She fell into an uneasy sleep and dreamed of being in James’s arms once more, awakening at last to another sunny day and filled with longing for him.
As she went downstairs to prepare breakfast for Roy, she found all her old obsession for James was back and along with it a nagging restlessness. James, for Agatha, was as strong an addiction as cigarettes.
Roy padded into the kitchen wrapped in a gaudy Chinese dressing gown. His face was covered in black streaks.
“Your hair dye’s run during the night,” said Agatha. “Take a look. There’s a mirror over the sink.”
Roy peered at his face and let out a squawk of horror. “What am I to do?”
“Go upstairs and take a shower and shampoo all the colour out.”
While she waited for him, Agatha’s mind turned over what Roy had told her about Harry’s report. There had been things she had not known.
Roy appeared again half an hour later, his hair now a mousy brown and wearing a denim shirt and blue jeans.
“Really,” said Agatha, “you look almost human.”
“I look like a nerd,” said Roy. “What’s the programme for today?”
“I might just go back to the office and look at that file.”
TWELVE
AGATHA had given her staff the weekend off. While Roy fidgeted around, she read the file. Harry had not bothered about Brian McNally. The whole focus of the report was on the murder of Geraldine Jankers.
When she had finished reading she looked up at Roy, who was walking about. “I’m beginning to feel I should have asked further questions.”
Roy said, “From all you’ve told me about that dreary watering hole, I’ve no intention of ruining my weekend by going there.”
“Nobody will be there now. The hotel will be boarded up for repairs.” Agatha went to her computer and rang up a list of addresses that Patrick had inveigled from his contact. Fred Jankers was in Lewisham, as was Gyril Hammond. That left only Archie Swale in Brighton.
“Let me see,” she said. “Fred and Cyril are in Lewisham—”
“I am not, repeat
“And Archie Swale is in Brighton.”
“Now Brighton I don’t mind.”
“Maybe we could just run down there and have a word with him. It’s a lovely day.”
“All right.”
In the car Roy switched on the radio to a “golden oldies” pop station. The voice of Gloria Gaynor belting out “I Will Survive” filled the car.
“Listen to that,” said Roy. “She’s singing your tune—the anthem of the dumped.”
“Turn it off.”
Roy switched off the radio. “You’ve never mentioned James Lacey.”
“Why should I?”
“He’s right next door to your cottage and yet he hasn’t called, you don’t speak about him, and you never looked in the direction of his cottage once.”
“That’s finished. I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Thank goodness for that. I feel your heart has bled enough.”
“I wonder just exactly how much Cyril got from Geraldine’s will,” said Agatha. “And how much was her life insured for. I don’t think Fred killed her for the insurance. I’ll bet the whole thing was her idea. She would strike a deal where she insured her life and he insured his.”
“So what has this Archie Swale got out of it? Nothing at all, if I remember Harry’s report properly.”
“He’s got a vile temper,” said Agatha. “He was in the paratroopers. He’s got strong wrists.”
“But how could he get her to dress and come out into the night and walk down to the beach? Fred was in the room. There was no phone call. He says he fell asleep before she went out, butif there had been a call he would have known about it. So it must have been prearranged.”
“If it was Archie Swale,” said Agatha, “what could he say to entice her down?”
“Maybe she liked power. Maybe she kept in touch with him. Maybe she said she was going to Snoth and he arranged to meet her, saying he had a present for her. Did you ever tell the police about those items of jewellery Geraldine had stashed under the mattress?”
“I couldn’t. I would have had to tell them how I knew.”
“Harry says in his report that he’s sure Fred did not know they were there.”
“Let’s see what Archie has to say, although he’ll probably slam the door in our faces.”
“What! You mean we’re going all this way just to get a door slammed in our faces?”
“I thought you’d be delighted, Roy. Brighton is hailed as the San Francisco of the British Isles.”
“It’s no use you implying I’m gay. I’m thinking of getting married. Watch out! You nearly hit that man on the pedestrian crossing.”
“You amaze me. Who’s the lucky girl?”
“I haven’t got one yet.”
“So why get married?”
“It’s my boss, Mr. Pedman. He only invites members of staff to parties at his home if they’re married.”
“You can’t just get married to please your boss and go to a few parties.”
“I want to further my career,” said Roy primly. “There are plenty of single girls out there.”
“Think hard about it before you do anything,” said Agatha. “I mean, you could find a nice quiet girl and then, after you were married, she might start to bully the life out of you. What about children? I can’t see you with children.”
“Then you know bugger all about me. Drive.”
To Agatha’s amazement, not only was Archie Swale at home, but he actually seemed pleased to see them.
“Come in,” he said. “It’s Mrs. Raisin, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and this is my young friend, Roy Silver,” said Agatha, heartily glad that Roy was not wearing his Indian outfit.
“I was just about to have a little tincture,” he said. “Drink?”
“I’m driving,” said Agatha. “Oh, well, one won’t hurt. I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
He went over to a small side table laden with bottles. “I’ve no tonic, but I do have bitters. What about a pink gin?”
“No, thank you. Sherry will do if you have any.”
“Yes, I do. What about you, young man?”
“The same.”
When the drinks were served and they were all seated, Archie said, “I’m so glad that dreadful case is solved. Poor Geraldine. I didn’t like the woman, but I would have gone on wondering who killed her. I remember when I was in Northern Ireland…” His voice droned on in a long military anecdote while Agatha wondered how she could ask him some pertinent questions.
A fly buzzed against the window. The room was hot and stuffy. Agatha was beginning to feel as trapped as the fly.
Then she realized he was asking, “Would you like to see my medals?”
“Very much,” said Agatha.
Archie staggered slightly as he rose to his feet and Agatha thought, he’s been drinking a lot before we
