Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye

by M C Beaton

  ‘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 bastards! 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 good-looking 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-on-the-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.’

  There was a long silence and then Alison said reluctantly, ‘All right. But it means you can’t go near the manor.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to rely on you to keep me informed,’ said Agatha. ‘Will you do that?’

  ‘Very well.’

  When Alison left, Agatha went to the window and looked down. Bert was waiting on the other side of the road for her. Agatha could see Alison talking rapidly and then Bert smiled, patted her back and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘I’ll find out who murdered that damn woman if it’s the last thing I do,’ muttered Agatha.

  But she was too busy in the following days, filling in for Phil whom she had ordered to take more rest, and for Toni who was not expected back at work until the following week. Charles had disappeared again and so Agatha was glad of Roy Silver’s company when that young man arrived for the weekend. She had forgotten what a good listener he was. On Saturday morning at the breakfast table, she told him all about the case from beginning to end and it was over an hour before she had finished.

  He had listened carefully and then brightened when she told him about the visit to the retired psychiatrist. ‘Ooh! I would like to see him,’ said Roy. ‘He might find me a fascinating subject.’

  ‘And he might die of boredom.’

  ‘Claws in, Aggie.’

  ‘Don’t call me Aggie!’

  ‘So are we sleuthing this weekend?’

  ‘Actually I thought I’d make some plans for my Christmas dinner.’

  ‘Don’t talk about Christmas,’ complained Roy. ‘I hate the whole business. Crowded shops. Sound of Music and Miracle on 34th Street, all running for the umpteenth time. People get so cross and worried and spend too much money and begin to hate their families. Some relatives always disgrace themselves by getting drunk.’

  ‘Roy, my Christmas is going to be one you’ll never forget.’

  ‘I haven’t quite forgotten the last one. Do you remember when you incinerated the Christmas pudding and lost your eyebrows?’

  ‘I have learned from my mistakes. Alison has begged me to drop the case. I can’t go near the manor.’

  ‘That Toni’s an awfully pretty girl,’ said Roy. ‘She looked lovely on television. Wouldn’t surprise me if some television people didn’t snatch her up.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ said Agatha.

  ‘You’ve got all these suspects,’ said Roy. ‘In fact, it’s beginning to look like the local phone directory. You’ve told me all about them and which one could have maybe murdered Phyllis, but you’ve left one out.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘George Pyson.’

  ‘He’s only the factor,’ said Agatha. ‘He had only been working for her for four years. Why should he, of all people, want to kill her?’

  ‘He runs the estate. He does the books. He could have been creaming off money and Phyllis could have found out and threatened to go to the police.’

  ‘So why was the gardener poisoned?’

  ‘To cover up his first crime.’

  ‘No. The gardener was killed after he put his head round the drawing-room door and told them he knew which one of them had done it. Not one of them had time to doctor that bottle of wine. Now I come to think of it, it may point to someone outside the family who didn’t know that none of them liked the wine. Mind you, I don’t really want to think of that because it woul
d mean that all of them are at risk. It could have been one of those awful villagers. They’re in a time warp. They believe in witchcraft and probably know an awful lot about poisonous plants. I’d like to go back to that village, but I doubt if any one of them would speak to us.

  ‘Then there are those two sisters from the village who helped at lunch. Maybe they did it. But why should they? With Phyllis gone and the family planning to sell, they’d risk losing their cheap rent. I wish I could take another look round Phyllis’s bedroom.’

  ‘I’m sure the police turned it over thoroughly.’

  ‘Maybe not. I’ll phone Alison and ask if there’s any hope that the lot of them could all be out of the place sometime.’

  Agatha came back from phoning. ‘What luck! I phoned Alison on her mobile and she said they were all at Sir Henry’s to get away from the press. She says Jill, the groom, will let us in. This letter’s just arrived. The address on the back says it’s from that psychiatrist.’

  ‘Do open it,’ begged Roy. ‘Maybe he’ll have solved the murder for us.’

  Agatha opened the envelope and began to read. Roy waited impatiently. At last he said, ‘Well, come on. What does he say?’

  ‘Load of bollocks.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘The sum total is that he believes Phyllis was a megalomaniac and poisoned herself in order to get revenge on the children she never really wanted to have.’

  ‘Isn’t that possible?’

  ‘When the poison began to take effect she looked startled and worried.’

  ‘But she was found clutching that hemlock root, wasn’t she?’

  ‘She was wearing a dress with pockets. She might have popped the root in one of the pockets after making up the salads. She might have taken the root out of her pocket before she became totally paralysed to give us a clue. And why did she think she was going to be murdered, and by one of her family?’

  ‘Aggie, the man’s an expert. Why don’t you just take his word for it?’

  ‘I’m going to investigate further. Wait! I’ve got to phone Alison again.’

  Alison answered, saying in an urgent whisper, ‘You’ve got to stop phoning me. Wait. I’ll go into the other room. Now, what is it?’