“Now,” said Agatha when they had found a table in a quiet pub, “what happened?”
“At first it all seemed pretty matey,” said Roy. “That was when we drove to Worcester. He was torn between joy at getting the doll and wondering whether he had paid too much over the top for it. He did all the talking. Things were fine until we got to the shop. He seemed to have taken a liking to me. He got us coffee and we sat down by the desk. I said I was a friend of yours and wasn’t it dreadful about the murder of his ex-wife. He said, yes, it was terrible and then he grew cold and began to question me on my knowledge of antique dolls, of which I know zilch. He began then to accuse me of merely wanting to poke my nose into his affairs. I protested. I said I may not know much, but I was eager to learn as I was thinking of starting a collection.
“His eyes were all funny and glittery. He said I was just like Melissa, pretending to a knowledge I didn’t have to ingratiate myself with him and do him harm. By this time he was waving the scissors around.”
Roy took a gulp of his drink and went on. “That’s when I said, all haughty-like, that he had hurt my feelings and I was leaving. ‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ he says, pointing the scissors at my face and standing over me. ‘You say you came here to learn, and learn you will.’ Then two customers came in. He said to them, as pleasant and calm as anything, ‘Excuse us a minute,’ and digging those damn scissors into my side, he ushered me into the back room. ‘Sit there quietly until I’m ready for you,’ he said. ‘Call for help and I’ll kill you and say it was self-defence.’ He went back into the shop and locked the door.
“There was no way out. The back door was locked and there was only a little barred window. I shook with terror. And I was surrounded by all those dolls, all those little staring eyes. I was in there so long, I thought he’d gone for the night, and I was just about to risk calling out when he opened the door and, still brandishing those damn scissors, told me to go and sit down in the shop. Then he started this long lecture. Don’t ask me what it was about. I was so terrified I couldn’t take in a word. Then you came. Agatha, he’s certifiable, sweetie. Bonkers, a picnic short of a sandwich, raving. He did it, mark my words. The intensity of his rage was something awful.”
“But how can we prove anything?” wailed Agatha.
“There must be something in his past. We’d best go and see that copper friend of yours. We need help.”
“We’ll go tomorrow. Let’s hope Bill Wong’s on duty. You wouldn’t want to meet his parents. If you’ve finished your drink, let’s go.”
As they walked to the car-park, Roy kept casting nervous glances all around, as if expecting to see Dewey leap out at him.
¦
When they got back to the cottage, Agatha phoned Bill. She told him briefly what had happened and asked if they could call on him the following day, but Bill said he would come over right away.
“We’d better eat something before he arrives,” said Agatha. “Bill will already have had something.”
“I’ll fix it,” said Roy. “I’m still nervous and I feel like doing something. Have you got eggs and cheese? I’ll make a cheese omelette.”
“I have both. I’ll leave you to it.”
While Roy worked in the kitchen, Agatha phoned Mrs. Bloxby and apologized for having run away from the fete.
“Did you catch up with Roy?”
“Yes,” said Agatha. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Well, thanks again for a splendid effort. We raised a great deal of money. I told Alf we owe it all to you.”
“And what did the vicar say?” asked Agatha, who knew Alf did not like her, but craved his good opinion.
“Oh, he agreed with me,” said Mrs. Bloxby, although what the vicar had actually said was, “God moves in mysterious ways.”
Agatha rang off. She poured herself a stiff gin and tonic and lit a cigarette. She had just finished both when Roy called her from the kitchen. As Agatha rose out of the deep armchair in which she had been sitting, she felt a slight stiff pain in her knee joints and her chest gave a distinct wheeze. She stood, alarmed. She took a deep breath, but the wheeze had gone. She remembered when she was in Wyckhadden that she had managed to give up cigarettes. It had felt good. Then she remembered Jimmy Jessop, the police inspector in Wyckhadden who had proposed marriage to her. She remembered him as safe and decent. She could have been Mrs. Jessop by now had Jimmy not found her in bed with Charles. Damn Charles. She would never, ever have gone to bed with him had not that fortune-teller told her that she would never have sex again. Now Jimmy was married. Was he happy? Maybe he was divorced.
“Agatha!” called Roy. “Your food’s on the table.”
She banished thoughts of what might have been from her mind and joined Roy in the kitchen.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Roy, “about what we could do tomorrow.”
“What?”
“You said this chap Sheppard lives in Blockley, which isn’t far from here. We could drop over there tomorrow – ”
“Are you mad? He’d be furious.”
“Ah, but if we told him we’re pretty sure it was Dewey, he might open up a bit.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Agatha thought of that sinister pain in her joints. “Tell you what,” she said. “I need exercise. If it’s a fine day, we could walk over.”
“All right. I could do with a bit of exercise myself.”
Bill arrived just after they had finished their meal. He listened carefully while Roy described his adventures with Dewey and made several notes. When Roy had finished, Agatha said, “You see, we wondered if you had been digging into Dewey’s past, if there was anything there.”
“Nothing sinister that we’ve been able to find,” said Bill. “He’s the son of fairly wealthy middle-class parents. The father died young and he was very close to his mother. When she died, he had just finished at university. With the money she left, he; bought that shop and started up in business. He really knows his stuff. He doesn’t seem to have any friends. When he married Melissa, they didn’t seem to socialize. I’ll dig a bit deeper. I’ll I pull him in and have another go at him.”
“Is there any news of James?” asked Agatha.
“Not a whisper. I would have told you if I had heard anything.”
¦
The following day dawned sunny and fresh. They set out to walk to Blockley, which meant climbing up the steep road out of Carsely, walking along the A-44 and then down the hill into Blockley. When they reached the village, Agatha felt that longing for a cigarette and fought it down. She had not yet lit up one that day.
“I don’t feel very brave,” she whispered to Roy as they walked up Greenway Road. “He’s a very belligerent man.”
“Maybe we should forget about the whole thing,” said Roy uneasily. “I hear there’s some good French cooking down at the Crown. We could walk about a bit and then have lunch.”
But his cowardice spurred Agatha on. “Don’t want to think we’ve walked all this way for nothing. If he’s mad at us, he can slam the door in our faces.”
Walking close together, they approached the door of the Sheppards’s cottage. Agatha rang the bell.
After a few moments, Megan Sheppard answered the door. She was wearing a brief pair of hot pants over a gingham blouse. Her hair was tied in two bunches with pink ribbons. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. She called over her shoulder, “Luke, it’s that woman from Carsely who’s been pestering you.”
Luke Sheppard loomed up behind her. “Get away from here,” he growled.
“We thought you would like to know,” said Agatha bravely, “that we’re pretty sure it was Melissa’s first husband, Dewey, who killed her.”
What was that odd look that had flashed in his eyes? wondered Roy. Relief?
The truculence left his face. He said mildly, “You’d better come in and tell us about it.”
They followed the Sheppards through the cottage and out into the garden. After they had all sat down round the garden table, Roy told them all about his visit to Dewey’s shop.
“You poor thing,” said Megan, looking into his eyes. “You must have been frightened to death.”
“I tell you,” said Roy, delighted to have such an appreciative audience, “I thought my last moment had come.”
“So have you told the police all this?” asked Luke.
