by M C Beaton
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 bell. 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 someone’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 Hermès 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 answered 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.
‘Anywhere else?’ she asked.
‘Can’t think of anywhere. There’s the old privy out back. No one could take it down because it’s listed as being of historical importance. Imagine! An old Victorian toilet being of interest to anyone.’
‘Do you mind if we have a look?’ asked Agatha.
‘Suit yourself. It’s up at the end of the back garden. If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here. It hurts to move.’
‘What is the name of your Member of Parliament?’ asked Agatha.
‘Mr Wither. Why?’
‘Have you thought of phoning him to complain about not getting your hip replacements?’
‘I couldn’t do that!’
‘Well, I could,’ said Agatha truculently. ‘Where’s the phone book? The House isn’t sitting at the moment, so he should be at home.’
Agatha was full of surprises, thought Toni as she listened to Agatha Raisin in full bullying mode berating the Member of Parliament.
When she at last put down the phone, she grinned and said, ‘Good. That’s settled. He’s getting on to the hospital right away. I’ll phone you next week and make sure someone is doing something about it. You must remember that she who screams the loudest gets the best service.’
As Pearl stammered out her thanks, they headed out of the house and round to the weedy overgrown garden at the back.
‘Just look at that!’ said Agatha in disgust, pointing to the privy at the end of the garden. ‘It’s practically fallen down. The council will stop anyone from getting rid of the dreadful thing and yet they won’t do anything to keep it repaired.’
They stumbled through weeds and tussocks of grass. The wooden door of the privy was hanging on its hinges. Agatha jerked it open and then jumped back as the rusty hinges snapped and the door fell into the garden.
‘It was about to fall off anyway,’ she said. They peered inside. The toilet itself had been removed. Nothing but an earthen floor and a few rusting garden implements showing it had once been used as a garden shed.
‘So, now, Miss Bright Ideas,’ said Agatha, ‘do we dig up the floor?’
‘What else?’ said Toni cheerfully. ‘There’s a spade over there that looks as if it might still stand the strain.’
‘I think you’re wasting your time. I saw a garden seat among the weeds. I’m going there for a smoke. It’s all yours.’
Toni started to dig and then stopped as she heard a scream from the garden.
She ran out. Agatha had sat down on a rotting wooden garden chair which had collapsed under her, tumbling her on to the grass.
Toni helped her up, trying not to laugh.
‘Snakes and bastards,’ howled Agatha. ‘The grass is wet. Oh, get on with it, Toni, and I’ll sit on the back step at the kitchen door.’
Toni went back to digging. The earth was hard-packed. Once she got through the surface layer, the going became easier. She persevered, sweat running down her face. She stopped for a moment and looked out the door. Agatha was sitting, blowing smoke up into the grey sky, a dreamy look on her face.
Probably dreaming of a white Christmas, thought Toni and went back to work. But as her arms began to ache, she felt foolish. What a stupid, wild idea. She went out and called to Agatha that she was going to fill the hole in again. As she turned round, a shaft of sunlight cut through the clouds and shone straight into the hole in the privy. There was a small knob of something yellowish-white showing through the earth at the bottom of the hole. Heart beating hard, Toni lay down on the floor and began to scrape the earth away with her fingers. The top of what looked like a skull was gradually exposed.
Toni got slowly to her feet. Her knees were trembling.
‘Agatha!’ she called. ‘I’ve found something.’
Agatha and Toni met up several hours later in the reception area of Stoke police station. ‘Are you psychic or something?’ grumbled Agatha. ‘Got gypsy blood? How did you guess Phyllis might have killed Susan?’
‘It seemed logical,’ said Toni. ‘I mean, who else would have wanted to get rid of her?’
‘Oh, well, I suppose we’d better find somewhere to stay the night,’ said Agatha, stifling a yawn.
‘The detectives who interviewed me said we could go back home,’ said Toni. ‘Just so long as we report to Mircester tomorrow. I don’t mind driving.’
‘All right. I want to see if my cats are all right.’
As Toni drove steadily down the motorways, Agatha kept glancing over at her. This is how Samson must have felt when his hair was cut, she thought. Toni’s a terrific asset but she does make me feel old and dithering. And I am not old! Today’s fifties are yesterday’s forties, or so they say.
She wanted to assert herself by taking over the driving, but her eyelids began to droop and soon she was fast asleep.
‘Wake up. You’re home!’ Toni’s voice roused her up from the depths. Agatha rubbed her eyes.
>
‘Can’t be. I can’t have been asleep all that time.’
‘You obviously needed it,’ said Toni cheerfully. ‘If you call me a taxi, I’ll get home myself.’
Agatha was about to suggest that Toni stayed the night at her place but then realized the girl would probably like to get to her own place for a change of clothes in the morning.
‘Come inside,’ she said, ‘and I’ll phone for a cab.’
Agatha’s cats came purring up to meet her. She looked at her watch. Three in the morning! Her stomach rumbled. She wondered whether she should offer Toni any food but was suddenly desperate to get rid of her. Agatha telephoned for a taxi, told Toni it would take twenty minutes, and went upstairs to the bathroom.
She paused on the landing. The faint sounds of snoring were coming from the spare bedroom. She looked in through the open door. Charles was sprawled on his back, fast asleep.
Agatha, reluctant to go downstairs and join Toni, undressed, took a quick shower, put on a nightdress, slippers and a kimono, and then went back down to the kitchen.
Toni was fast asleep, her head on the kitchen table. Agatha made herself a cup of black coffee and lit a cigarette. The sign on the packet said, ‘You may injure others with passive smoking.’ ‘Screw you,’ muttered Agatha, but she went and opened the kitchen door.
The trouble is, she thought, I’ve always been a sort of one-woman band. I’ve always believed I was a clever detective, but I think I’ve simply been lucky and now I’ve got someone luckier than me. Then she smiled. Finding a skeleton in a toilet would not be many people’s idea of luck. But why had Toni leaped so quickly to the idea that Phyllis might have murdered Susan? I hope my mind isn’t ageing, thought Agatha. Good, there’s the taxi.
She shook Toni awake and the girl stumbled out sleepily to the cab. ‘Don’t come in until noon,’ said Agatha, ‘and then we’ll go to the police station together.’
Agatha retreated to the kitchen, took a packaged curry out of the fridge and popped it into the microwave. She stared as it went round and round until it pinged. She ate it out of the container, then shooed the cats back in from the garden, shut the door and crawled off to bed. Oh, for a good night’s sleep!
