Agatha Raisin Kissing Christmas Goodbye

Agatha noticed for the first time that Mrs Tamworthy's hair, worn in a French pleat, was dyed brown. There were deep wrinkles around her eyes but her cheeks were smooth. Her eyes were small and black, the kind of eyes which are good at concealing the owner's feelings. She was very small, very round, with only the vestige of a waist. Her feet, encased in flat slippers, did not meet the floor.

Agatha took a strong swallow of gin and tonic, opened her handbag and took out a pen and notebook.

'Why should one of your family want to kill you?'

'Because I'm selling this place, lock, stock and barrel, and that includes the village.'

'Why should they object?'

'Because they all want to go on like lords of the manor. You see the portraits of my ancestors on the wall?'

Agatha looked round. 'Yes.'

'All fake. That was my daughter Sadie's idea. Ashamed of the family background because she's married to Sir Henry Field. Now, my late husband, he made his money in building bricks. He started work as a brickie, but he won the football pools, and the brickyard was going bust so he bought it. Then the housing boom came along and he made a fortune. Our children, there are four of them--two sons, Bert and Jimmy, and two girls, Sadie and Fran. They all got good educations. Sadie and Fran were sent to a finishing school in Switzerland and that's where they got their grand ideas. My husband, Hugh, would have done anything for them, and just after they had nagged him into buying this estate, he died of cancer. I took over the business and doubled his fortune, got a good manager for this estate who actually ran the farms at a profit.

'They even made me take elocution lessons. But I want my own life now. I never liked it here. I want a small flat of my own.'

'Why not just leave the estate to your children?'

'They'd run it into the ground. My Hugh didn't work hard just for me to see it all frittered away.'

'But one of them wanting to kill you!' exclaimed Agatha. 'Are you sure?'

'You'd better come along to my birthday party and see them for yourself.'

'I don't come as a detective, do I?'

'No, you say you're a friend of mine. You can bring your son as well.'

'He is not my son,' said Agatha angrily. 'He used to work for me.'

'Bring a bag. You'd better stay the weekend'

'I'll get my secretary to send you a contract outlining fees and expenses,' said Agatha. 'Now, is your other daughter, Fran, married?'

'Was. Didn't work out. Divorced.'

'Why didn't it work out?'

'Husband, Larry, was a stockbroker. Pompous prat. Fran says he thought she was common and it was all my fault. She blames me for the divorce.'

'Sadie?'

'Married to a stuffed shirt, Sir Henry Field'

'And your sons?'

'Bert is a darling but weak. He manages the brickworks. He married a farmer's daughter, or rather she married him.'

'Name?'

'Alison.'

'What's she like?'

'All four-wheel drives, tweeds, sounds like the Queen. A bully.'

'And Jimmy?'

Phyllis Tamworthy's face softened. 'Ah, my Jimmy. He's a dear. Quiet and decent.'

'What are the ages of your children?'

'Sadie is fifty-eight, Fran, fifty-six, Bert, fifty-two and my Jimmy is forty. I thought I was past it when he came along.'

'And grandchildren?'

'Only two. There's Fran's daughter, Annabelle, she's thirty-seven, and Sadie's daughter, Lucy, is thirty- two.'

'And do they have children?'

'Just Lucy. Her child, Jennifer, is eight.' Agatha scribbled busily in her notebook. Roy piped up. 'Which one of them do you think is going to kill you?'

'I don't know. It's just a feeling I have.' Agatha raised her eyes from her notebook.

'You're not telling us everything. You've a pretty good idea of who it might be. You seem a sensible woman. You don't just have feelings about things.'

'You're the detective. I'm hiring you to find out.' Roy, again. 'We went into the village pub to ask for directions and there seemed to be some sort of meeting going on there.'

'Oh, they're always complaining about something. I own the village as well. There was a Sir Mark Riptor owned this place before my husband bought it. When I took over, they asked me to donate thirty thousand pounds to the upkeep of the cricket club because Sir Mark had always looked after them. I refused. Then they wanted the village fete here. Sir Mark always had it. I refused. They said there had always been a fete at the manor since time immemorial. I said, 'Tough.' So they have meetings and grumble. 'Come into the twenty-first century,' I told them.

''I don't expect you to pull your forelocks and act like peasants, so don't expect me to act like the lady of the manor. Shove off.''

Agatha stared at her. 'Don't you think one of them might have it in for you?'

She laughed. 'No. They like grumbling'

'How long do you want me to work on this case?'

'The weekend should be enough. I said I was putting the place up for sale right after my eightieth birthday.'

'But apart from wanting to keep it as a family home,' said Agatha, 'won't they inherit a great deal of money from you? I mean, this estate must be worth a mint.'

'They won't inherit much. I had to stand on my own two feet and run the business. They should learn to do the same. I'm going to have a technical college built and dedicate it to the memory of my Hugh.'

'And do they know this?'

'Yes, I told them a few months ago.'

'Did you ever make a will leaving them anything?'

'Yes, I left everything to be divided equally amongst the four of them.'

'And have you changed that will?'

'I'm going to change it next week to make sure that the college is built. As soon as this place is sold, I shall start the building of the technical college. I am in good health and want to see the work completed before I die. If there's anything left over, they can have it.'

'But they can inherit the technical college!'

'No, I'm leaving that to the state.'

Agatha took a deep breath. 'Are you tired of living?'

'Not a bit.'

'Look, under these circumstances, if you were my mother, I might be tempted to kill you myself. Do your children love you?'

'I suppose so. Jimmy does.'

'What does Jimmy do?'

'He owns a newsagent's and general stores in Upper Tapor. I bought it for him so he'll be all right.'

'Did he want a shop?'

'The poor lamb is very shy. He didn't know what he wanted to do. I said a shop was the idea. Meet the public. Get out of himself. I hope I've given you enough information because I'm tired and would like to lie down.'

'Have you got anyone who could run us back to our car?'