“Last year, Cassandra won a million in the lottery.” “Blimey. So what does Jason’s father have to say for himself?”
“That’s the interesting thing. He was seen in the neighbourhood on the day of the party. Now he’s disappeared.”
“What about Jason’s mother?”
“She divorced Harrison when he went to prison. No one seems to know where she’s living. We’ve got a police guard on the house, but we can’t keep guarding them indefinitely. We just don’t have the resources. What with this government closing down country police stations one after the other, we’ve got an even bigger area to cover.”
“I’ll phone this detective you recommended,” said Agatha. “Emma’s been working hard, but I could do with an expert. Have you got a description of Jason’s father?”
“Tall, thin, black-and-grey hair, large nose, black eyes, in his mid-fifties and evidently spry for his age. First name is Harrison. Like Harrison Ford. He hasn’t worked since he got out of prison last year. Don’t know where he’s been living or what on.”
“Maybe Cassandra has been giving him money.”
“She denies that and I think she’s telling the truth.”
“I’d better pay the Laggat-Browns another call,” said Agatha.
Firstly, after Bill had left, she phoned Patrick Mullen. He said he was interested in the job and would call round at the office in the early evening. Emma was out looking for a lost teenager, Sammy and Douglas were working on errant husbands and wives, so Agatha set out alone.
She planned to ask around Herris Cum Magna to see if there had been any other sightings of Jason’s father, but first she went to the manor-house. Mrs. Laggat-Brown herself answered the door. “Oh, Mrs. Raisin,” she fluted. “Do come in. Have you found anything?”
“Working hard on it,” said Agatha, not wanting to admit that she had barely started. “Has your husband left? I thought he was coming to see you.”
“Come into the drawing-room and I’ll explain.”
Agatha followed her through a shadowy hall and into a chintzy drawing-room that looked as if it had been furnished by Laura Ashley on an off-day.
“The fact is,” said Mrs. Laggat-Brown, “that Jeremy and I have got together again. He’s living here but commuting up to the City.”
“And is Cassandra happy about this?” “Of course. She adores her father.” “Where is she now?” “Bermuda.”
“I decided to send her and Jason away on holiday for their safety.”
“Mrs. Laggat-Brown…” “Oh, do call me Catherine.”
“Very well. I’m Agatha. Catherine, do the police know where Cassandra and Jason are?”
“Yes, the chief constable is a friend of mine and he thought it was a very good idea.”
“I gather Jason’s father was seen in the vicinity. You didn’t tell me he had a criminal record.”
Catherine flushed slightly. “Well, he’s served his sentence and it’s so much better to forget things like that, don’t you think?”
“Not when you’re dealing with attempted murder. Any more letters?”
“None at all.”
“Did the police find any fingerprints on the letter or where the stationery had been bought?”
“No. I gather they’ve just finished their tests.”
“No DNA from the flap?” asked Agatha, who was now thinking of all the questions she had failed to ask Bill. “Self-sealing kind.”
“Will Mr. Laggat-Brown be home this evening?”
“Yes, he comes home on the commuter train. Gets in at More-ton at six-thirty.”
“Tell him to phone me.” Agatha opened her handbag and extracted a card. “I would really like to talk to him. He might just remember something about someone.”
“Very well. I’ll try. You see, the fact is, he’s rather angry with me for engaging you. He says it should be left to the police and all amateurs do is mess things up. The thing is, to keep him quiet, I told him I’d fired you.”
Agatha looked at her curiously. “You don’t seem to have enjoyed your freedom from marriage very much, Catherine. You’re back with him and it seems he gives the orders.”
“But one does so need a man around,” sighed Catherine. “I mean, a woman feels so silly and alone without a man. The feminists say a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, but that always struck me as being rather stupid. I mean, why should they speak for fish? For all they know, fish might like a bicycle if they had the choice.”
“I’ll get back to you,” said Agatha before Catherine could indulge in any more mad philosophy. “Is there a pub in the village?”
“The Oaks. Right in the centre. Turn left as you go out of the gate.”
Agatha parked outside The Oaks. It was lunch-time and she was hungry. She hated to admit it, but she missed her usually lazy life.
She missed her cats and her talks with Mrs. Bloxby. She even missed the evenings with the ladies’ society. She and Emma had been working every evening as well as every day. Agatha sighed as she pushed open the door of the pub. Thank God for Emma. She had turned out to be a good friend and a hard worker.
Emma went into the office and sat down and eased her long feet out of her shoes. “Rough day?” said Miss Simms.
“Too much walking in the heat,” sighed Emma. “But I found that missing girl. I’ll give you the notes to type up after lunch.”
“I think I’ll nip out and get something,” said Miss Simms. She slid her long legs out from behind the desk. How can she go around in heels like that without her ankles swelling? wondered Emma. “Can I get you something?” asked Miss Simms.
“A ham sandwich, thank you.”
“Brown or white?”
“Brown.”
“Lettuce?”
“Yes, but no mayonnaise.” “Okey-dokey. See ya.”
Emma massaged her feet. She looked forward to telling Agatha about her latest success. Agatha was so grateful. Emma felt guilty now about having given the newspaper that malicious call. Agatha deserved loyalty.
The door opened and a man breezed in. He was in his late forties and impeccably tailored. He had small neat features and fair hair.
“Aggie here?” he asked, looking around.
“No, Mrs. Raisin is out on a case.”
“I’m Charles Fraith.”
“Oh, you’re the one who recommended us to Mrs. Laggat-Brown.”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Emma Comfrey. I work with Agatha. I’m a detective.” Charles smiled. “You look a worn-out one. What about a spot of lunch?”
“I’ve just sent out for a sandwich.”
“Forget it. Come on.”
Over lunch, Charles listened while Emma told him all about the agency, rather stressing her successes and minimizing those of Agatha. Then she told this sympathetic listener the story of her life and bored Charles murmured, “How amazing,” and, “Really!”
By the end of the lunch, Emma Comfrey was deeply in love with Sir Charles Fraith.
Agatha always marvelled that some of these tucked-away village pubs managed to survive. This one had a good few customers, and like most pubs these days, was set up with tables for eating.
She ordered fish and chips and when the waitress brought them asked her if a Mr. Harrison Peterson had been in the pub recently. “The police were asking that,” said the buxom girl, leaning a hip against the table and ignoring the signalling hands of some of the other diners. “I tole them, he come in here two days, I think, afore the big party.”
