Agatha was about to protest that Sir Charles did not run the agency, but one look at the generous sum on the cheque shut her up. Charles must have quoted the first extravagant price he could think of.
She questioned Mrs. Laggat-Brown further as Emma’s pen flew across the pages of her notebook.
According to Mrs. Laggat-Brown, there seemed to be no obvious reason for anyone to want to end the engagement.
Was there a Mr. Laggat-Brown? Not now. They were divorced three years ago, an amicable divorce.
What did Mr. Laggat-Brown do? “He is a stockbroker,” said Mrs. Laggat-Brown. “Just like dear Jason.”
“Will he be at the party?” asked Agatha.
“He would be if I could find him. His firm said he went on an extended holiday but did not leave an address.”
Miss Simms arrived later, carrying shopping bags from various thrift stores. Emma spent the rest of the day instructing her in the files and a new price list she had drawn up.
Agatha was in high excitement at the prospect of what she thought of as a “real” case.
Anxious to tell Mrs. Bloxby about it, no sooner had she arrived home than she fed her cats and let them out in the garden. She reflected that she would have to pay her cleaner, Doris Simpson, something extra to come in during the day and let the cats in and out. Agatha was fond of telling people that she was not an animal lover.
The vicar opened the door to Agatha and gave a thin smile which was not reflected in his eyes. “Em afraid we are rather busy, Mrs. Raisin …” he was beginning to say when Mrs. Bloxby appeared behind him.
“Oh, Mrs. Raisin, do come in,” she said over her husband’s shoulder. “We’ll go into the garden and you can have a cigarette.” The vicar, muttered something and retreated. A moment later, Agatha heard his study door bang.
“So how is it all going?” asked Mrs. Bloxby when they were seated in the garden.
Agatha told her all that had been happening and about the party the following evening.
“And how is Mrs. Comfrey coping?” asked Mrs. Bloxby.
“Very well. At first I thought that she was too old and pushy.”
“Pushy! Mrs. Comfrey!”
“Well, maybe it’s a sort of bold front. Seems she had a pretty important job at the ministry.”
“Or so she says. I can’t imagine her being popular.”
“I can’t imagine her being unpopular,” said Agatha. “She’s just too nice. I’ve hired Miss Simms to be secretary since Emma is doing so well on the detective side.”
“And you say Sir Charles recommended you. That was good of him.”
“He never comes to see me any more,” mourned Agatha.
“He’s always been like that, dropping in and out of your life. He’ll turn up again. Have you phoned him to thank him?”
“No, I’ve tried to phone him before, but he was always out or away somewhere.”
Before Agatha phoned Charles, she phoned Sammy on his mobile and asked if there had been any progress in the Benington case. “I’ve got nothing, but Douglas heard one thing he thinks might be it. He’s bugged the office as well as the phone.”
Agatha repressed a groan, thinking of the expense. “What did he get?”
“Mr. Benington called in his secretary. After dictating letters, very boring stuff, all about clothes and things for their mail-order catalogue, he asked her—her name is Josie—if things were all right for Friday—and she giggled and said okay, that she had told her mum she was off to a business convention. So with any luck it means he’s got an assignation for Friday with his secretary.”
“Good. Keep on it,” said Agatha.
Agatha then phoned Charles. His aunt answered the phone and said Charles was in the bath. “Tell him to call me. AgathaRaisin,” ordered Agatha. The aunt replaced the phone without even saying goodbye. Charles did not phone back.
Probably the old bitch didn’t give him the message, thought Agatha, and went upstairs to find a suitable dress to wear for the party.
Mrs. Laggat-Brown was blessed by good weather. A harvest moon was rising above the trees at the manor- house when Agatha and Emma arrived. Fairy lights were strung through the trees and on the lawn was a large striped marquee. A band on the terrace was playing old-fashioned dance numbers. The manor-house itself was one of those low rambling Cotswold stone buildings which are much larger inside than they seem from the outside. Agatha looked around. She and Emma had arrived early, but already there seemed to be a great number of guests arriving. Agatha had compromised by wearing a silk trouser-suit and flat sandals in case there should prove to be any action. Emma was wearing a black satin gown with long sleeves. Agatha thought she looked like a member of the Addams Family, but Mrs. Laggat-Brown, rushing up to greet them, said, “How well you look, Mrs. Comfrey,” and to Agatha, “Would you like to go into the house and change?”
Agatha bristled. “I am changed. You cannot expect me to hunt down a potential killer in high heels and a long skirt.”
“Oh, very well. The programme is this. The guests will assemble in the marquee, where drinks will be served, followed by dinner. Then they will go outside while the marquee is cleared for dancing. More drinks will be served at the pool house.”
“And where is that?” asked Agatha.
“Over at the back of the house, by the swimming pool. I will announce my daughter’s engagement there before the dancing begins.”
“Would you like me to search the house?” asked Agatha. “Make sure no one is hiding there?”
“Oh, dear me, no. Some of the guests are there changing and we don’t want you poking around, now do we?”
“I thought that was what I was here for,” said Agatha.
“Just study the guests and look out for someone who looks as if they don’t belong.”
“She shouldn’t wear a backless dress at her age,” said Agatha sourly, watching Mrs. Laggat-Brown retreat. “You can count every single vertebra.”
“So where do we start?” asked Emma.
“I don’t know about you, but I could do with a large G and T.”
“I think it’s only champagne,” said Emma. “Here comes a girl with a tray.”
“Oh, that’ll do,” grumbled Agatha. She and Emma took a glass each.
“I think that must be Cassandra,” said Emma, waving her glass in the direction of the terrace.
Cassandra had masses of sun-streaked hair. She was plump with a round, amiable face. She was wearing a very low-cut dress to show off her best feature—two large round bosoms. Beside her stood a young man in evening dress. He had thick dark hair, a long nose, and a somehow embarrassingly large and red sensual mouth.
A little to the left of them stood a policeman and policewoman.
The guests chatted, the band played, and Agatha’s feet began to hurt. And then the guests began to move towards the marquee.“Great,” said Agatha. “Come along, Emma. Em starving.”
Mrs. Laggat-Brown, with her daughter and Jason, had moved to the entrance to the marquee to welcome the guests.
When she saw Agatha and Emma, she said, “We haven’t got places for you. If you’re very hungry, you can get something in the kitchen.”
Agatha wanted to make a scene. She wanted to shout that they were supposed to observe the guests and that she would rather do it sitting down, but reminded herself in time that Mrs. Laggat-Brown was a client and that if she behaved herself this job might lead to others.
Outside, Emma said, “We may as well go to the kitchen.”
“Damned if I will,” muttered Agatha.
“You see, whoever is working there might have some gossip about the family.”
“You’re right.” But Agatha felt she should have thought of that herself.
THREE
