Kyrenia.”
“I know, dear heart. Lecture me no further. I will find it.”
Soon they were parked at the abbey in the shadow of a tourist bus.
They walked through the south-west entrance under an arched and fortified gateway.
“I forgot to look for their car,” said Agatha.
“Whose?”
“The Debenhams, friends and Trevor. That’s why I’m here.”
“Well, I want to see the cloisters,” said Charles, striding ahead, a very English figure in blazer and white slacks, white panama hat, white shirt and striped cravat.
Agatha followed slowly, not wanting to run after him like a pet dog.
Fragments of delicate arches surrounded the cloisters, warm and humming with insects in the heat. The mist had lifted and a golden sunlight flooded everything. Agatha, wondering idly where Charles had got to, was looking up at the carved bosses and corbels of the vaulting which featured human and animal heads, rosettes and the Lusignan coat of arms when a harsh voice behind her said, “So it’s you, snooping around as usual.”
Agatha gasped and swung round. Trevor stood there, his hands clenched into fists, his unhealthily pink face full of menace.
“Look,” he said, thrusting his head forwards, “it’s my wife that’s dead, gottit? And I don’t want no amateur busybody like you poking her nose in and getting under the feet of the police.”
Agatha took a step backwards. “See here, Trevor,” she said in the gentle tone of one who hopes to turn away wrath, “you are grieving and upset. But you must see that every bit helps. I have had some experience-”
Trevor took her by the shoulders and shook her. “Bug out,” he shouted, “or it’ll be the worse for you!”
“Leave her alone!”
Charles’s calm voice came from behind them.
Trevor released Agatha and turned and stumbled away.
“You all right?” asked Charles.
“A bit shaken,” said Agatha. “I thought he was going to punch me. He threatened me.”
“Did he now? Why?”
“He said if I didn’t stop investigating it would be the worse for me.”
“Was he drunk?”
“I don’t know,” said Agatha wretchedly. “I wish James were here.”
“Well, he isn’t. Where is he?”
“He’s angry with his old fixer, Mustafa. Mustafa cheated him over the rental of a house. He’s a brothel-keeper but James thinks he might be running drugs.”
“I say, this isn’t England. The silly man doesn’t want to get into that or he’ll end up floating in Kyrenia Harbour.”
“Oh, James can take care of himself. It looks as if it might have been Trevor who murdered Rose. For her money, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Tell me.”
Agatha hesitated. Such background information as she had should only be discussed with James. James would be furious if she disclosed all their secrets to Charles. But she was shaken and Trevor had frightened her and James wasn’t there, only Charles, cool and inquisitive. So she told him all about Trevor’s financial difficulties, and how she wondered why Rose, who was rich, had not bailed his firm out of its difficulties.
“I think we should find Trevor and the others and ask him in front of them why he threatened you,” said Charles. “We’ll keep his financial difficulties in reserve. If he knows you’ve contacted the police about him, he’ll go ape.”
They wandered through the rest of the abbey, refectory, undercroft, chapter house and dormitories among throngs of tourists-British, German and Israeli. But of Trevor there was no sign.
“If he’s with the rest, they might have gone to some bar in the village,” suggested Charles. “We’ll look there.”
They drove back to the village of Bellapais, parking in a car-park next to the Tree of Idleness Restaurant and then wandering through the narrow streets until Agatha saw two rented cars with the Atlantic sticker on the rear window outside a cafe. She peered through the glass. “They’re all there. Maybe I should get back and find James before I say anything.”
“He’s not your husband, father or keeper,” said Charles, giving her a gentle shove in the back. “In you go.”
Trevor, pink and sullen, was drinking beer. Olivia and George Debenham, Angus and Harry were having coffees and pastries.
Agatha introduced Charles. Olivia beamed. “How nice to meet you,” she fluted. “We’re practically neighbours.”
Charles removed his panama and sat down after placing a chair at the table for Agatha. He smiled pleasantly at Trevor.
“Why did you threaten to kill Aggie?” he asked.
Olivia stared at Charles, her rather rabbity mouth falling open in surprise.
“Who’s Aggie?” demanded Trevor sullenly.
“Mrs. Raisin, Agatha. You seem to think she’s poking her nose into the investigation into your wife’s murder. When I saw you in the cloisters, you were shaking her and threatening her.”
All eyes turned to Trevor.
“I didn’t know what I was saying,” he mumbled. “I’d already had a bit to drink and it was so hopeless. Sorry.”
“Most off behaviour,” said Charles severely. “What if Aggie here had howled for the police, which she had every right to do? They’d have had you off to Nicosia in irons. Are you sure that’s all it was-grief and drink? Not frightened of our Aggie finding out who did it?”
Trevor jumped to his feet, knocking his chair backwards with a crash. “Leave me alone,” he shouted. He strode to the door, but stopped and turned and said in a quieter voice, “I’ll wait for the rest of you in the car. I’ve had enough of this.”
Olivia put a hand on Charles’s arm. “You must make allowances for poor Trevor,” she said. “We’re doing the best we can for him, but he misses Rose dreadfully, and I think it’s unhinged him.”
“But why accuse me of investigating the murder?” asked Agatha. “I’m not,” she lied.
“Oh, you told us all those stories when we first met about your investigations,” said George. “Didn’t she, Harry?”
Harry nodded and Angus said in his usual heavy manner, “Aye, we was talking about it the other night and Olivia here, she says to Trevor, she says, ‘I hope our Miss Marple isn’t getting in the way o’ the police investigation. She might put them on the wrong track althegether, her being an amateur, so to speak.’”
“Well, thanks a lot, Olivia,” said Agatha bitterly. “That’s what must have set him off.”
“It’s not all my fault,” said Olivia. “You added your bit, too, Angus. You said that the police would be so anxious to find someone, anyone, they could pin this on and get the press off their backs that they would take any daft suggestions from Agatha as gospel. And Harry, you said that it was only in books that amateur detectives were any help. You said in real life they were just people who waited until the police solved the murder and then claimed the credit.” She turned on her husband. “And darling, it was you who said to Trevor that someone should drop a quiet word in Agatha’s ear.”
“I am good at investigating,” said Agatha furiously. “If you don’t believe me, you’ve only got to ask the police at Mircester. Or ask James!”
Olivia gave a brittle laugh. “If you remember, dear, it was your James who suggested you just blundered about.”
“For your information,” said Charles, “Aggie is not investigating anything. And why should she? You are such a poisonous, dreary lot of people. Come along, Aggie.”
Outside the cafe, Agatha strode angrily away until they reached the car-park. Then she turned on Charles. “How could you? How could you insult them like that?”
“Come on, Aggie. They’d all just insulted you.”
“But don’t you see, I don’t want to make enemies of them! I’ve got to get close to them. Find out what makes
