately followed by the sensible thought that she should really mind her own business. Toni and her mother needed all the help they could get. Agatha told Toni to take as much time as she needed. Then she asked, "What about your home, Mrs Gilmour? Are you going back there?"
"No, I went over today and it's filthy. Fortunately I bought it when I was still working and council houses were cheap. Mr Pyson is hiring two women to scrub the place out. I really don't know what we'd do without him."
"Right. Toni, I'll call you later in
the day to see how you are."
Toni put her arms round Agatha and hugged her by way of farewell.
"How's about that?" asked Charles when they were outside. "Didn't know you had a maternal streak."
"Maternal be damned," snorted Agatha. "She's a good detective and I don't want to lose her."
"Looks to me as if you are going to lose her to George."
"Curse the man. Why couldn't he pick on someone older?"
"Like you?"
"Shut up! Let the moths out of your wallet for once and buy me lunch!"
Charles went off after lunch, leaving Agatha to return to the office on her own.
She found Alison waiting for her, an Alison pale-faced and fretful, who leaped up when Agatha entered, crying, "You must drop the investigation at once!"
"Why? Please sit down. You look awful. May we give you a cup of coffee?"
"No! No! Just drop it. I'll pay you anything you want. I've told the police I am taking you off the case."
"But why? Surely you'll want all this cleared up?"
Alison suddenly sank down on the sofa and burst into tears. Mrs Freedman rushed forward with a box of tissues. Agatha paced up and down feeling helpless while motherly Mrs Freedman sat beside Alison with an arm around her shoulders, saying, "There, now. Have a good cry, dear. It'll make you feel better."
Alison at last dried her eyes, gave a huge gulping sob, and said, "If you don't drop the case, Bert says he'll divorce me. He said things were bad enough before, but now you've discovered his mother was probably a murderer, they'll find it even harder to sell the house and estate."
Was that the real motive? wondered Agatha. Or had one of the family or all of them killed Phyllis and didn't want her to discover it?
"Don't you want to find out who killed Phyllis?" asked Agatha.
"Oh, I do," wailed Alison pitifully.
"Well, just go back and tell your husband that I am off the case. I'll try to find out something very quietly."
"Can't you just leave it alone? Bert says the police have all the resources you haven't, like forensics and all that."
"Forensics didn't do a very good job of finding that poisoned bottle of wine before it killed Fred Instick."
