by M C Beaton
I’m the boss, thought Agatha jealously. It should be my press conference.
But as she was about to push forward, Wilkes tapped her on the shoulder. “We’re ready for you now, Mrs. Raisin.”
Agatha sat gloomily over the newspapers the next morning, reflecting sourly that Toni photographed like a dream with the sunlight glinting on her fair hair and her wide blue eyes and slim figure.
She switched on the television. There was a late bulletin to say that Trixie Chance, wife of the vicar of Saint Odo The Severe, had been charged with two counts of manslaughter and two counts of attempted murder and with possession of an illegal substance.
Agatha began to resent Toni. That girl kept getting all the glory. She wondered whether it might be an idea to set Toni up in her own agency. Then let’s see how she fared without the genius of Agatha Raisin to help her. Her own agency was doing well. She could certainly afford to fund Toni until the girl got on her feet, and if she didn’t, she could write it off as a tax loss.
Fired up with this new idea, Agatha phoned Toni and told her to make herself free for a business lunch at one o’clock in the George, a pub opposite police headquarters
Toni expected Agatha to be sour over the press coverage and was relieved to see a beaming Agatha waiting for her in the restaurant. Agatha had not been in the office that morning.
“Sit down,” said Agatha. “We’ll order our food and drinks first. The steak and kidney pudding here is very good and I feel like some comfort food.”
“I’m sorry about taking the limelight in the press coverage,” said Toni.
Agatha waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all good for the agency. I have a plan for you.”
“Like what?” asked Toni nervously.
“Wait till we get our food. What are you drinking?”
“Mineral water will do fine,” said Toni, “and the steak and kidney pudding.”
When Agatha returned from the bar after placing their order, Toni said, “Why did she do it?”
“Who? What?”
“Trixie. I mean, she had a respectable life. Why did she put acid in the jam?”
“Because she’s mad.”
“Even mad people have a reason.”
Agatha took out her phone and called Patrick. “Patrick,” she said, “did any of your police contacts give you any reason why Trixie did what she did?”
Toni could hear the tinny sound of Patrick’s reply but not the words.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Agatha. “See you later.”
She turned to Toni. “You’re not going to believe this. Evidently Trixie said she did it because she was bored and wanted to liven the village up a bit.”
“Awful woman,” said Toni with a shudder. “Mind you, if she hadn’t come after us, she might just have got away with it.”
Their food arrived. Toni waited impatiently until Agatha had taken a few mouthfuls of food and then asked, “What’s this idea?”
“I’m going to set you up in your own detective agency,” said Agatha.
“But I don’t know how to run a business!”
“You’ll learn. You’re bright. Employ a secretary and two young people like yourself. No old detectives. We’ll call it the Spring Detective Agency. You know—spring—youth.”
“What about the Gilmour Detective Agency?”
“No, I don’t think so. Start thinking about who you would recruit and I’ll look around for premises.”
Toni knew in that moment that Agatha resented the press coverage she had got. She reflected that it’s a sad business to find out the rock you’ve been leaning on for support has a great crack down the middle.
“Think about it,” said Agatha, feeling obscurely ashamed of herself. “If you don’t want to do it, don’t bother.”
Toni was pretty sure that she would turn down Agatha’s offer. But something was to happen which changed her mind.
Chapter Eleven
TONI WAS SITTING that evening with her friend Sharon when the phone rang. It was Harry.
“I just wondered how you were getting on,” he said.
“I’m fine,” said Toni, and then, in a rush, she went on, “I’m not really. Agatha wants to set me up in my own detective agency and I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know anything about running a business.”
“I wonder why she’s doing that,” said Harry. “I tell you what, I’ll take a year off from university and help you set up. I’m bored with Cambridge and I miss the detective work.”
“No ties?” asked Toni anxiously.
“No, no. Strictly business. It would be exciting.”
Toni felt a wave of relief. “If you’re free, drop round and we’ll talk about it.”
“Be with you in minutes.”
“Who was that?” asked Sharon.
“Harry.”
“Not the fellow who wants you to read them Frenchies and go to crap opera?”
“Yes, but he says it’s strictly business and I do need the help. He’s coming round.”
“Great. I’m dying to see what this wannabe professor looks like.”
Harry arrived so quickly that Toni wondered if he had been lurking at the corner of her street.
Sharon eyed him with surprise. Harry, who had once worn a nose stud and shaved his head, now had a crop of wavy brown hair above a square handsome face. He was dressed smart-casual. Toni introduced them.
“Let’s get started,” said Harry. “Is Agatha hiring the staff for you?”
“No, she wants me to hire young people.”
“Does she want you to fail?” asked Harry. “I mean, a retired copper like Patrick is a boon.”
“Why would she want me to fail?”
“Well, not fail. I’ve seen you on television. You have been taking the limelight away from her.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” said Toni.
“Oh, go for it. What about a name?”
“She wants me to call it Spring, as in youth.”
“We can’t have that. What about Gilmour Detective Agency?”
“I suggested that and she turned it down.”
“She is jealous. Let me think.”
“Why not just call it The Detective Agency?” said Sharon.
“Oh, I like that,” said Harry. “She’ll go for it because it sounds modest at first. When we get set up, we’ll put the The in italics. Now, we need a secretary.”
“I could do that,” said Sharon. “I’m good on computers.”
“You’ve got the job,” said Toni quickly because Harry was looking doubtfully at the appearance Sharon made that evening. She had dyed her masses of hair blonde with aubergine streaks, and her plump figure was encased in tight jeans torn at the knee and a pink sequinned crop top showing a bulge of fake-tanned midriff.
“What about Betty Talent?” asked Sharon. “You know, Miss Iron Knickers, the school swot. Ever so clever she was.”
“She’s probably at university,” said Toni.
“No, she went abroad for a gap year and got some sort of tropical bug. She’s been recovering. I’ve got her number.”
“Why? You were always jeering at her,” said Toni.
“When I heard she was ill, I felt sorry for her,” said Sharon. “I was sure nobody would go to see her, so I took her a box of chocolates. She’s pretty nice when you get to know her.”
“Everyone, including me, will need to be on trial,” said Harry. “You’d better warn her. She may not want the job.”
“I’ll phone her.” Sharon retreated to a corner of the room.
“Look,” said Toni. “Agatha’s paying for all this, so she’ll probably want a say in what we call the agency.”
“I’ll fund it,” said Harry. “An uncle of mine died recently and left me a lot of money. You make it pay and I’ll get my money back.”
Charles, who had turned up unexpectedly, was sitting at the moment with Agatha in the village pub, the Red Lion, listening as Agatha tried to justify setting T
oni up in her own detective agency.
He waited until she had finished and then said carefully, “You’re hoping it’ll keep her out of the limelight.”
“How dare you! I’m not petty.”
“Just jealous.”
“Well, if this is going to be the general reaction,” said Agatha huffily, “I’ll cancel the whole idea.” Agatha reflected that the only person these days who seemed to be pleased with her was old Mrs. Brother, whom she had phoned earlier to give her a full report of the arrest of Trixie. Her phone rang. “Yes, Toni,” Charles heard her say and then watched with amusement the growing dismay on Agatha’s face. Then he heard her say, “And you’re going to do the whole thing yourself? Find premises? If I’m going to pay for this, I should at least have a say … What? Harry is going to fund it? My Harry? Harry Beam? Oh, well, if that’s the way you feel. Good luck.”
She rang off and stared at the table, looking moodily at the cigarette burns and remembering the glory days when she could light a cigarette.
“So Harry Beam is going to run the show?” asked Charles.
“Yes, it’s a good idea,” said Agatha, struggling to be fair. “I’m sure they’ll make a go of it.”
“You know, Aggie, if she’d been a failure, you’d have hated yourself. Let it go. What ever happened to that drug pusher, Zak somebody?”
“The police got him.”
“I heard he got out on bail.”
“Oh, God. He said he would break my legs.”
Betty Talent seemed a quiet, dowdy girl. She had no-colour hair scraped back from a small neat face. She was very thin. Her one beauty was her eyes, which were very large and brown flecked with green. She was wearing a long jacket over a straight skirt, a white blouse buttoned up to the neck, and flat shoes.
But when it came to costing what they would need to set up the business, Betty turned out to be a genius. As she crunched the numbers, her eyes began to glow with enthusiasm.
“This is great,” said Harry. “When we get some money in, we’ll start to buy surveillance equipment. I think we should start off with just us—that’s Toni Gilmour as boss, me, Harry Beam, Sharon … ?”
“Gold.”
“Sharon Gold and Betty Talent.”
“I’ve got a bottle of champagne a local newspaper gave me,” said Toni. “Let’s drink a toast to The Detective Agency.”
When she came back with the bottle and glasses, Betty said, “You said you would fund this, Harry. Will you have to get the money from your father?”
“No, an uncle of mine died and left me a lot. No worries.”
On the Saturday morning Agatha received a visit from Mrs. Bloxby. “I wondered if you would like to come with me to Comfrey Magna,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “I feel poor Mr. Chance could do with some consolation.”
“He’ll hate me,” said Agatha. “I’m the one who got his wife banged up.”
“I think it would help if you could explain to him what actually happened. If he still believes his wife innocent, he could be in great pain.”
Curiosity got the better of Agatha. “Right, I’ll go.”
There was a faint mist curling around the boles of the trees and coloured leaves sailed lazily down onto the road. As she drove the now-familiar road to Comfrey Magna, Agatha wondered what to wear for James’s engagement party. Then she thought of hair extensions. Trixie had looked good with them. But not blonde, thought Agatha. I tried blonde once and it didn’t work. I wonder what his fiancee looks like. Please, God, let her look like a bag.
Agatha parked in front of the church. As they walked across the graveyard, she remembered the first time she had seen George. What a terrible mistake it had been to fall for good looks. “I’m sorry I wasn’t much help to you in finding out about Mrs. Chance’s background,” said Mrs. Bloxby, “but I did try.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” said Agatha. “I wonder if George is still around.”
“No. That bit of news I did hear. He married Miss Corrie and they have gone to Cornwall on their honeymoon.”
“Good luck to her.” Agatha rang the bell.
To her surprise, the door was answered by Phyllis Tolling. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “What do you want?”
“We have called to see Mr. Chance.”
“It’s hardly a good time. The poor man is still in shock.”
Then Agatha heard Arthur’s voice raised in song.
“When he thinks that he is past love,
That is when he meets his last love,
And he loves her like he never loved before.”
A smile crossed Phyllis’s face. “Come in,” she said.
Arthur was in the living room, surrounded by packing cases. “Hullo!” he hailed them. “Just packing away Trixie’s things. I don’t think she’ll be needing them for a long time. Tea?”
“That would be nice,” said Mrs. Bloxby.
“I’ll get it, darling,” said Phyllis.
“Oh, you are good.” Arthur blew her a kiss.
Agatha decided that Arthur did not need any consoling words, so instead she asked, “I often wondered how you met Trixie.”
“It was just after my second wife died,” said the vicar.
Mrs. Bloxby looked at him nervously. “What did your wives die of?”
Arthur roared with laughter. “Frightened I bumped them off? No, Jane, the first had cancer and Cressida, the second, had a stroke, poor thing. I was holidaying in Brighton and I met Trixie by chance in the hotel lounge. She told me she was just divorced and began to cry. One thing led to another and we got married. Oh, tea. Splendid, splendid.”
“I’ll be through in the bedroom,” said Phyllis, putting down the tray. “I’ll go on packing up the clothes.”
“Good girl. What would I do without you?”
While they drank their tea, Mrs. Bloxby gently turned the conversation to general parish matters until they got up to leave.
“What did you think of that?” asked Agatha eagerly as they drove off.
“I think that Mr. Chance is a very lustful man.”
“A what?”
“Yes, one cannot always go by appearances.”
After Agatha had dropped Mrs. Bloxby off at the vicarage and had gone to her cottage, she found she was plagued with uneasiness.
She began to dread the thought of announcing to the others that Toni was going to start her own agency. They would think she was a jealous, petty woman.
“I think I am,” said Agatha gloomily to her cats. She phoned Toni. “Perhaps this new agency business is not such a good idea,” said Agatha. “Perhaps you should work for me for a few more years and—”
“But it’s a brilliant idea,” cried Toni. “We’ll be ready to start in several weeks.”
“What about Harry? Are you sure he doesn’t have an ulterior motive?”
“Oh, no. He’s as excited as I am. I don’t know how to thank you. If it’s as successful as I hope it will be, I can pay you back all the money you spent on me.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Agatha. “Good luck.”
She rang off and glared balefully at her cats. “Just thank your stars I’m not a cat-kicking person.”
There was a ring at the doorbell. Agatha rushed to answer it and found Bill Wong on the doorstep.
“Come in,” she cried. “I’ve got some coffee ready.”
“I had a phone call from Toni,” said Bill and Agatha’s heart sank. “She told me all about this new-agency idea, said it was your idea. Why did you want to get rid of your best detective?”
“I felt I was holding her back,” Agatha lied.
“You felt she was stealing your thunder,” said Bill.
“That’s not the reason!”
“Let’s talk about something else. Zak is out on bail.”
“So I heard.”
“Well, he promised to testify against Trixie and bail was part of the deal. Then she confessed, but it was too late to reverse it. Don’t worry. He’s in deep enough troub
le without coming after you. Anything else happening?”
Agatha told him about Arthur Chance. “He’ll probably marry Phyllis,” she said.
“He’s old, he’s wrinkled, he’s got grey hair and thick glasses. Why do people like that get all the luck when you and I are stuck with singlehood, Agatha?”
“Think about it, Bill. Would you have married Trixie or given Phyllis a second look?”
He grinned. “Not really. Doing anything today?”
“No.”
“Feel like a trip to Bramley Park?”
“What! The place with the swings and roundabouts and the roller coaster?”
“That’s the place. Come on. I’ve never been on a roller coaster.”
Agatha enjoyed herself immensely and screamed for the whole length of the roller coaster ride.
She drove home in the evening feeling tired and happy.
Agatha checked her answering service. There was one message from Cherry Upfield. She said, “I’ve got some more information on Trixie if you need it. I’ll be home all evening.”
Agatha phoned her to say that she would call on her in the morning but got no reply. She then called Toni. Sharon answered the phone. “She’s not here,” she said. “We were out all day and then she got a phone call from some woman saying she had more information on Trixie, so she’s just shot off.”
Why both of us? wondered Agatha, slowly replacing the phone. Agatha then phoned Bill on his mobile, praying he would answer. Mrs. Wong disapproved of his using his mobile in the house and he usually had it switched off. To her relief he answered and she quickly told him about the message. “I don’t like it,” said Agatha. “I think it might have something to do with Zak.”
“Then stay there,” ordered Bill. “I’ll get some men and go over.”
But Agatha couldn’t rest. She felt sure Toni was in danger. She rushed to her car and set off, driving at furious speed towards Cheltenham.
She parked at the end of the close and cautiously made her way on foot. She walked past Cherry’s house. The lights were on, but the curtains were drawn. Agatha walked to the other end of the close and found a lane leading round to the back.
