she ploughed on. “We’re also interested in the death of Kylie, as you know.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Joanna. “I think poor Kylie was one of those people who set up their own murder.”
“How is that? I mean, what makes you say that?”
“In the old days, she would have been called a minx. She liked winding up men. She liked her bit of power and she liked money. That’s the only reason she was interested in old Barrington.”
Agatha stared at her. “You know about Barrington? I thought that was a well-kept secret. How did you find out?”
“She’d gone out to powder her nose one day and I went to her desk to look for some forms. There was a message on her computer screen. “See you tonight, lovey. Usual place. Arthur.” Arthur is Mr. Barrington’s first name, and there’s only one Arthur in the firm. After that, I noticed that he would often summon her to his office on some pretext or another and she’d come out after about half an hour with her lipstick smeared and her hair tousled.”
“You are a very observant girl,” commented John, smiling at her.
Those intelligent grey eyes turned on him. “I’m sure I recognize you,” said Joanna. Rising, she went to the bookshelves and took out a book and looked at the photograph on the back cover. “You’re John Armitage, aren’t you?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“So what’s your interest in the youth of Evesham?”
To Agatha’s horror, John leaned forward as Joanna sat down again and said, “I’ll tell you the truth. Agatha Raisin, here, has been employed by Kylie’s mother to try to find out who killed her daughter. I am Agatha’s neighbour and decided to help. Please keep this to yourself.”
“I thought there was something odd in the way you kept trying to find out about Kylie,” said Joanna. “I tell you what. I’ll ferret around and see if I can find anything for you.”
“Here’s my card,” said John. “Let me know if you hear anything.” He smiled at Joanna and she smiled back. Agatha cleared her throat with an irritated sound.
“Who do you think might have killed Joanna?” she asked. “Zak?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, Zak was besotted with her.”
Agatha’s mind flashed back to the couple on Robinson Crusoe Island. She had forgotten that Zak and Kylie had reminded her of them. But she herself had witnessed how distressed Zak was.
“What about Harry McCoy?”
“Not him either. I really don’t know. Her death involved drugs. Maybe she heard something she shouldn’t.”
John said, “Well, keep your eyes and ears open. You could be of great help to us.” Again that smile. Agatha and John rose. “Before you leave,” said Joanna to John, “you must sign your books.”
Agatha fidgeted impatiently while John signed four books. “Thank you,” said Joanna and John kissed her on the cheek.
¦
When they were both outside in the street again, Agatha muttered, “So, Humbert Humbert, where now?”
He swung round. “What did you say?” he demanded.
“I was wondering about lunch,” said Agatha quickly.
“We’ll get a snack somewhere. What about a pub?”
“There’s a quiet pub up in the High Street. The food won’t be very exciting but it’s never busy and we can talk there.”
Once inside The Grapes, they ordered beer and sandwiches. The sandwiches were dry and curling at the edges. “I can see why this place is quiet,” said John. “Let’s see how far we’ve got. Phyllis, maybe with the help of Harry McCoy, somehow lured her out of her home in her wedding gown and bumped her off. “Show us the wedding dress,” that kind of thing.”
“Don’t like it,” said Agatha, giving up on the sandwiches and reflecting that the ongoing battle of the middle- aged bulge was at least getting some help.
“So now we come to Barrington. He was frightened of his wife finding out. Kylie liked money, or so we gather. I wonder what this Barrington looks like. I mean, for a young girl like that to have an affair with a middle-aged man can only mean money was the attraction.”
“Exactly,” said Agatha forcefully, thinking of Joanna.
“So just suppose she was blackmailing him.”
“I wonder. I wonder if the police have looked at her bank account.”
“There’s no reason for them to do so. They’d need to know about Barrington and I bet they don’t.”
“We could go and see Freda Stokes,” said Agatha. “But what reason do we give for asking to see her daughter’s bank statements?”
“We could just ask to see them. She might just take it as part of the investigations. Where does she live?”
“Near Joanna. Up and round the corner by the tax office.”
“So let’s go. Are you going to eat your sandwiches?”
“I can’t.”
“Then let’s see how we get on with Freda Stokes.”
¦
Freda lived in a red brick terraced house. “This is quite near where Sharon Heath lives as well,” said Agatha.
Freda Stokes answered the door. She stared at them for a minute and then smiled at Agatha. “It is you. My! I wouldn’t have thought a wig and glasses would make such a difference. Come in. I should be at work but I’m having a break.”
The small downstairs living-room into which she led them had been turned into a sort of shrine for her dead daughter. There were framed photographs of Kylie everywhere – on the table, on the walls. Kylie at school. Kylie as May Queen. Kylie as a toddler being held in the arms of a small man.
“Is that your husband?” asked Agatha, pointing to the man in the photograph.
“Yes, that’s Bill. Cancer took him off when she was young.”
Agatha thought guiltily of the packet of cigarettes nestling in the depths of her handbag and once more silently vowed to give up smoking.
“Can I offer you anything? Tea?”
“Maybe in a minute,” said Agatha. “We wondered if we could have a look at Kylie’s bank statements.”
“Why?”
“Just part of our investigations,” said John. “And who are you?”
“Sorry,” said Agatha, and introduced John. “I’ll go and get them but I still don’t see why you want them.”
As they said nothing in reply to this, Freda, after another doubtful look at them, went out. They heard her mounting the stairs.
“Nice woman,” said John. “Do you know, for her sake, I hope there’s nothing of interest in those statements.”
They waited patiently. The room grew dark, and outside, it started to rain. Rain smeared the windowpanes and a gust of wind soughed down the street outside.
At last, Freda returned with a sheaf of bank statements. Her, eyes were red with fresh weeping. “Here you are,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute. It fair upset me going through her things.”
John separated the bank statements. “Here. You take this lot and I’ll look through these.”
They studied the statements. At first it appeared that Kylie’s wage, each week, was spent soon after it had been deposited in the bank. Then John gave an exclamation and passed a statement to Agatha. “Look at that. Fifteen thousand pounds deposited the week before her death!”
“It may not be Barrington,” said Agatha. “Maybe it was from Zak’s father to buy a trousseau or something.”
