glance before letting herself into her own cottage. She phoned Bill Wong at Mircester police headquarters but was told he was out on a job.
She then phoned Rosemary at Butterflies and asked for Kylie’s address. “I can’t do that, Agatha,” said Rosemary. “I wouldn’t, for example, give anyone your address.”
“But she’s dead and I’m not.”
“Sorry. Can’t do it. You do understand?”
“No,” said Agatha crossly and put down the phone and then wondered what she was doing snapping at the best beautician around.
There was a ring at the door. When she answered it, Mrs. Bloxby was standing there.
“Come in,” said Agatha. “I’ve got lots to tell you.”
Over coffee, she described seeing Kylie’s body in the river. “It’s so frustrating,” said Agatha finally. “I’d like to get started but I don’t know anything about her.”
“It’s early days yet,” said the vicar’s wife soothingly. “You may have a soul mate next door.”
“Him! I read one of his books.”
“They are very violent but he does know how to tell a good story.”
“He doesn’t seem like my type.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“Not yet. But you can always tell what they look like from their writing. He’s probably short and fat with a beer belly and a beard.”
“My! And you got all that from just reading one of his books?”
“I’m quite good at that.”
Mrs. Bloxby, who had just met John Armitage, opened her mouth to tell Agatha that she was way off the mark, but then closed it again. An Agatha in love once more with a next-door neighbour didn’t even bear thinking of. Mrs. Bloxby was fond of Agatha and did not want to see her getting hurt again.
“Well, I gather he’s going up to London for a week immediately after he’s unloaded his stuff, so you won’t be able to see if your description fits for another week.”
“Not interested anyway,” said Agatha with a shrug, assuming the vicar’s wife hadn’t yet met the author either.
¦
After a week, Agatha had quite forgotten about her neighbour and was wondering if she would ever be able to get in touch with Bill Wong again. She dreaded calling at his home and finding herself put down once more by the terrifying Mrs. Wong. But just as she was wondering whether she should stake out Mircester police headquarters to see if she could waylay him, Bill called round.
Agatha practically dragged him into the house, crying, “Where have you been? What’s been happening?”
“Sit down. Relax,” said Bill. “I got caught up investigating a series of break-ins in Mircester and only got round to phoning my friend in Worcester CID last night. It’s all rather odd.”
“What’s odd?” asked Agatha, scrabbling in a packet for a cigarette while not taking her eyes off Bill’s face.
“She died of an overdose of heroin. Her fiance, Zak Jensen, says she was addicted but had promised him that she had given up the habit.”
Agatha’s face fell. “So it was suicide?”
“We might think so, except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The body had been frozen.”
“What?”
“Yes, after death the body had been frozen. It was dumped in the river during the floods. Maybe the idea was to give the impression that she was just another flood victim.”
“In her wedding gown!”
“Yes, you would think they would have taken it off first. But then it would have been frozen to the body. The girl’s name was Kylie Stokes. She worked for a company on the Four Pools Estate. She was something to do with computers. Four days before her body was discovered, the girls in the office gave her a hen party, all getting drunk and dressing her up in tinsel and streamers and parading her through the streets. Her wedding was supposed to have taken place two days after. She had already taken leave from work. Her mother says she went out late and never came home. She reported her missing to the Evesham police. Every shop and building and home in Evesham that might have a deep freeze is being checked.”
“And what of Zak?”
“Well, as we can’t pin-point the time of death, it’s hard to ask him for an alibi for a specific time.”
“Bill, when I saw her at the beauticians, she did not look like a drug addict. She looked the picture of glowing health and happiness.”
“That’s the most I can tell you at the moment.”
“What sort of family are the Stokeses?”
“No harm in telling you. It’ll be in the papers tomorrow. Mrs. Freda Stokes is a widow. Works a stall at Evesham Market, you know, the covered market in the High Street. By all reports, decent and hard-working. Kylie was her only child. This whole thing has hit her hard. She lives in one of those terraced houses near the income-tax office, just off Port Street. I haven’t the number with me, which is probably just as well. She’s very distressed, so I don’t want you knocking on her door.”
“And what about Zak?”
“He’s employed as a bouncer at his father’s disco called Hollywood Nights in Evesham. The police have been called out to the disco several times, usually drunken fights between youths. Neither he nor his father has any criminal record. Zak seems genuinely broken up.”
“If she was in her wedding gown, you’d think if, just if, someone gave her an overdose of heroin that the murder would have taken place at her mother’s house. I mean, the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride in her gown until the wedding.”
“Agatha, if it weren’t for the fact that the body had been frozen, I would be happy to assure you that Kylie was just another unfortunate on drugs.”
“And wouldn’t a frozen body have sunk?”
“No. On the contrary. If the body had still been frozen, it would have floated. It had thawed out to river temperature, which isn’t very warm, and the flood currents in the Avon were strong. The police think the body got caught in some sort of whirlpool just before the bridge and spun up to the surface before sinking again. But don’t go around thinking Zak did it. Just because there was a case in Chile doesn’t mean the same thing happened here. Kylie’s mother isn’t well-off by any means. Kylie hadn’t made a will. There was nothing to be gained by her death.”
“That disco. Are you sure there’s nothing there to connect it to drugs?”
“No, nothing. If there were, Worcester police would know. I’ve said this before, Agatha, and I’ll say it again. Why don’t you leave it all to Worcester police. They really are very good indeed.”
“Humph!”
¦
After Bill had left, Agatha decided to drive into Evesham and ask Sarah, who had been working on Kylie, whether she thought the girl had been on drugs. As she got in the car, she saw a squat man with a beard working in the front garden of the house next door. She grinned to herself. He was everything she had imagined the author to be.
She parked in Merstow Green in Evesham and went in to the beauticians. She was in luck, Sarah had just finished with one customer and was taking a break before the next.
“I want to ask you about Kylie,” said Agatha. “Did she look as if she was a heroin addict?”
Sarah looked shocked. “No, she was the picture of health. Not only were there no track marks, but no signs that she had been sniffing the stuff. Beautiful skin that poor girl had. Is that how she died? Drugs? Was it a bad Ecstasy pill?”
“I gather the police are saying she died of a heroin overdose.”
“Oh, dear. There’s a lot of drugs in Evesham, I believe.”
