The Love from Hell

“Because everyone will have to know there is a meeting. You’ll need to run off fliers from your computer and post them through all the doors.”

Agatha groaned. “Can’t I just put up a notice in the village shop?”

“A lot of people shop at the supermarkets and might not see it.”

“I know,” said Charles. “The schoolchildren are still on holiday. We could get some of them to distribute fliers.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “It’s been tried. They even get paid for it, but children are so lazy nowadays. One cottage usually ends up with several hundred fliers pushed through the one letter-box and then the little angels come round to the vicarage demanding their money.”

“Oh, well,” sighed Agatha. “I need the exercise.”

She and Charles returned to her cottage. Agatha typed off a flier on her computer and ran off several hundred copies and then she and Charles split up, agreeing to meet at the Red Lion later.

As Agatha trudged from door to door, she felt a sudden sympathy with the lazy schoolchildren. It would be so easy just to hide a bunch of fliers or shove a hundred through the one letterbox and then be finished with the wretched things. She just hoped the same idea wasn’t occurring to Charles.

She took a break for lunch and noticed from an egg-smeared plate lying in the sink that Charles had taken a break as well. Back out she went, ending up by posting the last flier in the village store’s window. People she spoke to grumbled that they had told the police all they knew, and yet all seemed intrigued by the idea of the meeting.

Agatha wearily made her way along to the pub, where Charles was already sitting. She eyed him suspiciously. “You didn’t cheat?”

“No, sweetie, as my aching feet will bear testimony. I ran like the wind from door to door. You would leave me to do the council estate. Loads of houses there. Oh, and I had to call the police.”

“Why?”

“I was bending down – all the letter-boxes in those council houses are practically at ground level – when I heard a woman screaming. “Leave me alone,” she was shouting, and then there was the sound of a thump and then another scream. So I called Fred Griggs.”

“Was it a Mrs. Allan?”

“That’s the one. Fred tried to get her to lay charges. The man is called Derry Patterson, a big rough fellow.”

“But she wouldn’t lay charges?”

“Nope.”

“Why does she do it? She’s just got rid of one brutal man.”

“Seems they go for the same kind. Anyway, what next?”

“I think we should try to get Bill to tell us the name of Melissa’s solicitor and also tell us how much she left in her will.”

“Aren’t wills published in the newspaper? We could ask that editor in Mircester. He might open up a bit. I know, we’ll tell him about the village hall meeting, get a bit of publicity for it.”

“Good idea.”

¦

The following day, the editor of the Mircester Journal, Mr. Jason Blacklock, surveyed them wearily. “You two again,” he said. “You’re not very good at supplying us with stories. It’s just as well we don’t cover Worcester, although I did get reports you’ve had the police out twice.”

“The next thing that happens in your area, we’ll let you know. I mean, I did send you an invitation to the fete,” said Agatha. “I looked at your paper and you didn’t cover it.”

He sighed. “I decided to give Josie a break and sent her.”

“What? Mircester’s finest example of anorexia?”

“Yes, her.”

“So what happened?”

“She told us nothing happened. She said it was just a tatty little village fete. When I read in the Gloucester Echo that an antique doll had gone for two thousand, I fired her.”

“I suppose she didn’t even bother to go.”

“You suppose right. Now, what are you after?”

“Do you know how much Melissa left in her will?”

“Somewhere in the region of two and a half million.”

Charles let out a low whistle. “That’s surely an amount to die for.”

“You mean to kill for,” said Agatha.

“You think it was the sister?” said Blacklock. “But I gather she’s got a cast-iron alibi.”

“Seems that way,” said Agatha. “Why we’re here is we’d like to know how we can get hold of Melissa’s lawyer.”

“That would be Mr. Clamp of Clamp, Anderson and Biggins. They’re round the corner in Abbey Way, number nineteen.”

Agatha and Charles rose. “So, any story?” he asked.

“Not yet,” said Agatha. “We’ll let you know.”

When they were outside the newspaper office, Charles said, “You’ll never guess who I saw.”

“Who?”

“The fair Josie, over in a corner of the office.”

“But he said she was fired!”

“Maybe she’s working out her notice, or maybe Blacklock doesn’t want us to know he’s got a soft spot for such a loser. Let’s go and see this lawyer anyway. He’ll probably give us the usual spiel, can’t reveal details of my clients, blah, blah, blah.”

“Worth a try anyway. Come on.”

They entered the law offices and left the busy world behind. It was an old building and they were immediately shrouded in dusty quiet. An elderly receptionist listened to their request and then creaked off into an inner office. Had she been with the firm a long time? wondered Agatha. It would be nice to think she had been employed recently. It would be great to think that one could still find work in one’s declining years. Again she felt the pang of regret that she had not married Jimmy. She would need to see out the rest of her days on her own. Even cats did not last forever, and she knew that if anything happened to Hodge and Boswell, she would not replace them. And then she realized she had not thought of James. It was if she had finally accepted that she would never see him again.

The receptionist returned and inclined her grey head. “Mr. Clamp will see you now.”

Agatha, because of the age of the receptionist, had expected an elderly man, but Mr. Clamp was small and round and comparatively young. He looked more like a young farmer than a lawyer. His face was a healthy outdoor red and he had very large, powerful hands.

“I have read about you, Mrs. Raisin,” he said after Charles had made the introductions. “I gather you have come to inquire about Mrs. Sheppard’s will.”

“Not quite,” said Agatha. “I am puzzled as to why she left everything to a sister whom she had not seen in years and did not even like. I wondered if you could tell me her state of mind.”

He frowned and looked down at his desk.

“We are not asking for state secrets,” urged Agatha. “And your client is dead.”

He raised his eyes. “I suppose there is no harm in telling you. She was agitated, nervous. She said, “I always thought I would live forever.””

“Did she say anything about Julia, her sister?”

“No, she just said something like she may as well make it easy and leave it all to the one person and then she laughed and said, “I’d love to see Julia’s face.” It was a very straightforward will. Everything to the sister.”

“Something must have happened to make her think she had not very long to live,” said Charles.

“I think that’s perhaps being wise after the event,” said Mr. Clamp. “She appeared in good health. A very attractive and charming lady, I thought her. As a matter of fact, she asked me out to dinner.”