'Press have given up for the night,' said the colonel cheerfully.
'Let's hope some big story breaks and takes them somewhere else,' said Agatha. 'Oh, there's Jimmy.' The tall figure of the inspector could be seen standing on the hotel steps.
'I'll leave you to it,' said the colonel.
'Agatha,' said Jimmy with a shy smile. 'I was hoping to have a word with you. The others are playing Scrabble in the lounge. Let's go to our pub.'
Our pub, thought Agatha cheerfully. I can't wait to try that love potion on James Lacey.
'Now, what's happening?' asked Agatha when they were seated over drinks.
Jimmy sighed. 'We're going to have to release the husband. We haven't anything on him.'
'Don't you have anything at all? What about all the wonders of forensic science? Isn't there anything? A hair? A fingerprint?'
'A lot of people called on Janine. Trying to sort out all the evidence is a nightmare.'
'What about the appointments book?'
'There isn't one. That's disappeared.'
'It must have been someone pretty powerful who threw her off the pier.'
'Not necessarily,' said Jimmy. 'We've found threads of her white dress in the pier rail where she went over and bruises on her ankles. It looks almost as if someone pointed down at the water and said something like, 'There's something down there.' Janine leans over. The rail is quite low. Someone grasp her ankles and just tips her over.'
'It must have been someone who knew she couldn't swim.'
'Yes, that's what made us sure it was the husband.'
'What I would love to find out,' said Agatha, twiddling with the stem of her glass, 'is if there is anything in the background of any of them, I mean the people at the hotel, that would cause them to commit murder.'
'We've gone into that pretty thoroughly. Mary and Jennifer are a couple of single ladies who seem to have led boring and respectable lives. Daisy and Harry, the same. The colonel had a hard-working career in the army.'
'Northern Ireland?'
'Yes, like everyone else, but if you're starting to think about some sinister plot by the IRA, remember it wasn't the colonel who was murdered.'
'Why would anyone kill Francie and then her daughter?' said Agatha, half to herself. 'The pair of them must have got to know a great deal about their clients. Maybe they got to know something they shouldn't and tried a bit of blackmail.' She brightened. 'I'm sure that's it. Now if it was the husband, he might know what it was, and if he isn't saying anything, it might be information he's keeping back to use himself.'
The inspector looked at her fondly. 'You're as good as a book, Agatha. But Cliff, despite his appearance, is a weak creature. He was bullied by his wife, from all accounts. It was her work that kept him and she never let him forget it. Janine changed her will right after her mother's death. We've just found that out.'
'So Cliff does get the lot.'
'On the contrary. He was left nothing. Everything goes to the Spiritualist Society of Great Britain.'
'Blimey. So what's Cliff going to do for money?'
'Probably go back to working on the fairgrounds, which is where Janine met him.'
Agatha sat silent for a moment. Then she said, 'That's it!'
'That's what?'
'The reason for the missing money. Janine and Francie were gypsies, and gypsies do not like paying the tax man. There must have been a hell of a lot of money in Francie's box. Cliff must have taken it.'
'But Cliff didn't know about the changed will, or so he says, and Janine was still alive when Francie was murdered, so I don't follow your line of reasoning, Agatha.'
Agatha's face fell. 'Neither do I, now I come to think of it.'
He patted her hand. 'Let's talk about something more pleasant. I'm taking the day off on Sunday. Would you like to go for a drive?'
'Yes, that would be nice. Where?'
'Just along the coast. Stop somewhere at a pub for lunch.'
'I'd love to.'
'I'll pick you up at ten.'
After Agatha said goodbye to him, she walked into the hotel and looked into the lounge. They were playing Scrabble over by the fire, the group illuminated by the soft light from an old-fashioned standard lamp with a fringed shade, all of them crouched over the Scrabble tiles on the low coffee-table. The furniture in the lounge was heavy and Victorian, upholstered in dark green velvet. The velvet curtains of the same colour were closed over the long windows to shut out the night. Had they all subconsciously decided to shut out the world by not talking about it? Agatha had never even heard them discuss anything in the newspapers except for a few brief remarks about the coverage of the murder. Then, almost as if their heads were on pulled wires, they all turned their faces and looked at her. Agatha had an odd feeling that she was intruding on the meeting of some secret society.
Then Daisy called, 'Come and join us.'
Agatha shook her head, smiled and said good night.
As she undressed in her room, she began to speculate about a future with Jimmy. Mrs. Jessop, she repeated to herself as she ran her bath. I could be Mrs. Jessop and I will ask James Lacey to give me away. So there!
Sunday was a glorious day, all wind and glitter. It had rained heavily the day before and now everything was drying out in the sun. It was a yellow day, watery yellow sunlight shining in puddles and dancing on the choppy waves of the sea.
Agatha experienced a feeling of relief as they drove away from the hotel. In bad weather, as on the day before, the hotel became oppressive, like being locked away in a time warp. Although the others were friendly enough, the women no longer asked her advice on clothes or make-up and the colonel no longer seemed interested in outings to the theatre or anywhere else. The days are passing, thought Agatha as Jimmy drove his Volvo Polo along the coast road. I wonder if James Lacey misses me.
'So you haven't heard from her?' James Lacey was saying after church to Mrs. Bloxby. 'And yet there's been another murder. I thought she might have come home to have a look at her cats. Then I thought she might have phoned me to consult me about the murders.'
'You haven't been exactly friendly with Mrs. Raisin,' said Mrs. Bloxby. 'Why don't you drive down and see her?'
'I might do that,' said James. 'Yes, I might just do that.'
After three hours driving, he arrived at Wyckhadden and went straight to the Garden Hotel. He was told at the desk that Mrs. Raisin had gone out and they did not know when she was expected back. 'Mrs. Raisin?' said a tall, elderly man who had been passing the desk.
'Yes, Colonel,' said the manager. 'This gentleman is asking for Mrs. Raisin.'
'Gone out with her boyfriend,' said the colonel. 'That inspector.'
James Lacey did not wait. There was no point. Agatha had always been a damned flirt.
'So that's the real story of why we didn't get married,' Agatha was saying later over dinner. 'It wasn't just because my husband turned up at the wedding. I really think James didn't care for me at all.'
'I hate to say this, Agatha,' said Jimmy, 'but you're right. If he had really loved you, he would have married you when everything settled down.'
They had talked all day with an easy companionship. Agatha was beginning to think more and more that marriage to Jimmy might be pleasant. There had to come a point in life to put away immature dreams of love and settle for friendship.
She only wished she could stop playing scenes over and over in her head where James would be shocked and jealous when he learned of her forthcoming marriage.
As Jimmy drove slowly back to Wyckhadden, Agatha said, 'There's a fairground.'
