'I must go,' said James. 'Snow's arrived.'
'So it has,' said Doris as a flake swirled down past her nose. 'Must get on.'
She can't do this, thought James. She's only doing it to get at me. I'll go down there and reason with her.
But by the time he got home, the flakes were falling thick and fast. He phoned the Automobile Association and found all the roads to the south were blocked.
Sir Charles Fraith was having a late breakfast with his elderly aunt. She put down the newspaper and said, 'Don't you know someone called Raisin? Didn't she come here?'
'Agatha Raisin?'
'Yes, that's her. It's in the paper.'
'What is?' asked Charles patiently. 'She's engaged to be married to some fellow called Jessop,' said his aunt.
'Fast worker, Aggie. I'll phone Bill Wong and see if he knows about it.'
Charles got through to Detective Sergeant Bill Wong at Mircester police. 'She's getting married!' exclaimed Bill. 'Who to?'
'Fellow called Jessop.'
'That'll be Inspector Jessop of the Wyckhadden police.'
'I thought Aggie was eating her heart out for James Lacey.'
'She must have got over it.'
'She's probably doing it to annoy him. I know Aggie. I'll go down there and put a stop to it.'
'You shouldn't, and anyway, you can't,' said Bill. 'The roads are blocked.'
'I should stop the silly woman. I bet she doesn't give a rap for this inspector.'
'She's over twenty-one.'
'She's twice over twenty-one,' said Charles nastily.
'Why don't you phone her? It said in the papers when they were writing about the murder that she was staying in the Garden Hotel.'
'Right. I'll do that.'
But the lines in Wyckhadden were down.
* * *
Agatha was never to forget the suffocating claustrophobic days that followed, inurned up in the hotel. No electricity. No phones. No television.
On the Wednesday morning, Agatha found Harry sitting alone in the lounge. 'Not even a newspaper,' he mourned. 'I've never known it as bad as this. And no central heating. You would think a hotel as expensive as this would have a generator. I'm bored.'
Agatha walked to the window. 'It's stopped snowing,' she said over her shoulder.
'Sky's still dark and more has been forecast,' said Harry, rising and joining her.
'We could build a snowman,' joked Agatha.
'Splendid idea.' To Agatha's surprise, Harry was all enthusiasm. 'Let's put on our coats and build one right outside the dining-room window where they can see it at lunch-time.'
Soon, well wrapped up, they both ventured out. The snow lay in great drifts. 'I'll go first,' said Harry. 'Clear a path.'
He headed to a spot in front of he dining-room window. Agatha, like Wenceslas's page, followed in his footsteps.
'I used to be good at this,' said Harry. 'I'll shape the base if you roll a snowball for a torso.'
'Where are the others?' asked Agatha.
'In their rooms, I think.' Harry worked busily.
'You never talk about the murders,' said Agatha.
'No, I don't. Nothing to do with me. Why should I?'
'You knew Francie. Had a seance with her.'
'Oh, that. Maybe that's one reason I don't want to talk about it.'
'Why?'
'Because she tricked me. I missed my wife dreadfully and I must have been crazy to go to her. Mind you, her potions and ointments seemed to work.'
'So what happened?' asked Agatha.
'I really thought it was my wife. That was until the voice that was supposed to be my wife told me that the bit about the eye of the needle in the Bible was true. Said I should give my money to Francie.'
'But if a rich man can't enter the kingdom of heaven, how can a rich woman?' I asked.
'Ah, the voice said Francie would send it on to a good cause. That's when I got suspicious. My wife was very thrifty. 'Must save for our old age,' that's what she always said. I reported Francie to the police. But I'd gone along with it for a little, been conned, and felt like a fool. Don't want to talk about the woman. She's dead anyway.'
Agatha rolled a large snowball, and with surprising strength in one so old, Harry lifted it onto the base he had formed while he was talking. 'Another one for the head,' he ordered.
He began to shape the torso into a woman's bust. Agatha watched, amazed, as a snow-woman began to take shape. 'Could you go to the games cupboard,' asked Harry, 'and get me two marbles for eyes? And some make-up for the face?'
'Right. What about hair?'
'Could you find something? Black hair? And do you have an old dress or coat or something?'
Perfectionist, thought Agatha. What happened to the old-fashioned snowman made of three balls of snow and with a carrot for a nose?
She went up to her room and found an Indian blouse which she had decided she did not much like. What to use for hair? He would need to make do with one of her scarves. She picked out a black one and then found a lipstick and blusher. She then went to the games cupboard in the lounge and took two blood-red marbles out of a jar.
Afterwards, as she surveyed Harry's handiwork, she wished she had taken out two blue or grey marbles, for the red effect was sinister. Harry had created a woman with staring red eyes in a snow face like a death mask. With the black scarf draped round her head and the Indian blouse fluttering in the wind, the snow-woman looked remarkably lifelike and ghoulish.
A gong sounded from the hotel. 'Lunch!' said Harry. 'Let's get to the dining- room before the rest of them. I want to see their reactions.'
They left their coats in the lounge and hurried into the dining-room.
Daisy, Mary, Jennifer and the colonel came in together.
The colonel stopped dead. 'By George,' he said. 'Would you look at that!'
Outside the window the red marble eyes glared in at them from the white face and the black scarf moved in the wind and the blouse fluttered. In that moment, Agatha realized the snow-sculpted features bore a remarkable resemblance to the dead Francie.
'Is it something out of a carnival?' asked Daisy.
But Mary uttered a moan, put a shaking hand to her lips and fainted dead away.
EIGHT
'THE phones are still down,' said the colonel after lunch. Mary was lying down in her room being ministered to by Jennifer.
