Raisin?”
“It’s all right,” said Agatha. “I know you are right next door. Or rather, the new next door. I changed our rooms and got your stuff moved into the new one.”
“I shall be leaving before breakfast.”
“I’ll look after her,” said Patrick.
They finished their meal and left the dining room, Agatha avoiding looking at James.
James Lacey was feeling hunted. Deborah should never have come. She did not seem to notice his silence but chattered on about the iniquities of her ex-husband and all the men who had tried to sleep with her.
At last, when she paused for breath, he said, “Look, Deborah, it’s like this. I was about to have some sort of reconciliation with Agatha and you arrived at precisely the wrong minute.”
Deborah’s mouth fell open in surprise. “But why?”
“I am very fond of her still.”
Deborah’s eyes narrowed. “You are a very silly man. I thought we had something going.”
“You must be mad. I’ve barely spoken to you before this evening.”
Deborah burst into tears. She had fantasized so much about him on the journey down that she was sure they would be in bed together before the night was out.
James waited until she had finished crying and then said quietly, “You must see you have made a mistake. You had better go home.”
He rose and left the dining room and nearly collided with Cyril Hammond and his wife. As he walked away, James wondered what the couple were doing staying on. He wondered whether to go straight to Agatha’s room and try to explain things but then decided to leave it until the morning.
NINE
CHARLES Fraith was not feeling guilty at having abandoned Agatha. But he was bored. He could not understand why his friends, Cynthia and Guy Partington, had suddenly decided to cut short their visit. It did not occur to him that on the two occasions when Charles had invited the Partingtons out for dinner, he appeared to have forgotten his wallet.
He knew if he went back to join Agatha she would be very angry with him, but she had been angry before and had come round. It was worth a try. The previously dull summer weather had worsened and sheets of rain were making lakes on the lawn outside his windows.
Agatha had slept soundly that night because when she had changed her room and Mrs. Bloxby’s, she had demanded ones which did not overlook the sea, having become tired of the sinister roar of the waves at high tide.
She awoke in the morning feeling stronger than she had felt since the discovery of the fake maid. She wondered if they had found out yet if there had been anything sinister in that flask and then remembered that it seemed to be only on fictional forensic detective programmes on television that results came through immediately.
Mrs. Bloxby knocked on her door and came in to say goodbye. “I wouldn’t worry about Mrs. Fanshawe,” she said. “Such a pushy sort of woman. Mr. Lacey won’t like that at all.”
“Don’t care,” muttered Agatha, but she could not help wondering what James had been about to say to her before the awful Fanshawe woman had breezed into the bar.
“I must leave now,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “Do take care of yourself.”
“I’ll try. Give my love to Carsely.”
“I’ll do that and I’ll make sure your cats are being well looked after.”
Agatha’s cleaner always looked after Agatha’s pets when she was away somewhere.
As she walked down the stairs with her friend, Agatha wondered what on earth she could do that day. Then she thought of the Hammonds. It was time to ask that pair just why they were staying on.
She walked Mrs. Bloxby round to the car park, waved goodbye and then walked slowly back to the hotel.
Agatha joined Patrick in the dining room. There was no sign of either Deborah or James. Agatha thought of those long legs of Deborah’s and had a sudden awful mental picture of them wrapped around James’s neck. She shrugged to dispel the image.
“Going to rain,” said Patrick. “Big black clouds creeping in across the sea. What’s the programme for today?”
“I think we have to hang around the hotel. The police will be back with more questions and I’d better be available. Have you seen James?”
“Not yet.”
“I want to have a go at the Hammonds. Cyril knew Geraldine for a long time. He knew Charlie Black. I wonder if there’s anything criminal in
“Trouble is, my contact at the police station is getting a bit tired of me using him. Maybe I’ll try later, take him a bottle of Scotch or something.”
“Okay, put it down on your expenses.”
“The gentlemen of the press were round earlier. There must have been a leak.”
“I’ll tell the manager to keep them outside the hotel.”
“Are you sure? In the first place, I already suggested to Beeston that he ban the press, but he says he can do with the custom. Also, a bit of publicity never hurt anyone. Hold a press conference. Hint that you are nearly about to expose the murderer of Geraldine.”
“I suppose I could do that. Is my hair all right? Maybe I should find a hairdresser.”
“I wouldn’t bother. Look. It’s started to bucket.”
Sheets of rain were being driven against the long windows of the dining room.
“Oh Lord,” muttered Agatha. “Here comes the femme fatale of Carsely.”
Deborah marched up to them. “Where’s James?”
“Blessed if I know,” said Agatha.
“He’s not in his room.”
“He’s probably gone out for a walk. Why don’t you go and hunt him down?”
“I’ll need to fix my hair first.”
Deborah strode off. “That’s the first time I’ve seen a mini-raincoat,” said Patrick. “Still, I suppose she knows she’s got good legs.”
Agatha, who prided herself on her own good legs, gave him a sour look. But she was comforted by the fact that James was not hanging around Deborah.
They fell silent, Agatha already missing the comforting presence of Mrs. Bloxby and Patrick wondering whether a bottle of whisky would elicit any information from his contact At times like this he wished he were in his old job with access to computer records and the right to interview anyone he felt like.
“Tide’s coming up,” said Patrick at last. “If it’s as bad as this now, God help the residents of Snoth when the autumn gales start.” Through the open door of the dining room he saw Deborah leaving again, carrying a large golf umbrella under her arm. He half rose.
“Where are you going?” asked Agatha.
“I’ve just seen Deborah heading out. I should warn her it isn’t safe.”
“Oh, sit down. Let the silly cow get a soaking.”
A high wind had got up and the rain was streaming down. Deborah unfurled her large umbrella. She hesitated. Waves were crashing over die sea wall.
But in the distance, heading towards the hotel, through the rain and waves, she could see James Lacey.
Deborah smiled. He could not really have meant all those things he had said to her. She had been successful in the hunt before by never taking no for an answer. She would run towards him. She saw it all in slow motion in her
