“Your trouble,” said Charles, who had read the note over her shoulder, “is that now you’re running around being a professional detective, you think your friends are to be picked up and left at will.”
The doorbell rang. “You get it, Charles,” said Agatha. “I’ll try Roy on his mobile.”
Charles opened the door. Emma stood there, fresh makeup, golden trouser suit, shielded from the rain under a golfing umbrella.
“Oh, come in,” said Charles. “Agatha’s on the phone.” He led the way into the kitchen. “Can I get you something?”
“No, Em all right, Charles. I’ve been thinking. I owe you not one but two lunches. My turn next.”
And she gazed at Charles with simple adoration in her eyes.
Alarm bells went off in Charles’s head. “That’s very kind of you, Emma, but Em afraid I have to leave. Got things to attend to.”
Emma’s face fell. Agatha came into the kitchen. “Oh, it’s you, Emma. Thank you for looking after, Roy. He’s been singing your praises.”
“Has he forgiven you?” asked Emma.
“Oh, yes,” said Agatha and Charles noticed a flicker of disappointment in Emma’s eyes.
Agatha had mollified Roy by promising to travel up to London and buy him the best meal in town.
“Isn’t it a pity,” said Emma brightly. “Charles has just told me he is leaving.”
Agatha’s bearlike eyes focused on Charles. “But we’ve got so much to find out.”
“Sorry, Aggie. Got to go. I haven’t unpacked my bag, so I’ll be off.”
“Ed better go, too,” said Emma, anxious to hang on to Charles until the very last minute.
“Can’t I persuade you to stay?” asked Agatha, following them to the door.
“Sorry.” Charles picked up his bag and kissed her on the cheek.
He walked out to his car with Emma following. “Goodbye,” she said, turning her cheek towards him for a kiss. Charles pretended not to notice. He slung his bag in the boot and then got into the driver’s seat.
Emma walked to her cottage and stood on the doorstep, waving and waving until his car had turned the coiner of Lilac Lane and disappeared.
Agatha felt forlorn.
Charles drove down to Moreton-in-Marsh and parked by the war memorial. He took out his mobile phone and called Agatha. “Feel like dinner?”
“Yes, but I thought you’d gone!”
“I’m parked by the war memorial in Moreton. Come down and collect me and I’ll tell you about it.”
Over a pub dinner, Agatha exclaimed again, “I can’t believe it. Emma!”
“That’s the reason for the new hairdo and the new clothes.” “Emma’s such a simple, friendly person. Surely you must be mistaken.”
“No, I’m not. She could be dangerous.” “How?”
“I just feel uneasy about it. I’ll creep back with you. I’m sure she goes to bed early. You haven’t really talked much about Laggat-Brown, now that we’re on the subject of romance.”
“I had dinner with him and he seemed very pleasant.”
“He’s my prime suspect.”
“Come on, Charles. He’s got a cast-iron alibi and he wouldn’t want to murder his own daughter. It’s obvious he adores her. My money’s on Jason. He’s the only one with a motive.”
“But to kill his own father! Wait a bit. That’s out. He was in Bermuda.”
“So he was.-We seem to be going round and round.”
“What about Joyce Peterson’s new squeeze? Maybe he’s fanatically jealous of the ex and wanted revenge. Maybe he meant to shoot Jason. You know, Aggie, if it hadn’t been for that death threat, we wouldn’t be in such a muddle. What if the death threat was a blind? What if the intended target wasn’t Cassandra? Don’t you see, she’s the stumbling block. As long as we keep looking on Cassandra as the intended victim, we’ll get nowhere. So let’s take Jason as a possible.”
“Can’t see why,” Agatha said.
“What about Mrs. Laggat-Brown?”
“Possible. Husband’s in the clear. What about the Felliets?”
“I know George very well and I can’t imagine him doing anything murderous.”
“What about the daughter? She might know something about the Laggat-Browns.”
“I never met her. I believe Felicity is very beautiful.”
“It’s a long shot. Could you phone Sir George and ask if he now knows where she is?”
“He’ll wonder why we’re asking. I think I should drop along to Ancombe tomorrow and ask him in the way of conversation. Say I happened to be passing by.”
Emma heard the sound of a car turning into Lilac Lane and ran upstairs to the landing and looked out.
Charles and Agatha got out. They were laughing at something. At me? thought Emma, and put her arms across her body and hugged herself in a paroxysm of jealousy.
In that moment, she hated Agatha Raisin. As she prepared herself for bed that night and then lay down under the duvet, she fantasized that with Agatha out of the way, Charles would turn to her. He obviously had a penchant for older women. If Agatha was killed during an investigation, no one would ever think of Emma. Of course, she wouldn’t actually do it. Would she?
Charles strolled through Ancombe the next morning. Agatha had driven him down to Moreton to collect his car. She had gone off to the office and he had decided to drive to Ancombe, park his car a little ways from where the Felliets lived and see if he could bump into George as if by accident.
He went into the general stores to buy cigarettes. He rarely smoked, usually preferring to “borrow” a cigarette from someone else, but this was one of the rare days when he really wanted a smoke.
As he entered the store, he heard the woman behind the counter saying, “That’ll be seven pounds and fifty pee, Lady Felliet.”
Charles forgot about the cigarettes. What was her first name? Something odd. Crystal, that was it.
He moved forward as Lady Felliet turned away from the counter. “It’s Crystal, isn’t it?”
She was a tall woman. He remembered she had been a blonde beauty when he used to go to deb dances in his early twenties. The blonde was now streaked with grey and worn in a knot at the back of her neck. Her hazel eyes were still beautiful, but two hard lines scored down either side of a mouth that had a discontented droop. She was wearing a tweed suit that had seen better days over a silk blouse, thick stockings and serviceable walking shoes.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Charles Fraith.”
“Charlie? Of course it’s you. Good heavens. George told me you’d called round the other day. What brings you here?”
“I’m staying with a friend in Carsely. Went out for a drive and suddenly felt I wanted a cigarette.”
“Get your cigarettes and come home for coffee. We don’t see many people these days.”
Charles bought a packet of Bensons and joined her again. “It wasn’t so bad in the beginning,” said Crystal. “Oh, thank you.” Charles had taken the shopping basket from her. “I really should get one of those carts on wheels. But so naff.”
“Not any more,” said Charles. “What were you saying about the old days?”
“Well, not so far back. I make it sound like centuries. But that’s what it feels like sometimes. When we first moved here, we got invited for weekend house parties and things. People, however, do expect one to return hospitality. I gave a few dinner parties in our poky little cottage, but it didn’t work and finally the invitations stopped coming. I hate that Laggat-Brown creature.”
“Wasn’t her fault you lost your money, though.”
“True. But I mean the feelings of humiliation. She did crow over one. Here we are. George will be delighted.”
George did look pleased to see Charles. “Do you mind if I leave you boys to your coffee?” said Crystal. “I really must do some gardening.”
“Go ahead. I’ll make the coffee,” said George.
Charles followed him into the kitchen and waited while George boiled the kettle and put spoonfuls of instant
