by M C Beaton
“Yes, but then Pa turned up and all I wanted to do was get away from him.”
“What about your mother?”
“Dead.”
“Oh, sorry. But before the questions, don’t you want to go home and pack some things?”
“And get shouted at? I’ll wash out my smalls tonight. What do you want to know?”
“Why did no one hear him screaming?”
“Well, there’s always a lot of noise.”
“Was he allowed to take a break when he felt like it?” asked Charles.
“He was one of the few independent craftsmen. He could do chairs that looked like Chippendale or Sheraton. Great favourite with the new rich. He could make his own hours just so long as he delivered the finished product on time.”
“When you picked up the head, was the blood wet or tacky?” asked Agatha.
“The police asked me that. It must have been sort of sticky. I got the stuff on my hands. That’s why I thought at first it was a joke until I saw the rest of the body.”
“Did anyone see him at all today? I mean, when we asked, you said he was in his cubbyhole. How did you know?”
“One of his clients came in early and asked to see him. Toby led the man into his office.”
“But how did you know he was still there?” pursued Agatha.
“Because one of the fellows going out for lunch said, ‘Toby stays in that hole of his all day. When does he work?’”
“I said he had keys to the place and sometimes worked all night.”
Agatha stared at him for a long moment. Then she said slowly, “When each chair was finished, was it then sent to an upholsterer?”
“No, Toby did that as well after the client had chosen the right sort of cloth, usually Regency stripes or something dead unimaginative like that.”
“Drugs!” exclaimed Agatha.
“In the chairs?” said Charles. “If the man was peddling drugs, he could carry them easier in his pocket.”
“A lot of drugs,” said Agatha stubbornly.
“Forget it. I’m tired.” Charles stifled a yawn.
But Agatha’s eyes were gleaming. “You don’t have any keys to the warehouse, Jake?”
“Oh, lor’, yes. I forgot to give them back. But if you’re thinking of going there, the police will be all over the place.”
“They’ll have gone by now,” said Agatha.
“But there’ll be police tape on the doors.”
“Not all of the doors! Is there one at the back?”
“Yes, but…”
“Let’s go,” said Agatha excitedly.
“If were given to sulk, I would sulk,” said Charles bitterly. “Oh, I suppose I’d better join you, if only to watch you making a fool of yourself.”
They stopped the taxi a good bit away from the premises and then Jake led them to the back of the property by a circuitous route. He fished in his briefcase and brought out a ring of keys.
“Switch on the lights,” said Agatha.
“That’ll bring the police!” exclaimed Jake.
“If we walk about flashing torches, someone’s more likely to get suspicious,” said Agatha. “If they see all the lights blazing, they’ll think it has something to do with the work.”
“What! With police tape on the front door?” said Charles.
“I didn’t see any police tape,” snarled Agatha. She flicked a torch round the walls, located a bank of light switches and turned several on.
“Is there any point in telling you that the front of the building is probably taped off?” said Charles.
Agatha ignored him. “Lead the way, Jake. I don’t want to muck up the crime scene. If Toby had any chairs ready for delivery, where would they be?”
“Through that door on the left. That leads to the storeroom. Beyond that is the garage. If he’s got any stuff, it’ll be easy to find. He’s got his own label. Become quite famous has Toby.”
“Oh, Aggie,” said Charles. “Let’s get to bed. If he had become a famous furniture maker, then it stands to reason he wouldn’t need more money out of anything illegal.”
But Agatha opened the door to the storeroom and switched on the overhead fluorescent lights.
“The last commission he had was for a set of dining chairs for the Malimbian Embassy,” said Jake. “I suppose those crates in the corner are the chairs. They’ve got Toby’s name on them.”
“Okay, Jake,” said Agatha. “There’s a crowbar. Open up one of them.”
Charles waited for Jake to protest, but Jake was in the grip of a new freedom offered by this odd woman who had offered him accommodation and a job. He no longer had to fear his father. He cheerfully seized the crowbar and prised open a side of the crate. Four chairs were wrapped and stacked.
“Lift out one of the chairs and slit open the upholstery,” said Agatha.
“You’re not wearing gloves. Your fingerprints will be all over the place, and you will be charged with wanton vandalism,” said Charles.
“There’s no need to slit the upholstery at the top. Maybe we can get in through the bottom,” said Jake. “I’ll fetch some carpentry tools.”
“Good lad. Go to it.”
When Jake returned, he made a little opening and poked and prodded with a chisel, but there seemed to be nothing but stuffing.
Agatha saw the cynical, amused look on Charles’s face and suddenly realised the enormity of what she had encouraged Jake to do.
“Wrap it up again,” she urged. “And then we’d better wipe our fingerprints off.”
“That’s odd,” said Jake.
“What’s odd?” demanded Agatha. “Oh, hurry up. I must have been mad.”
“The balance,” said Jake. “It seems as if one leg’s heavier than the other. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.” And as Agatha and Charles wailed, “Noooooo!” Jake seized a saw and began to saw the leg off. The leg of the chair fell to the floor, and out of it rolled what looked like gravel.
“There you are,” said Agatha. “It’s only some stuff to add weight.”
Charles knelt down and picked up what looked like a grey pebble. “Uncut diamonds,” he said.
“Police!” shouted a voice from the doorway.
A uniformed policeman strode in followed by a short, burly looking man with a red face.
“Oh, God!” said Agatha.
“Worse than God,” said Jake. “It’s Pa.”
“It’s alright officer,” said Mr. Lisle. “That’s my son. He’s not right in the head. Don’t phone it in. No charges.”
“You’d better phone it in, officer,” said Jake triumphantly. “We’ve found uncut diamonds in the leg of this chair.”
Charles took out his phone. “I’m calling my lawyer,” he said.
Agatha had suffered long interviews with the police before, but this latest round of grillings left her close to exhausted tears. First there was the local police and detectives. Then came detectives from Scotland Yard, followed later by Special Branch and after them, three quiet men in well-tailored suits and with hard eyes.
“I am not a racist!” Agatha had howled at one time. How could she explain this odd intuition of hers? They assumed, because it was an African Embassy, she had suspected villainy. While the long interrogations went on, they were moved to Paddington Green station and allowed only a few hours’ sleep.
After two days and with warnings not to leave the country, they were let out and allowed to go home.
It was a brisk cold sunny day as the three of them stood like owls on the steps of Paddington Green station, blinking in the sunlight, having said goodbye to their respective lawyers.
They were just about to hail a taxi when a limousine drove up. “Pa,” said Jake.
“My boy,” said Mr. Lisle, bounding up the steps, “I have secured a place for you at Sandhurst.”
“I’ve got a job,” said Jake. “Honest. I’d make a lousy soldier. This lady has hired me as a detective.”
Agatha supressed a groan. She ha
d planned to find employment like gardening for Jake until he found something in line with his mental abilities like, maybe, construction work.
“Then she’s as big a fool as you are. May you rot. I’ll send your stuff on.” He glared at Agatha. “What’s your address?”
Had Agatha not been so exhausted, she would have yelled at Mr. Lisle and then told him to take his son away. But she only wanted to get to bed, and Jake was looking at her like a whipped puppy.
She handed over her card and said mildly, “Shove off. Taxi!”
The three dived into a cab with the raging voice to Jake’s father ringing in their ears. “Let’s get back to the hotel and pay the bill and get home,” said Agatha. “Oh, my cats! They wouldn’t let me phone Doris.” Doris Simpson, Agatha’s cleaner, often looked after the cats while Agatha was away. “I’ll phone her now and say I’ll be home as soon as possible.”
“Agatha!” protested Charles. “Not one of us is fit to drive.”
“I am,” said Jake.
Charles grinned. “Doesn’t the boy make you feel old, Aggie?”
But Agatha was busy phoning Doris.
Back at last in Carsely, all of them feeling grubby and exhausted. Charles collected his own car and left for his home. Agatha wearily showed Jake the spare room but said she would use the bathroom first. When she finally emerged, clean and ready for bed, she went into the spare bedroom to tell Jake he could use the bathroom, but he was fast asleep, sprawled across the top of the bed. She decided to leave him as he was.
Agatha awoke late. She squinted at the clock. It was after ten. She struggled into her clothes and went downstairs to a welcome from her cats and the smell of fresh coffee.
Doris Simpson, her cleaner, was working in the kitchen. “Sit down, love,” said Doris, “and I’ll get you a mug of coffee. You’re in the newspapers. I bought them all at the shop. They’re on the table.”
“What are they saying?” asked Agatha.
“Just that you and Sir Charles had been taken to Paddington Green for enquiries.”
“Oh, snakes and bastards. That’s where they take terrorists. Doris, I’ve got a young man upstairs.”
“Well, you know me, Agatha. I never was a one to judge. They say these here winter summer…”
“I am not having an affair,” howled Agatha. “But he’s going to work for me, and he needs clothes. Could you be an angel and go to Marks in Mircester and see if you can buy him stuff to be going on with? I’ll give you plenty of money, and take enough as well to pay for your time … and petrol, of course.”
Doris took down Agatha’s little used sewing basket from a cupboard and fished out a measuring tape. “I’ll best measure the lad.”
Because of all the dramas he had been through, when Jake awoke to find a white-haired lady measuring him, his first mad idea was that he was being sized up for a coffin, and jumped out of bed with a yell.
Doris rapidly explained things. She opened a wardrobe and handed Jake one of Charles’s dressing gowns and suggested he wash, and leave all his dirty clothes on the bed so that she could put them in the washing machine.
When Jake finally erupted into the kitchen, all shining-morning-face, Agatha winced and felt her age.
“So when do we get started?” he asked eagerly.
“First,” said Agatha, “we find you a flat, and then I’ll think up some work to keep you going until you find a proper job.”
He looked almost ludicrous in his dismay. “But I thought I was going to be a detective!”
“But you have no training. And you can’t be a detective until you get a certificate.”
“You could take me on as a trainee,” pleaded Jake.
The phone rang. “Answer that, Jake,” said Agatha. “If it’s the press, I’ll talk to them later. Oh, and if it is someone called Roy Silver, I am out detecting.”
It was Roy Silver. “He always wants to come and visit when he thinks there is a chance of getting some publicity for himself,” explained Agatha. “I’m very fond of him, but if he wants to come this week-end, I don’t feel up to it. Tell him I’m up in London somewhere.” Jake conveyed the message.
The doorbell shrilled. “I’ll get it,” said Jake.
A tall, handsome man stood on the doorstep. “Who are you?” he demanded sharply.
“I’m Agatha’s latest…”
He had been about to say, “detective,” but the angry man made a sound of disgust and strode off.
“Who was it?” asked Agatha.
“Big chap. Asked who I was. I started to say I was your latest detective, but I only got as far as latest when he stormed off.”
“Oh, dear. I’ve a feeling that was my ex. He lives next door. We’ll wait here until Doris comes back with clothes for you. You can pay me back when you get work. I’ll need to buy you a cheap car.”
In the early evening, Agatha introduced Jake to her staff, who always reported back before going their separate ways. “He is a trainee,” said Agatha. “He can start off by going out with one of you and observing how it’s done. Simon, you’ve got that supermarket job. Take Jake with you tomorrow.”
Simon noticed the way that Jake kept looking at Toni. Although he had persuaded himself he was no longer interested in Toni, he didn’t want to see anyone else snatching her away.
“What do we have to do?” asked Jake.
“We keep an eye out for shoplifters.”
“But supermarkets usually have a security guard,” said Jake.
“This one has. But he’s an ex-copper and due to retire in a couple of days’ time, and they don’t want to spoil his leave-taking by accusing him of incompetence. He’s been very good up until recently when his sight began to fail.”
Agatha had been busy that day. She had found Jake a studio flat near the office and had bought him a cheap secondhand car. She brushed aside his thanks, saying that he could pay her off when he found a proper job. She was glad to say goodnight to him. Agatha did not want to be seen around with a handsome young man. She had a cynical feeling that people would not think Jake her toy boy, but more likely, her son. The company of youth, thought Agatha sadly, can be very lowering, bringing on feeling of “been there, done that, felt that, yawn.”
Jake said he would brave a confrontation with his father in order to get his clothes and things from home.
When Agatha returned, she found both James and Charles waiting for her. “Oh, feel free to use my house any time you just want to walk in,” snarled Agatha. “Get me a drink, and then tell me why you are both here.”
Charles fixed her a gin and tonic, and then sat down next to her on the sofa while James stood in front of the fireplace and looked solemnly at her.
“It never works out, you know,” said James.
Agatha glared at Charles. “Didn’t you tell him that I have no interest either maternal or sexual in that young man?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Charles. “You are always making a fool of yourself over one man or another. Why not this one?”
“Don’t be so stupid!” raged Agatha. “He found those diamonds. Maybe there is some connection to Peta. I couldn’t just abandon him. He wants to be a detective, so he’s working as a trainee. Simon can look after him. I’ve got to go back to London to see that other man, Peter Welling.”
“Oh, hell,” said Charles. “I suppose I had better go with you. But haven’t you noticed how very good-looking young Jake is? And didn’t you have enough of good-looking men recently when one tried to murder you? Wonder what Toni will make of him.”
“I would go with you,” said James, “but I have a plane to catch in the morning. Don’t do anything stupid, Agatha.”
“Of course she will,” said Charles cheerfully. “She’s not going to change to suit you!”
In the morning, before she left for London with Charles, Agatha took a good look at young Jake. He had thick curly black hair, large hazel eyes fringed with thick sooty lashes, a square handsome face and a strong body with very long
legs. Agatha noticed Jake had said something to make Toni laugh, and Simon was looking like thunder. Although Simon was still pursuing Alice, he did not want anyone to succeed with Toni where he had failed. Bill Wong had found a flat in the same block as Alice, and that was making Simon’s pursuit of her even more difficult.
The supermarket was within walking distance. As Simon and Jake strolled along, Jake asked, “Has the beautiful Toni got a fellow?”
“No,” said Simon, deciding to lie. “She’s a lesbian.”
“What a waste,” said Jake. “What about Agatha?”
“Come on. She’s old enough to be your granny.”
“Maybe. Very sexy. Have you noticed her legs?”
“Oh, shut up. We’ve got work to do.”
Peter Welling turned out to live in a pretty white stuccoed house in Kensington. “Mistress area,” commented Charles. “Back in early Victorian times, they put the other woman out here. Far enough from London then to be discreet.”
Agatha suddenly had a weak hope that Peter would turn out to have left this address or gone abroad or anything to stop her for having to conduct another interview. It was all too complicated. If she had been paid to investigate Peta’s murder, that would have been straightforward. But there was the case of Lord Bellington and then Mrs. Bull. Was Mrs. Bull alive? Had she been able to identify her attacker? If that were the case, then her case and the case of Lord Bellington could both have been solved. She stood with her hand on the garden gate and with her mouth open.
“Are you going to stand there in la-la land?” demanded Charles.
Agatha gave herself a mental shake. “Remind me again why I am wasting time on Peta’s murder.”
“Because you felt there was a connection.”
“Oh, right. You know, Charles. I’m suddenly weary. I want a fire and … and muffins, and slippers, and…”
“You want escape. Don’t we all,” said Charles. “Let’s get on with nasty reality.”
He rang the bell beside the black lacquered door. An old wisteria, devoid of its leaves, surrounded the door like withered, clutching hands.
The door was opened by a maid, a tall figure in black dress, white cap and white apron.
