by M C Beaton
Lucy handed her a drink and then poured herself a large brandy. "You can smoke if you like," said Lucy. "I've started again."
"Great," said Agatha, taking out a packet of cigarettes. "I just called to see how you were getting on."
"Not very well, to tell you the truth. I thought it would all be so simple. Sell up here, get out, move back to London. But the rozzers are hell-bent on making sure I had nothing to do with the murder."
Agatha took a sip of her drink. Then she asked, "Why would they think that?"
"Because I inherit. One detective had the cheek to say it was nearly always the husband or wife. Would you believe it?" Lucy nervously puffed smoke. "It was all setting down nicely and then the fools had to go and shoot Paul."
"The fools?" asked Agatha.
"Poachers. That's what I told the police. Paul's had several of the locals up in court and they don't forgive easily around here."
"Did you know Tolly was having an affair with Lizzie?" Agatha did not feel any longer that she owed Lizzie any loyalty. Besides, Lizzie had left her husband in a police car complete with suitcases, so she must have told them about the affair, or so Agatha justified it to herself.
"No, isn't that a laugh?" said Lucy bitterly. "Lizzie Findlay, of all people, and I'm expected to go on like a nun. I wondered why Tolly had given up sex with me. Now I know. I never thought he was having an affair."
"But you did," protested Agatha. "You asked me to find out."
"Oh, that. I thought he'd been with Rosie. Damn, I could just have divorced the old bastard and taken him to the cleaner's. His sister turned up at the funeral, making a scene."
"I didn't know the funeral had even taken place!"
"The police kept it quiet and so did I. As fed up with the press as they are. Crematorium in Norwich. Have another drink?"
"I haven't quite finished this one." Lucy rose and took the glass from Agatha. "I'll freshen this up. I don't like drinking alone."
"Do you think Lizzie's husband might have murdered your husband?"
Lucy handed Agatha a brimming glass and then topped up her own with more brandy.
She slumped down in her chair again. "Who cares?" she said wearily, her voice now slightly slurred. Agatha guessed that despite Lucy's protestations that she did not like to drink alone, she had been doing just that.
"But don't you want to find out who killed him?"
"I s'pose. It would mean I could get the hell out of here."
"Didn't you love your husband?"
"I thought I did. I was looking for money and security, and believe it or not, children. But Tolly can't make children, or so it turned out, and Tolly turned out to be a bore when we got down here and he decided his role in life was to be the squire of Fryfam. His name's Terence and he was Terry in London. But down here, he decided to be Tolly to fit in with all the tight- arses in the hunt and their stupid nicknames. I think that lot never grew out of the nursery."
Agatha's drink was very strong. "How long will it be before you can sell the house?"
"Oh, God, I don't know. I hope it's not too long. Christ, it takes a mint to run this place. Another week and I'm going to sell off the livestock. We've got sheep and cows. I've already rented out the shoot. Surely they can't stop me doing that."
"Fryfam's an odd little place," said Agatha. "I mean, first the fairies, .then the murders, all these passions lying just underneath the surface."
Lucy grinned. "Talking about passion, how's the delicious Charles?"
"As usual. Just a friend."
"Might try my luck there. Is he rich?"
"I believe so, but he's the sort of man who conveniently forgets his wallet when it's time to pay the bill in a restaurant."
"Then why do you put up with him?"
"Because I'm not dependent on him."
"Oh, and are you pair detecting?"
"We're trying."
"Getting anywhere?"
"I've a feeling we're nearly there. All sorts of threads being drawn together," said Agatha sententiously. The drink was strong. "I think Paul Redfern knew something and I think he was going to tell the police if he didn't get paid."
"I'd better get on," said Lucy, draining her glass and putting it down.
Agatha left the remains of her own drink and got to her feet. She realized she hadn't taken off her coat and yet had not felt too warm.
"Central heating broken down?" she asked.
"Air in the pipes or something. I'll get someone in tomorrow."
Agatha walked into the hall. "Well, goodbye, Lucy," she said.
"Just don't go around sticking your nose into things or you could get hurt," said Lucy.
Agatha paused with her hand on the doorknob. "That a threat?"
"You're the sort that sees villains under the bed. Only a friendly warning."
Agatha left and walked down the long drive. She took a deep breath of air to clear her head. She went over everything Lucy had said. There wasn't much. But had she really meant poachers when she said the fools had killed Paul? Why would a townie like Lucy think of poachers? Large-scale poachers could be violent. That much she knew from the newspapers. The sort of poachers who dynamited salmon pools. But the sort who snared rabbits, maybe caught the occasional pheasant? Hardly.
She would discuss it with Charles. She wondered whether he had found out anything.
She felt suddenly hungry. The effect of the strong drinks was wearing off.
Agatha reached her cottage at last, took out her massive door key, and put it in the lock. The door was unlocked. Charles must be home. She walked in and called out, "I'm back." She saw two packets with bolts still on the table in the hall. "I see you haven't fixed those bolts yet," she shouted. "Did you get anything out of Rosie? Was Lucy having an affair?"
Her two cats came up to her, their fur erect on their backs. She stooped down and patted them. "There, now," she crooned. "What's frightened you? Where's Charles?"
And then she felt something hard shoved into her back and a man's voice said, "Into the sitting-room, Mrs. Raisin."
Agatha twisted around. Barry Jones was standing there holding a shotgun.
She walked into the sitting-room, her frightened mind racing. Mrs. Jackson was in a chair by the fireplace. "Sit down and shut up," she said.
"You!" Agatha sat down in the chair opposite.
Barry Jones stood behind the sofa, the shotgun levelled at Agatha.
"We're waiting for your friend," said Mrs. Jackson.
"Why?" demanded Agatha through white lips.
"You'll see."
"Lucy said the fools murdered Paul. That was you and your son."
"She phoned and told us she thought you were beginning to figure it out."
Agatha looked at Barry Jones, handsome Barry Jones, although he did not look handsome at that moment, with his eyes as hard as stones.
"You can't murder me and Charles," said Agatha. "You may think you can get away with two murders. But four!"
"There won't be any evidence," said Mrs. Jackson. "You'll just disappear, then we'll pack your stuff and bury it."
Agatha had a sudden desperate desire to pee. But she would not mess herself in front of these killers. She tried to forget the peril she was in and concentrate on why they had done it.
She looked again at Barry Jones, handsome Barry Jones who didn't have the money to support a woman with expensive tastes like Lucy. Unless ...
She looked at him. "I think you were having an affair with Lucy. I think she got you to kill Tolly. Wait a bit. You, Betty Jackson, told her about that will. So she stole the Stubbs and gave it to one of you to hide. Then what? A row with Tolly? Going to change his will again and leave everything to Lizzie? Or had he found out about Lucy and Barry? Anyway, Barry here slits his throat while Lucy goes to London to get an alibi. But why then dump the Stubbs on me? If you had burnt it, say, she would have got the insurance money."
"No harm in you knowing," said Mrs. Jackson. "Lucy thought if we dumped it on
you, police attention would switch to you and Lizzie. She said it was worth it. She said she'd get enough from selling the estate."
"You think you've been very clever," said Agatha, "but you can't get away with making the pair of us disappear, as you put it. Charles is a baronet and the newspapers will have a field day. The case will go on and on. Lucy will have to wait a hell of a long time for her money, which means you will, too. And you've been silly. What made you think I knew anything?"
"Lucy phoned us and said you'd figured out Paul was blackmailing us and she said you would soon work it all out and tell the police."
Agatha heard the cats patter into the hall, heard them purring and mewing. That'll be Charles, she thought. If only I could warn him. But then the cats fell silent.
Agatha clasped her hands tightly together to stop their trembling. They were going to kill her. Was there any way she could make a dash for it?
She got to her feet. "I've got to go to the bathroom."
"Sit down!" barked Mrs. Jackson. "The only place you're going is the grave."
"You can't shoot both of us," pleaded Agatha. "The blast of the shotgun will be heard."
"Who by?" asked Barry Jones with a grin. "You're at the end of the lane. Nothing nearby except the church."
Agatha closed her eyes and prayed. Fright had made her deaf. She could only hear a roaring in her ears. Get me out of this and I'll give up smoking and I'll be a nicer person and I'll do good works. I know I haven't been very nice in the past, 0 Lord, but just get me out of this one and I'll be a saint. She suddenly knew she was going to pee herself and let out a low groan and opened her eyes. Then she blinked and stared again at the tableau in front of her.
The sitting-room was full of policemen. Barry Jones slowly dropped the shotgun onto the sofa. Detective Chief Inspector Hand stepped to the front as Jones and his mother were handcuffed.
"Where are you going, Mrs. Raisin?" he shouted as Agatha began to frantically push her way through to the door of the sitting-room.
"The bathroom!" shouted Agatha and fled up the stairs.
At two o'clock the following morning, Charles and Agatha returned from police headquarters. "So that's that," said Charles, walking into the sitting-room and beginning to put fire-lighters and logs on the fire. "I couldn't believe it. You'd left the door open. I knew something was up because the cats' fur was standing on end. I backed out and took a peek into the sitting-room. I knew Hand and the police were at the pub, and we all came round."
"Yes, you've told me all that, but you haven't told me why Rosie should tell you that she knew Lucy and Barry were having an affair, that she'd once spotted them out in the woods. Why tell you when she hadn't told the police?"
"We got friendly," said Charles, his back to Agatha as he struck a match and lit the fire.
"Pillow talk?"
"You could say that."
"You are amoral," said Agatha.
"Come on, Agatha. I sussed she must know something. You didn't think I was going to clear off for Christmas and leave you here on your own? I did it for you."
"The next thing is you'll be saying you did it for England!"
"That, too. Don't get mad at me, Aggie. Just think. The minute she told me about Barry Jones, I called on the police at the pub. Rosie was furious with me. She tried to claw my eyes out and called me a bastard."
Agatha sat down and put her hands out to the blaze. "But you weren't even going to wait to tell me first. You wanted all the glory for yourself."
"I didn't know where you were. I came back looking for you."
"I don't think I really know you, Charles."
"Who ever knows anyone?" he said lightly. "It's all solved. Just the way you told the police. So the glory is yours. Lucy worked Barry up to murdering Tolly. You're tired. Let's go to bed. You've had a bad fright."
Tired as she was, Agatha lay awake for quite a long time. James. Her mind was full of James Lacey again. He was strong man, not a lightweight philanderer like Charles, thought Agatha, forgetting that James was just as capable of philandering as Charles. She could see James in her mind's eye-his strong face, his bright blue eyes, his tall rangy figure, his thick black hair going grey at the sides. She was suddenly desperate to get back to Carsely, to get him out of the clutches of the mysterious Mrs. Sheppard.
She was awakened at nine o'clock the following morning by Charles, shouting to her that a police car had arrived to take them to headquarters to make more statements. She hurriedly washed and dressed and went downstairs to join him, grumbling, "I feel I talked to them all of last night."
Agatha was interviewed by Chief Detective Inspector Hand. He took her all through the events of the previous day again. Then he said, "You are lucky Sir Charles had the good sense to contact us. You put yourself at grave risk by keeping information to yourself."
"I didn't know anything!" howled Agatha. "How could I tell you when I didn't know?"
"You nearly got killed because you told Mrs. TrumpingtonJames that you thought Paul Redfern was a blackmailer, which happened to be the truth."
"It only just occurred to me," said Agatha huffily. "How could I tell you anything when it only had just occurred to me?"
"Remember in the future to keep your nose out of police business."
"If we had kept our noses out of police business," snapped Agatha, "then you would still be looking for a murderer. If you want any more damn statements, you'll find me in Carsely. I'm going home."
Agatha was still raging when she was joined by Charles. "Never mind," he said, seeing her furious face. "I had a rotten time of it as well. You would think they might at least have been grateful. Let's get something to eat and then go and see Lizzie."
"Why the hell should we see Lizzie?"
"Come on, Aggie, it would be a nice thing to do."
Agatha bitched and grumbled her way through lunch about the iniquities of the ungrateful police.
Then, after lunch, as they were approaching Lizzie's flat, Agatha saw Mrs. Tite, the woman she had given twenty pounds to during her fictitious market-research survey into coffee. "Coming to see me again?" asked Mrs. Tite.
"I was actually going to call on Mrs. Findlay."
"Oh, nice little Mrs. Findlay has left."
"Do you know where she's gone?"
"She said something about going to relatives in the country."
They thanked her and walked away.
"I bet she's gone home," said Charles suddenly.
"Why on earth should she?"
"I always thought she would."
"But she'd escaped. A new life."
"She's been in chains too long," said Charles. "It's the Stockholm syndrome. The hostage gets to love the hostage taker."
"You think you're so right about everything. I bet you a fiver she hasn't gone anywhere near the captain."
"You're on.,,
Sure enough, at Breakham, Lizzie answered the door to them. She was wearing an apron and there was a dab of flour on one cheek. "Come into the kitchen," she said. "I'm baking for the church sale."
"Where's the captain?" asked Agatha nervously.
"Oh, somewhere round the farm."
"Why on earth did you return to him?" asked Agatha.
Lizzie bent down and took a tray of little sponge cakes out of the oven. "I knew Tommy couldn't do without me." She was wearing a pair of bright blue contact lenses and her hair was done in a soft, pretty style. "It's done him the world of good."
"So you're not going to sell the Stubbs and leave?"
"Oh, no. We're going to sell the Stubbs, yes, but the roof needs repairing and then maybe we'll go on a cruise. Do you want coffee or something? Although I'm actually very busy."
Outside, Agatha took out a five-pound note and handed it to Charles. "I still don't believe it," she said.
"They'll never go on that cruise, you know," said Charles. "He'll gradually get control of her again and there won't be a next time for Lizzie."
"Serves her right," said
Agatha. "I never liked her anyway."
In Fryfam, Agatha called the estate agent and said she would be leaving in the morning and that she wanted her deposit and the remainder of the rent refunded. Mr. Bryman said the deposit could be refunded but not the remainder of the rent. But by the time Agatha, glad to vent her spleen on someone, had told him what she thought of Fryfam and its murders and that she would take him to the small-claims court, he caved in and said he would send her a cheque.
Agatha was still cross with Charles. She felt the fact that he'd taken Rosie to bed diminished her own night with him. She thought constantly of James.
That evening, Charles was asleep in front of the dying fire. Agatha decided to go down to the garden shed to get more logs.
She went into the frosty back garden. Then she stood and stared. Little multi-coloured lights were dancing around at the bottom of the garden. She thought she could hear faint laughter, which seemed to be half inside and half outside her head.
She went back inside and phoned Harriet. "Those Jackson children are up to their tricks again," she complained. "Shining lights at the bottom of my garden."
"It can't be them," said Harriet. "The children have been taken off to Mrs. Jackson's sister in Kent. Must be the fairies. I say, what do you think about Lucy being guilty after all?"
But Agatha answered automatically. She could somehow still hear that strange elfin laughter.
When she finally replaced the receiver and looked down the garden, there was nothing there.
But Agatha Raisin found she was too frightened to get any logs. She left Charles asleep in front of the dying fire and went to bed.
NINE
THE next day, Agatha could not bear to tell Charles about the strange lights. He would just say, if it hadn't been the Jackson children it might have been some angry villager. Agatha remembered a woman chief constable saying that a murder left everyone scarred.
And sure enough, as she was packing, the phone began to ring. Angry anonymous voices with strong local accents accused her of being an interfering busybody who had probably done the murder herself. After the third, she unplugged the phone from the wall.
Charles came downstairs, carrying his suitcases. "People ringing to congratulate us?"
