James was sitting with Mrs. Sheppard in Carsely's pub, the Red Lion. Despite the chill of the day, she was wearing a sleeveless red chiffon dress. Her blond hair was smooth and shiny but she kept tossing it about like a model in a shampoo advertisement. James could feel himself becoming more and more bored. If only it were the prickly irritating Agatha Raisin opposite. Agatha could be infuriating, but she was never, ever boring.
Agatha told Charles what Mrs. Bloxby had said, but omitting any mention of James. 'So many people,' mourned Charles. 'So many suspects. I feel like going home. What about you? The police can't really keep us here.'
But Agatha suddenly did not want to go back to Carsely. In her imagination, James was already engaged to Mrs. Sheppard. And she did not want to be left on her own without Charles.
'We may try a little longer.' Charles was putting his coat on. 'Where are you going?' asked Agatha.
'I'm going to buy a couple of bolts, one for the back door and one for the front. While I do that, why don't you pop down to the estate agent's and have a word with Amy?'
'All right, but I don't think that woman's got much more in her mind than quilting and church affairs.'
Agatha set out. The wind was cold and the ground was frozen and slippery. She made her way cautiously across the village green and then heard herself being hailed from the pub. Rosie Wilden was standing outside, waving to her. Agatha walked back to join her. 'Come in, Mrs. Raisin, dear. I've got a bottle of my perfume for you.'
'Thanks,' said Agatha, following her into the darkness of the pub. 'We're not open yet,' said Rosie. 'Where are you off to?'
'I was just going to call on Amy Worth at the estate agent's.'
'You'd better hurry. They close at five-thirty and it's nearly that. Here's your perfume.'
'Thanks a lot. Are you sure I can't pay you for it?'
'My pleasure.'
Agatha hurried off, thinking that she must get Rosie something to repay her for the perfume and for that free meal.
Amy was just locking up when Agatha came hurrying up.
'What's happened?' she asked.
'Nothing more,' said Agatha. 'I think enough has happened already. I just wanted a chat.'
'I live next to Harriet. Walk round with me and we'll have a cup of tea.'
Amy's house was smaller than Harriet's, a trim 1930s bungalow with pebble-dashed walls, looking out of place among the other older houses of Fryfam.
'Is your husband at home?' asked Agatha, following Amy into her kitchen.
'No, Jerry's working late. Sit down. Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?'
'Coffee will be fine. Mind if I smoke?'
'I do, actually.'
'Oh, well.' Agatha put away the packet of cigarettes she had taken out of her pocket. 'I'm at my wits' end trying to figure out who murdered Tolly, and Paul Redfern.'
'It's really not your job,' said Amy. There was a loose thread hanging down from her droopy skirt. Agatha was wondering whether to tell her about it when Amy giggled and said, 'Now tell me all about you and Sir Charles.'
There was a decidedly prurient gleam in her pale eyes.
'Nothing to tell,' said Agatha defensively. 'I mean, you all seem to be up to such shenanigans in this village, you probably think everyone else is at it.' A quick memory of Charles's wellmanicured hands on her body came into her mind, and to banish it she said jokingly, 'Take you, for instance. I know all about you!'
Amy had just lifted up the kettle to fill two coffee mugs. She dropped the kettle and jumped back as boiling water went all over the kitchen floor.
'You bitch,' she hissed. 'How did you find out? It's that Jackson woman, isn't it?'
Agatha stared at her in amazement. A steely wind outside rattled the bare dry branches of a tree against the window. Somewhere a dog barked and children laughed. The mysterious Jackson children?
'Sit down,' said Agatha. 'Look, I'll help you mop up. I was teasing you. I didn't know. But I want to know now. But come to think of it, I don't need to know who it is unless it's Tolly.'
Amy slumped down at the kitchen table, her feet in a pool of water.
'I may as well tell you. It's got nothing to do with any of this. It's Mr. Bryman.'
'Your boss, the estate agent?' asked Agatha, amazed as she thought of the damp and unlovely Mr. Bryman. 'Where does this affair take place? Here, when Jerry's away?'
'No, Cecil-that's Mr. Bryman-said it was too dangerous. In the office on a quiet day.'
Where? Agatha wanted to ask. On the desk? Behind the filing cabinets? The mind boggled.
'You won't say anything,' pleaded Amy. 'It's just a bit of fun.'
'No, but where does Mrs. Jackson come into all this?'
'She found out. She used to clean the office one morning a week. But she came in one evening and caught us at it. She said she had to call at the school in the morning because one of her kids was in trouble, so she'd decided to do it the night before. She has a key, of course.'
'I'm beginning to think Mrs. Jackson has keys to places all over the village,' said Agatha. 'Here, let me help you mop up this water.'
'It's all right. I'll do it.'
'So what did Mrs. Jackson say?'
'Nothing then. But she dropped in when Cecil was out one day. She began to hint that it would be awful if my husband knew. I don't know whether she meant to blackmail me or not, but just in case, I said, `You'd best be careful what you say, I've got the tape recorder running, and if you blackmail me I'm going straight to the police.' I hadn't got the tape recorder running, but she didn't know that. She got very flustered and said she couldn't understand why I could think such an evil thing. She was a Godfearing woman, and yak, yak, yak. Oh, God, there's Jerry back. You'd better go. He's never forgiven you for that evening in the pub.'
'I'm off.' Agatha smiled weakly at Jerry as he came into the kitchen and he responded with a glare.
As she walked across the village green, her mind was buzzing with ideas. Must tell Charles. Promising not to tell anyone didn't include Charles.
Somehow, the solution to both murders was there in the back of her head. It was only a matter of looking at things differently.
EIGHT
CHARLES was lying on the sofa with the cats on his lap when Agatha burst into the sitting-room. 'I think I've got something,' cried Agatha, 'but I don't know what it is.'
Charles gently placed the cats on the floor and swung his legs down and sat up.
'Sit down, Aggie, take off your coat, and stop your eyes bulging and I'll get you a drink.'
Agatha sat down on the sofa. Charles handed her a gin and tonic and then poured a whisky and water for himself. 'Begin at the beginning,' said Charles. 'What did Amy say to get you so excited?'
Agatha carefully recounted everything she had found out. 'Now that is interesting,' said Charles. 'Not about her affair, which doesn't bear thinking about, but about Mrs. Jackson. Let's say Mrs. Jackson is a blackmailer. Who does she blackmail?'
'Lucy,' said Agatha. 'Back to square one. And yet, I've a feeling we've been looking at things the wrong way round.'
'Could be. Mrs. Jackson witnesses the new will. She tells Lucy. Forget for a moment about Lucy's alibi. She subsequently blackmails Lucy.'
'So what's that got to do with Paul Redfem?'
'I don't know. Stop asking awkward questions and let me think.'
They went over it and over it without getting any farther. At last, they decided to eat and have an early night. But Agatha found she could not sleep. How odd, that affair of Amy's. Agatha began to wonder if she, Agatha, was one of those romantic prudes, always living in dreams. Maybe it wasn't just the young who could indulge in casual
