are naturally distraught and it’s awfully hard trying to find someone the police were unable to.”
“The whole police force will search far and wide for a missing child,” said Patrick, “but once they reach the late teens, the search isn’t so urgent. What are Sam and Douglas doing?”
“Adultery cases. They pay well.”
“I’ll get off to Herris Cum Magna.”
“Wait a minute. Harrison Peterson was seen on the day of the party in Herris Cum Magna. Who saw him?”
“I got a tip-off. A Mrs. Blandford. I’ll start with her.”
Agatha made her way back to the office. Patrick had made her feel like an amateur. Why hadn’t she tried to get Bill to tell her the name of the person who had spotted Harrison?
To her annoyance, the office was locked. She unlocked the door and walked in. Emma had left a note. “Not feeling very well. Had to go home and lie down. Miss Simms is out on that job. Emma.”
The afternoon dragged on. Miss Simms did not return and there was no sign of Charles. At last Agatha locked up and went home, calling first at Emma’s cottage, but there was no reply.
She went into her own cottage, calling, “Charles!” The house was silent. She went upstairs to the spare bedroom. Charles had arrived with an overnight bag. It was gone. Agatha realized she had offended him and knew from experience that an offended Charles could stay away for quite a long time.
She went downstairs again just as the phone started to ring. It was Roy Silver, her one-time assistant, on the other end of the line.
“Aggie!” he cried. “I haven’t heard from you in ages. Feel like doing some free-lance PR?”
“I can’t, Roy. I’ve started up my own detective agency.”
“How exciting. Can I come down this weekend for a visit?”
“Of course. Are you driving down or taking the train?”
“The train. We’re coming into the wong-kind-of-the-leaves-on-the-line season and the trains will probably run late. I’ll be down Friday about eight o’clock.”
“Fine.”
Agatha brightened up at the prospect of seeing Roy again, but she missed Charles. She went through to her desk with some computer disks which had the detective agency’s accounts logged on them, put the disks in and began to go through the figures.
She noticed that she was beginning to actually show a small profit despite all the staff she had employed. The adultery cases were paying well and they were beginning to get quite a few from divorce lawyers.
She closed down the computer and was just about to phone Charles when her phone rang.
“Jeremy Laggat-Brown,” said the voice at the other end. “Remember me?”
“Of course.”
“Have you had dinner yet?” “No, not yet.”
“How about coming out to have a bite to eat with me?” “That would be nice,” said Agatha cautiously. “Will your wife be there?”
“Catherine’s got a Women’s Institute meeting tonight.” “Well, in that case .. .”
“Pick you up at eight? Where are you?” Agatha had put her home phone number along with the office number on her card but not her home address. She gave him directions. Then, when she replaced the receiver and looked at the clock, she let out a squawk. It was half past seven.
She fled up the stairs and began to tear clothes out of her wardrobe and place them on the bed. Then she decided she was wasting valuable time wondering what to wear when she should be making up her face.
Agatha at last descended the stairs just as the doorbell rang wearing a black sheath dress and very high heels and carrying a cashmere stole.
She opened the door and noticed with a sinking heart that Jeremy was dressed in jeans and an open-necked shirt.
“You look grand,” he said.
“Maybe too grand. Should I change into something casual?”
“No, you’re fine as you are.”
Remember, Agatha cautioned herself, as she eased herself into his Mercedes, he may not be married but he’s living with his ex-wife and she thinks they’re getting together again.
He took her to a newly opened French restaurant in Broadway. “Shall I order for us?” he asked.
“Please,” said Agatha on her best behaviour, although she privately thought he might at least have suggested she look at the menu.
When he had placed the order, he smiled at her with those deep blue eyes. James has blue eyes, thought Agatha, a sharp memory of her husband invading her brain. “Tell me about yourself and how you got into the detective business,” he asked.
He was a good listener and Agatha loved to talk about herself and her adventures and so it was lucky for him that she did not really notice much what she was eating, although she did register that the confit de canard seemed to consist of rubbery pieces of near-raw duck in a sort of watery jam.
Over brandy and coffee, Agatha suddenly realized just how much she had been monopolizing the evening’s conversation.
“You haven’t told me a bit about yourself,” she said guiltily. “How did you get into the import/export business?”
Was it her imagination, or did those eyes go hard for a moment? Then he smiled. “You
“One of my staff, a retired police detective, is out looking for him. I suppose he must be the guilty party. Did you know him?”
“Only slightly when I was a stockbroker myself. I don’t know that I approve of Cassandra’s engagement to Jason. There’s bad blood in that family.”
“Do you think that Jason might have been in with his father in a plot to kill Cassandra?”
“Why should he?”
“They’ve made joint wills, Cassandra and Jason. And you know that Cassandra won the lottery. I hope that’s not the case because the pair of them are together in Bermuda.”
“Seems silly. Makes Jason or his father the obvious suspect. Jason is devoted to his father by all accounts.”
“Where’s the mother? Whoever tried to shoot Cassandra had a female accomplice.”
“Jason never forgave her for divorcing his father. I don’t know where she’s living.^
Agatha sighed. “You see? So many questions I forgot to ask. The police have probably found her.”
Jeremy called for the bill and Agatha excused herself and went to the ladies’ room. As she repaired her make-up, she began to fret. Will he ask me out again? Why on earth did I talk so much?
“Oh, grow up, Agatha!” she snarled at her reflection in the mirror. “He may not be married but he’s as good as.”
She went out. He rose to his feet. “I’ve enjoyed the evening immensely. We must do this again.”
After a short pause in which Agatha had just been about to demand, “When?” and thought better of it, she said instead, “I should enjoy that very much.”
He drove her home. She invited him in for a drink, but he replied that he should be getting home. Agatha went into her cottage feeling rather flat.
She checked her phone for messages and found there was one. It was from Patrick Mullen. “I’ve tracked Harrison Peterson. He’s staying at a small pub that lets rooms called The Hereford in Evesham. We’re meeting him tomorrow at ten. He says he’s got a lot to tell us. I tried to get him to talk this evening. I didn’t see him. He talked through the door. Should I go to the police with this?”
Agatha quickly phoned Patrick. “Don’t go to the police,” she ordered. “This is our coup. I’ll see you in the office at nine.”
Her evening with Jeremy was quickly forgotten. Agatha could barely sleep that night for excitement.
In the office the following morning, Agatha was only momentarily diverted by Emma’s appearance. Emma’s
