by M C Beaton
At last what sounded like a higher official came into the room and barked orders. Agatha sighed with relief when they had all left.
* * *
The higher official that Agatha thought she’d heard was in fact the chief inspector who was at that moment in the kitchen, questioning Charles about finding the money and demanding that a doctor examine Sarah.
“I searched her handbag for drugs and found these,” said Charles, handing over the bottle of sleeping draught. “People do get addicted to these things.”
Agatha entered the room. “Where have you been?” demanded the inspector.
“In the lavatory.”
“You will both need to be searched to make sure you have not taken any of the money.”
“Before you do that,” said Agatha, “I want you to listen to this and I want you to agree that the quicker you return our passports and get us back home, the better for you.”
She took out her powerful little tape recorder and switched it on.
“That’s enough!” shouted the inspector. “Give me that.”
“Passports first.”
He grabbed Agatha’s wrist and gave it a painful twist. The recorder went flying up in the air. Charles seized it and fled out of the house and they could hear him driving off a few minutes later.
* * *
Agatha was wondering whether crying would relieve the rage and misery she felt as she sat in a smelly village police station. She was shivering with cold and very hungry. Was she always going to go mad when she thought of any man? Marry Charles? That faithless man was probably back in Britain by now.
She had shouted for the British consul, for a lawyer, for anyone to help, but there was only a desk sergeant left to guard her and he appeared deaf to her every request.
She had fallen into a shivering sleep when the cell door was opened and there was Charles, shaking her awake and shouting, “Get a move on! I’ve got our passports.”
* * *
They parted at dawn at Heathrow Airport and went to get their respective cars. Charles had explained the delay in getting her freedom by saying he had gone to the main newspaper offices. From there, he had phoned the police. Meetings had gone on for ages, until it was agreed the newspaper would only do a story about the money being found but nothing about the police theft of some of it. The passports were handed over but he was told firmly that no money had been taken by the police. Charles kept Agatha’s tape recorder as insurance that they would be allowed the leave the country. Sarah Jinks swore she did not know anything about any money and as there was no proof to contradict this, she was not charged.
“Charles!” called Agatha to his retreating back.
He slowly walked back towards her, but his face had the shuttered look he put on when he did not want to hear anything at all.
“Hurry up, Aggie,” he said. “I just want to get home.”
“Nothing,” said Agatha sadly.
As he walked away from her again, she turned to lift her two heavy suitcases off the luggage trolley because she always believed in travelling as heavy as possible.
“Let me help you with that,” said a male voice. Agatha swung round. A tall man stood there, smiling down at her. She had a quick impression of an attractive face and thick brown hair.
She suddenly smiled that radiant smile of hers, a smile that Charles saw as he began to drive off.
He stopped beside them. “See you soon!” he called.
“Who was that?” asked Agatha’s new friend.
“Just some chap who works for me. I’m a detective,” said Agatha.
“I would love to hear about your work. Dinner sometime? Here is my card.”
* * *
Inspector Wilkes received statements from the police in Sofia along with a signed confession written by Harry Bury as to his help in the murders which Sarah had found and had concealed up in the rafters. It nailed the responsibility for all the murders squarely on Mavis Dupin’s thin shoulders.
“It’s that Raisin woman,” he grumbled to Bill Wong. “There’s also a long report from her about finding those women on Phuket.”
“Considering how she was pilloried in the newspapers about her affair with that reporter, it might be a nice gesture to give her credit for something. She is a good detective.”
“Wash your mouth out with soap. She’s an interfering busybody who got lucky.”
* * *
Two weeks later, Charles thought he should rouse himself and go and see Agatha. But there had been so much work to be done on the estate, so much to catch up on. Also, he had uneasily sensed that Agatha was beginning to look on him as a prospective husband.
But that must have been his imagination because she had not tried to get in touch with him, forgetting that when she did, Gustav often blocked the calls.
It was a fine late spring evening when he set out. How dreary the Cotswolds were in winter, he thought, and how staggeringly beautiful in the spring when all the blossoms came out.
To his surprise, Lilac Lane, where Agatha lived, was blocked with parked cars. He could see lights streaming out from all the windows of Agatha’s thatched cottage. A gentle voice behind him said, “Going to the party, Sir Charles?”
“Mrs. Bloxby! Agatha didn’t invite me.”
“Perhaps your man forgot to give it to you. We must hope she will be happy this time.”
“This time what?”
Mrs. Bloxby suddenly wished herself elsewhere. “Marriage. It is her engagement party to some man she only met at the airport a few weeks ago.”
“You go ahead, Mrs. Bloxby. I’ll follow you.”
He stood under the sweet blossoms of the lilac trees for about ten minutes and then he went slowly forwards. He stood outside the sitting room. Agatha was standing next to that man he had seen her with in the car park. He began to back away although she surely could not see him in the darkness.
But the streetlamp above his head came on and Agatha looked straight at him. All the memories of all the times they had had together flashed through Charles’s mind. He turned slowly away and walked off into the night.
Also by M. C. Beaton
AGATHA RAISIN
The Witches’ Tree: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
Pushing Up Daisies: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
Dishing the Dirt: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
The Blood of an Englishman: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
Something Borrowed, Someone Dead: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
Hiss and Hers: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
As the Pig Turns: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
Busy Body: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
There Goes the Bride: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
A Spoonful of Poison: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
Kissing Christmas Goodbye: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
Love, Lies and Liquor: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
The Perfect Paragon: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
The Deadly Dance: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
Agatha Raisin and the Haunted House
Agatha Raisin and the Case of the Curious Curate
Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came
Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell
Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfram
Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden
Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham
Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death
Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist
Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage
The Walkers of Dembley: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
The Potted Gardener: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
The Vicious Vet: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
The Quiche of Death: An Agatha Raisin Mystery
The Skeleton in the Closet
EDWARDIAN MYSTERY SERIES
Our Lady of Pain
Sick of Shadows
Hasty Death
Snobbery with Violence
About the Author
M. C. Beaton has been hailed as the “Queen of Crime” by The Globe and Mail. In addition to her New York Times and USA Today bestselling Agatha Raisin novels, Beaton is the author of the Hamish Macbeth series and four Edwardian mysteries. Born in Scotland, she currently divides her time between the English Cotswolds and Paris. Visit her on Facebook or at www.mcbeaton.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Also by M. C. Beaton
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE DEAD RINGER. Copyright © 2018 by M. C. Beaton. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by Sara Wood and David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover art: church © bioraven / Shutterstock.com; church texture © F. Vorobyov / Shutterstock.com; villages © Keng Merry Paper Art / Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-15769-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-15771-3 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250157713
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First edition: October 2018
