on her background.'
'If you're speaking to her, give her my love.'
'Why don't you go and see her?'
'Shooting season. Got a big house party. Can't get away.'
Poor Agatha, thought Bill again. I hope she isn't too lonely.
Agatha was taking a brisk walk along the pier ten days after the murder when she saw the tall, slim figure of the colonel in front her and quickened her steps to catch up with him.
'Fine morning,' said Agatha. It had turned quite mild for mid-winter, one of those milky grey days when all colour seemed to have been bleached out of the sea and the sky, and even the sea-gulls were silent.
'Morning, Agatha,' said the colonel. 'All set for the dance tonight? More our style.'
He pointed to a poster advertising OLD-TYME DANCING. 'Yes, we've all got new gowns to dazzle you,' said Agatha. 'Colonel, why do none of you ever talk about that dreadful murder?'
'Not the sort of thing one talks about,' said the colonel. 'Nasty business. Best forgotten.'
'You went to Francie, didn't you?'
'My liver had been playing up and my quack couldn't seem to come up with anything sensible. Kept telling me to stop drinking. May as well be dead in that case. Went to Francie. She gave me some powders. Haven't had any trouble since.'
Agatha thought that as the colonel did not drink very much, and had probably received a bad health scare to slow down his drinking, it was probably due to that rather than Francie's powders that he hadn't had any more trouble.
'What did you make of her? Francie, I mean.'
'All right. I'd expected a lot of mumbo-jumbo. But she seemed a sensible sort of woman. I'm surprised her daughter's moved in and set up in business so quickly.'
'She has?'
'Yes, there was a small ad in the local paper this morning.'
Agatha's detective curiosity was roused again. 'That is odd.'
'I don't think it's odd,' said the colonel. 'Tasteless, maybe. I think she's cashing in on the publicity about her mother's death.'
'I wonder if people will go to her,' mused Agatha.
'Bound to. There was also a bit in the local paper about Francie's cures, saying there was a lot to be said for old-fashioned herbal medicine.'
'That's what she used? Herbs?'
'Or grass.'
'Grass?'
'Grass. Pot. Hash. We had a lady who was resident at the Garden--she's dead now, poor old thing. She was subject to fits of depression and so she went to Francie, who gave her something. Well, after that, whenever she had taken some of what Francie had prescribed, she used to get all giggly and silly. I've seen the effects of pot and I thought Francie had given her something with hash in it.'
'Didn't you report it?'
'Old lady had terminal cancer. I thought, if it keeps her happy, so be it.'
'And yet you went to her yourself?'
'She seemed to be all right generally. Mary was plagued with warts and she cured those, things like that. I had high blood pressure once, everything seemed to outrage me--politics, modern youth, you name it. I went on a diet and decided not to worry about anything, interfere in anything, just look after myself. Worked a treat. That's why I let things like this murder alone.'
'Did you know Daisy's husband?'
'Met him once. Gloomy sort of fellow.'
'What did he die of?'
'Lung cancer. Sixty-cigarettes-a-day man.'
Agatha, who had been fighting with the craving for a cigarette, felt the longing for one sharply increase. Odd that the minute she heard something awful about the effects of cigarettes, the longing for one should hit her. Maybe that's why the cigarette manufacturers didn't balk at putting grim warnings on cigarette packets. They probably knew that at the heart of every addict, there's a death wish.
'You've done wonders with the ladies' appearance.' The colonel strolled on with Agatha at his side. He seemed happy to change the subject. 'Daisy's looking really pretty.'
'Thinking of getting married?' teased Agatha.
'What me? By George, no! Once was enough.'
'Wasn't it happy?'
'Wonder if those chaps have caught any fish?' The colonel waved his stick at men fishing at the end of the pier. So the subject of his marriage was closed.
As they turned back and walked towards the hotel, Agatha stumbled and he tucked her arm in his. 'Better hang on to me,' he said. 'Don't want you twisting an ankle before this evening. You should wear flats.'
'I always like a bit of a heel,' said Agatha. She looked towards the hotel. There was a flash at one of the windows. Could be binoculars, thought Agatha. I wonder whose room that is.
When they went into the warmth of the hotel, to the Victorian hush of the hotel with its thick carpets, thick curtains and solid walls, Agatha felt all her old restlessness coming back. She went up to her room and unwound the scarf from her head. There was not enough hair covering the hitherto bald patches. She shook the bottle. Only a little left.
She could kill two birds with one stone. She could go along and have a look at this Janine and see what she was like and also see if she had any of her mother's hair lotion left. She didn't want to use up the last little bit in case it turned out that Janine didn't have any and that last bit must be kept for analyses.
She brushed her hair and decided there was no longer any reason to wear a scarf.
Agatha called in at the dining-room on her way out to tell the others she would be skipping lunch. The waistband of her skirt felt comfortably loose for the first time in months and she did not want to sabotage her figure with one of the hotel's massive lunches.
'Where are you going?' asked Mary.
'I'm going to see Francie Juddle's daughter.'
They all stared at her. 'Why?' asked Jennifer.
'It's my hair. Remember I had these bald patches? Francie gave me some hair tonic and it worked a treat. I'm going to see if she has any of her mother's stuff left.'
Agatha turned away and said over her shoulder, 'If she's such a witch, she may even be able to rouse the spirits of the dead to tell me who murdered her mother.'
There was a sudden stillness behind her, but she went on her way. They probably all thought her visit was bad form.
FOUR
AGATHA felt quite excited as she made her way along the promenade to Partons Lane.
At the cottage, a surly-looking young man answered the door. 'You got an appointment?' he demanded.
'No.'
'Well, you'll need to come back. Two o'clock's the first free appointment.'
'Put my name down,' said Agatha. 'Agatha Raisin.'
'Right you are.'
