leaned over to the back seat and picked up a blond wig and began to arrange it on her head. What on earth was she doing, keeping up the masquerade when the police had told her not to?
But he felt he was being left out. Could Agatha really be having an affair with that young fellow? Roy had implied as much. Roy would need to leave for work on Sunday evening. Better leave things until then and call on Agatha.
¦
“Who next?” asked Roy.
“I don’t know,” said Agatha wearily. She suddenly just wanted to go home and forget there was the real world out there, where handsome men, however old, preferred pretty young girls.
“Buck up, Aggie. You can’t win them all.”
“It’s your fault. You should never have let him think we were having an affair.”
“If it makes you feel better to think that…Anyway, turn your mind to the problem at hand. Who have we got?”
“I think,” said Agatha reluctantly, “that the best person to see next is the horrible Phyllis. She hated Kylie. Kylie took her boyfriend away. She might let something slip.”
“Got her phone number?”
Agatha leaned over to the back seat and picked up a clipboard. “I’ve got all the phone numbers and addresses here.”
“So let’s phone her. Ask her to meet us. Where?”
“There’s a good pub round the corner from the car-park. Pub grub.”
“That’ll do. So phone her.”
“You do it. I can’t stand her and I need a little more time to psych myself up.”
Roy phoned Phyllis’s number. Agatha’s thoughts drifted back to John as she dimly heard Roy making arrangements for lunch. He seemed such an
She jerked away from her thoughts as Roy said, “Come on. Stop dreaming about what might have been. Let’s go and meet Phyllis.”
Although the pub was only a short walk from Phyllis’s flat, it was a good half-hour before she arrived. Agatha, on seeing her, judged that Phyllis must have taken the time to plaster on an extra layer of make-up. Her fleshy features were covered in a thick white foundation cream and blusher. Her eyelashes had so much mascara on them that they stuck out like wires and her lips, already large, had been made larger by a coat of scarlet lipstick.
When she had ordered her food and drink, Roy said, “I think you’re ever so brave.”
“Why’s that?” said Phyllis. She moistened her lips and wondered what her chances were of fascinating this television executive.
“I mean, you’re still working at Barrington’s. You must be wondering if you’ll be next.”
“Not me,” said Phyllis. “Let me give you the low-down on our little Kylie. She was a nasty little bitch, batting her eyes at anything in trousers. And screwing around with the boss.”
“How did you learn that?” asked Agatha. Phyllis looked mysterious. “Little bird,” she said.
“But who would kill her?” asked Roy.
Phyllis leaned forward until her bust was resting on the table. “Shershy loam,” she said.
“What?” Agatha looked at her, puzzled.
Phyllis gave a superior laugh. “It means ‘Look for the man.’”
“You mean, cherchez l’homme?”
“That’s what I said, didn’t I? Anyway, with a tart like Kylie, there’s bound to have been more than one Mr. Barrington.”
“Anyone you can think of?”
“Naw, but the police’ll find him. She got what was coming to her.”
“You’re an intelligent girl and you’ve certainly given us something to think about,” said Roy.
Phyllis tried to bat her eyelashes at him, but the wiry upper set got stuck to the lower ones and so there was a silence until she had prised them apart.
“What about the evening Joanna was attacked?” asked Agatha. “Sharon said she went back for a scarf. Did she join you again? And did she have a scarf?”
“Didn’t notice.” Phyllis held up her empty glass. “Another of these? I mean, you’re on expenses anyway.”
Roy went to the bar to get more drinks.
“Nice bum,” said Phyllis, surveying Roy’s back.
Agatha reflected that as Roy was so skinny and his jacket hung down over his rear, Phyllis was not in a position to judge. Phyllis was possibly just aping what the women’s magazines told her to say. Did women really admire men’s bottoms? Or had it started as a sort of feminist remark to try to even the sexes?
Roy came back. “Thanks. Cheers,” said Phyllis. “Where was I? Oh, Joanna. That’s a dark horse. Little Miss Prim. She’s involved somehow. Must have been worried there was something on Kylie’s computer that might incriminate her. Here’s a thing!” Her eyes gleamed. “Harry McCoy, he told me that one evening he saw Barrington driving past him on Evesham High Street and he could have sworn that Joanna was in the car next to him.”
I hope that’s true and I wonder what John will make of it, thought Agatha. I’m a bit tired of Saint Joanna.
Their food arrived. Agatha stared at Phyllis in amazement. She had never seen anyone eat so quickly. One minute her large mouth was bent down over the plate, and it seemed as if the next minute the plate was empty. Like watching a vacuum cleaner sucking up food.
Phyllis then went on to describe her hopes of becoming a television star. She pointed out that she was the only one of the girls with any looks to qualify for stardom.
Agatha and Roy ate steadily and tried not to listen as Phyllis’s harsh voice went on and on. They would have liked to escape, but Phyllis demanded more drink and pudding and so they had to wait until she had demolished a large helping of apple pie and custard washed down with a double vodka and Red Bull. Her face flushed with drink and food, she went on and on until at last they were able to make their escape.
“Phew!” said Roy when they were free of her. “Now what?”
“I can’t bear listening to any more of these silly girls’ dreams of stardom,” said Agatha. “Let’s ask John if he can find out from Joanna about Barrington.”
“Harry McCoy could have been mistaken. And you’re jealous of John’s interest in this Joanna.”
“I am not! It’s too good a lead to ignore.” John was at home when they arrived. He listened to them carefully and then said, “He was probably just giving her a lift home.”
“Along the High Street?” jeered Agatha. “Wrong way.”
“Well, I suppose I’ve got nothing better to do. I’ll run back up to Redditch and let you know what she says.”
“What about a visit to your friend, Mrs. Bloxby?” suggested Roy when John had driven off. “We’ll tell her what we’ve got and see what she says. She’s very intelligent.”
“She may be busy,” protested Agatha, who did not like hearing something that suggested Mrs. Bloxby might have better powers of deduction than she had herself. “We can try.”
¦
Mrs. Bloxby was at home and pleased to see them. Agatha rather sulkily listened as Roy outlined the latest findings.
“It must have something to do with drugs,” said Mrs. Bloxby.
“Why?” demanded Agatha. “I think it’s got something to do with blackmail and jealousy.”
“Just a feeling. Say someone knew about how worried Kylie was about that wedding dress. And that someone phones her up, or if it was one of those office girls, says to her something like ‘Why don’t you nip out of the house with it and let me have a look?’ Kylie had probably drunk a lot at the hen party and so she wouldn’t see anything odd in going out in the middle of the night with it.”
“Surely the police have thought of that. They must be looking for someone who saw a girl carrying a dress through the streets of Evesham at night.”
Agatha lit up a cigarette, made a face and stubbed it out again. Why had she even tried? And she had never
