AGATHA had imagined she would find a cook and a maid in the kitchen, forgetting that the days of live-in servants had gone. Mrs. Laggat-Brown had hired a caterer, a formidable-looking woman in jeans and a T-shirt. Agatha explained who they were, ending up asking if there was any supper.
“Sorry,” she said briskly. “All in the tent. With people like Mrs. Laggat-Brown, you cater down to the last plate and no more. The girls I’ve hired for the evening are serving it. I’d take a look in her fridge. There might be something there.”
“I don’t think we should…” began Emma timidly, but Agatha had spotted a chest freezer and a microwave, two essentials in Agatha’s opinion for efficient cuisine.
She opened the lid and rummaged through the packets. “Here we are, Emma,” she said at last. “Two portions of stew.”
Agatha put them in the microwave, turned the knob to defrost, and then heated them up.
“This is not bad,” said Agatha when they began to eat. “Got potatoes in it as well.”
At last, her appetite satisfied, Agatha turned her attention back to the caterer. “Known Mrs. Laggat-Brown long?”
“No, this is my first job for her and it’ll be my last.”
“Why is that?”
“Penny-pinching.”
“We’re detectives,” said Agatha. “Her daughter’s had a death threat.”
“Well, let’s just hope they get the old trout instead,” said the caterer with a shrug.
“I hope that cheque of hers clears,” said Agatha.
“It’s all right,” said Emma. “I paid the necessary fee to have it cleared quickly.”
“Oh, well done!” said Agatha and Emma flushed with pleasure. Really, thought Emma, I think I like her after all.
They made their way back out and located the swimming pool. Stage and microphone had been set up at the pool edge facing the house.
Then they walked back and went into the marquee. Agatha’s eyes ranged over the guests. “There can’t be anyone here she doesn’t know,” said Agatha. “No chance of gatecrashers. That one’s not going to part with a single extra crumb if she doesn’t have to.”
Emma’s feet in her high heels began to ache and she envied Agatha her flat sandals. “Funny,” said Agatha, “if Charles is such a friend of hers, I thought he would have been invited.”
At long last the meal was over, and fortunately for the two detectives, the speeches were to be made at the pool.
They went round and took up their positions behind where Mrs. Laggat-Brown would be standing at the microphone.
The guests arrived, laughing and chattering. Agatha had that old lost feeling of being on the outside, looking in.
Mrs. Laggat-Brown, flanked on one side by her daughter and Jason Peterson on the other, stood in front of the microphone. Agatha took up a position directly behind them. Mrs. Laggat-Brown opened her mouth to speak. But from a field at the side of the pool, fireworks suddenly erupted noisily into the air.
“Not yet!” screamed Mrs. Laggat-Brown furiously into the microphone.
Uneasy, Agatha looked across at the windows of the house and caught her breath. At one upstairs window, she saw the glint of what looked like a telescopic sight.
“Gun” she yelled. Spreading her arms wide and lunging forwards, she propelled Mrs. Laggat-Brown, Cassandra and Jason into the pool, falling in herself after them.
The fireworks had died away. Because of the noise of the fireworks, no one had heard Agatha’s cry.
Mrs. Laggat-Brown was helped from the pool along with her daughter and then Jason.
Agatha swam to the steps and climbed out after them.
“There was a gun,” she panted. “At that window. Up there!”
The two police officers ran into the house. Everyone waited. Cassandra began to cry.
At last the policeman and policewoman came out. “There’s nothing there,” said the police officer. “She must have imagined it.”
“I didn’t,” protested Agatha, wiping water out of her eyes. “And who set off the fireworks?”
“Just go away,” hissed Mrs. Laggat-Brown. “You have ruined my daughter’s party. I will stop that cheque.”
“Let me look upstairs,” pleaded Agatha.
“What can you find that two officers of the law cannot? Go away, you horrible woman. GO!”
“I’m telling you, sir,” said Police Constable Deny Carmichael later that evening to Detective Sergeant Bill Wong, “you should ha’ been there.”
He had just regaled Bill with a colourful account of how Agatha had pushed Mrs. Laggat-Brown, her daughter and Jason in the pool.
“Wait a minute,” said Bill. “You say the fireworks went off before they should have? Why?” “Oh, just a mistake, I reckon.” “You didn’t ask?”
“Didn’t reckon there was no need to. Them silly old women playing at detectives.”
“Agatha Raisin is a friend of mine and she’s no fool. When did the party break up?”
“ ‘Bout a half hour ago. Mrs. Laggat-Brown said it was all ruined and she didn’t want to go on with it.”
“I’m going round there. I was just about to go off duty, but it won’t do any harm to take an extra look.”
Mrs. Laggat-Brown, wrapped in a dressing-gown, gave Bill a lecture on the folly of women being able to set themselves up as detectives with no qualifications. Then, spurred on by Bill Wong’s Asian features, she continued on with a diatribe against immigrant foreigners who were ruining the country.
Bill waited impassively until she had dried up and then said, “Nonetheless, I would like to search the upper rooms at the back of the house.”
“But I have guests staying!”
“Is there a room up there which is not a guest-room?” “Just a sort of box-room.” “I’ll look there first. If you wouldn’t mind …” “Jason, would you be a dear? I am just too shocked to move.” “Come along,” said Jason. “But the police have already looked.”
When they reached the box-room, Jason looked on with amusement as Bill put a handkerchief over the handle before opening the door. Bill also switched on the light with the handkerchief and ordered Jason to wait outside.
The room was full of boxes labelled “Old Clothes,” “Books,” “China,” piled on either side, leaving a passage to the window. The window was open at the bottom. Bill went slowly towards the window, peering at the floor; Then he knelt down. There was a dark stain on the uncarpeted boards near the window. He bent his nose down to the floor and sniffed. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “I think that’s gun oil.”
He stood up and looked around while Jason waited impatiently outside. Bill took a pencil torch out of his pocket and began to shine it in the dark areas between the boxes. The thin beam of light picked out something shiny. Bill moved a box to one side and bent down again. An ejected cartridge shell.
He retreated out of the room. “No one has to be allowed in here until a forensic team arrives.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jason.
“Mrs. Raisin was right and if it hadn’t been for her prompt action, one of you would be dead.”
Agatha and Emma sat in the office the following morning, wondering what to do. “I suppose I’d better send her cheque back,” said Agatha, “or rather, since you cashed it, send her the money back.”
Miss Simms looked up from painting her long nails. “Me, I think you saw something, Mrs. Raisin.”
Emma was silently enjoying Agatha’s distress. Agatha was usually always so confident about everything.
“What you got to smile about?” demanded Miss Simms sharply.
“I’m sorry,” said Emma, flustered. “But if it wasn’t that this will affect the business when it gets in the local papers, it would have been very funny, the way Agatha shoved them in the pool.”
“It was too late for the local papers, thank God,” said Agatha.
“I’m afraid someone is going to tell them,” said Emma. “So many guests.”
The phone rang, making them all jump.
