snubbing me at every turn and then going off and investigating on his own. None of it seems important now. I didn't like Robina, but who would do this to her, and why? She had been getting those threatening letters and yet she wouldn't show them to the police.'
'Talking about the police, you'd better run off your deathless prose. They'll be with us soon. Did you see any of your suspects around? I mean, it must have happened just before the procession set off.'
'No. I wasn't really looking for them. Just glad that none of them had come up to insult me.'
Roy plugged his printer into Agatha's computer.
As the speech began to churn out, the press tent began to fill up. Voices were soon heard on mobiles, laptops placed among the bottles and glasses.
'Water of Life,' Agatha heard one reporter shout down the phone. 'Water of Death would be a good headline.'
Portia appeared beside Agatha. Her tweed suit, thought Agatha sourly, looked as if it had been painted on. How she managed to get it so tight and yet so smooth must be some miracle of tailoring. 'Have you got Mr Peter's speech?' she asked.
Agatha gathered up the pages from the printer tray and handed them to her. 'I suggest that Guy makes this speech.'
'Why?'
'He's better-looking. Look good on television.'
Portia leaned forward and whispered, 'Don't you find your infatuation with Guy a little sad at your age?'
'Piss off,' said Agatha furiously.
'What was that about?' asked Roy.
'Never mind. Have we phoned everyone?'
'Yes, and with this lot telling their news desks, and their news desks telling London, I should think everyone knows. It'll be out on the radio news anyway.'
The rest of the day passed in a blur of hectic activity for Agatha. Peter Freemont made the speech she had written. There were cameras everywhere, flashing and clicking. Television reporters did their job, which had everyone they could think of making a statement, preceded by the eternal TV film clich.6 of having the interviewee walking. Why, Agatha wondered, did people have to be seen walking before they faced the cameras?
Boom microphones, oblong and furry, were held above heads. The rain drummed relentlessly down. Children, thwarted of their performance in the talent competition, screamed and cried if they were very young and moodily sulked and dug up chunks of grass with their Doc Martens if they were older.
To Agatha's horror, she came across Lord Pendlebury making a statement to the press. 'It's all the fault of incomers,' he said. 'Nasty people. Never had this trouble when people who belonged in the cities stayed in the cities.'
She quickly moved in front of him and said loudly, 'We owe much to Lord Pendlebury for lending his support to the launch of Ancombe Water. He will agree with me that anything that brings business and jobs to a rural area is welcome. Do you know that the Ancombe Water Company gave first priority in jobs to the villagers of Ancombe?'
And so on, until the disgruntled lord shuffled off and the press yawned.
Finally she and Roy had to sit down in a police trailer facing Bill Wong.
'Now, you two,' he said severely, 'what on earth were you about, hinting to the press that something awful was going to happen? I can tell you that there are mutterings amongst them that Robina Toynbee was murdered because of a publicity stunt.'
'That's ridiculous,' said Agatha.
'So why did you say such a thing?'
Agatha looked miserable. 'I felt the press were beginning to lose interest. I didn't hint at murder. I hinted there might be another demonstration. It could have well happened. It's my job, Bill. Had to get them here.'
'You've got the lot now,' said Bill grimly.
'Why wasn't Robina at the festivities anyway?' asked Roy.
'Part of the arrangement was that Robina Toynbee was to be at her garden wall over the spring when the procession arrived. So she told her neighbour.'
'And who made this arrangement?' asked Agatha. 'I heard nothing about it. The Free-monts?'
'No, luckily for them, or I really would have begun to think it was some macabre publicity stunt. According to this neighbour, a Mrs Brown, Robina thought up the whole thing herself. She was miffed because she had not been asked to make a speech, considering it was her water. So she planned to be at her garden wall and, when the procession arrived, make a speech. It was found on the grass beside her--her notes, I mean.'
'Oh, help!' Agatha stared at Bill, wide-eyed. 'Robina left a message for me last night. She wanted me to phone her. Then I got the news about the pop group not being able to make it and I forgot all about her. Maybe she just wanted to tell me about her speech.'
'Could be,' said Bill. 'Did you save the message?'
'Yes, it'll still be there.'
'I'll get along to your place later and listen to it.'
'So it looks as if we're back to the ones on the parish council who didn't want the water company to go ahead,' said Agatha. 'The againsts are Bill Allen, Andy Stiggs and Mary Owen. Where were they?'
'Mary Owen was at home. She said she didn't want to have anything to do with it. Bill Allen says he was at his garden centre, but as his staff of two young people had been given an hour off to go to the fgte, we have no witnesses. Andy Stiggs says he was working in his garden.'
'In this weather?'
'He says the heavy rain had battered a climbing rose and he was tying it up. With all that shrubbery in Robina Toynbee's garden, anyone could have hidden there and as soon as she got to the garden wall, struck her a blow from behind. Most villagers were already at the fete.'
'Yes, and when we walked along to the spring, apart from those from the fete who were accompanying the procession,' said Agatha, 'there was no one about.'
'I am going to take statements from both of you,' said Bill. 'I want you to go over carefully and clearly why you hinted to the press that there might be trouble and then what you were both doing at the time of the murder.'
It seemed to take a long time.
'I need a drink,' said Agatha when they were finally free. 'Let's go and see the Freemonts. I really want to get away from here.'
They found Guy, Peter and Portia in the press tent. Portia was laughing at something Guy was saying, her hand on his arm. Agatha's eyes narrowed. Then she reminded herself that she did not want to have anything more to do with Guy, romantically, that is. She had a craving to be her age, act her age, and stop worrying about wrinkles and sagging flesh.
'Agatha!' cried Guy, detaching himself from Portia. He gathered her in his arms and gave her a kiss. 'Isn't it all too awful? But you handled things magnificently.'
'I don't know,' said Agatha, awkwardly disengaging herself. 'I heard one reporter suggesting a good headline would be the Water of Death.'
'Don't worry. You should know. By the time all this blows over, all they'll remember is the name. We'll be world headlines tomorrow. We've got a great marketing manager. We've sent complimentary supplies to every restaurant round about, and to the top restaurants in London. It's a clever bottle. It would have been cheaper to put the water in plastic ones, but we think the success of Perrier, say, is that because it's in a glass bottle with a screw-top, it doesn't go flat, like the stuff in the plastic ones.'
'Have you made statements to the police?'
'Yes, everything's over and done with. Don't worry, Agatha. It's all worked out all right.'
'Well, the arrangement was that my job would finish on the day of the f@te,' said Agatha. 'I won't be seeing much of either of you again.'
'Did we make that arrangement?'
'Yes,' said Roy, moving forward. 'I've got the week off, Aggie. So if you can put up with me putting up with you, I'd like to stay on.'
