told him the police were waiting for him.
“Don’t say anything about us thinking Sybilla might have murdered George’s wife,” she hissed.
She gave a succinct statement to the press about how she and Roy had found the body and then hurried to her car. They followed her, but she switched on the engine and turned on the air conditioning until they retreated.
There was a gentle rise outside the churchyard where she was parked and she could see the road dipping down into the village. Huge black clouds were towering up in the sky above the end of the village. Seeing that the press had decided to leave her alone, Agatha opened the windows and switched off the engine.
The sunlight was retreating before the menacing black cliff of clouds. There was a blinding white flash of lightning and then a tremendous clap of thunder. With a great
The passenger door was wrenched open and Roy tumbled in. “I’m soaked,” he wailed. “I asked them to let me stay in the unit for a bit until the rain eased off, but they wouldn’t let me.”
“Let’s go home,” said Agatha. “There’s nothing more we can do here in this storm.”
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Toni and Harry had run to the church again for shelter. Toni began to feel awkward in his presence. He obviously came from a well-to-do family while her background of a slummy house, drunken mother, brother who had committed suicide and a father she did not know weighed heavily on her.
Harry, seemingly unaware of her discomfort, chatted on about his life at Cambridge.
At last, Toni interrupted him. “I think the storm’s rolled over.”
They went outside into a yellow, watery sunlight. Everything glittered with raindrops and a golden river ran down the middle of the village street.
They mounted Harry’s bike and set off. When they reached her flat, Toni dismounted and said awkwardly, “Thanks for the ride.”
“What about this evening?” asked Harry cheerfully. “Fancy a bit of dinner?”
“No. I’ve got a date,” lied Toni.
“Oh. Right. See you around.”
Agatha was pacing up and down the living room of her cottage, a gin and tonic in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“I wonder if Sybilla left everything to George in her will.”
“But it seems a clear case of suicide,” said Roy.
“Suicides can be faked.”
“The note was clear enough. I’m watching
Agatha glanced at the screen. “The rich kid did it.”
“You’ve seen it before!”
“No, I haven’t. American television can be terribly snobby. If there’s a rich college kid, he’s always the murderer.”
“I want to see it,” complained Roy.
Agatha retreated to the kitchen and was just sitting down at the table when the doorbell rang. She opened the door and found Bill Wong looking quizzically at her.
“Come in,” said Agatha. “Where’s your boss?”
“This is unofficial. You were about to say something. Why were you surprised that only one death was referred to in the suicide note?”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know you of old. Out with it. Agatha, you’ve got into trouble before and nearly got yourself killed by not telling me the full story.”
Agatha capitulated. “Oh, sit down. Drink?”
“No, I’m driving. Coffee would be nice.”
“Right. There’s some still hot in the percolator.”
When Bill was seated at the table, with Agatha’s cats climbing over him, Agatha began to outline the idea she had formulated that George Selby’s wife had been pushed down the stairs by Sybilla. “Those two jam-making lesbians, Maggie Tubby and Phyllis Tolling, seem pretty sure of it. Mind you, they are a malicious pair of women. But I had the idea that if I could solve that case—assuming there was a case to be solved—then it might lead to whoever poisoned the jam. And if Sybilla was so dotty about George that he suggested she bump off his wife, he might have driven her to suicide, hoping to inherit her money.”
“We found Sybilla’s will. She had a sister, Cassandra. Cassandra gets the lot. She is a Mrs. Unwin, married well. Husband is head of a building contractors’. Pots of money.”
“But George might have thought she would leave it all to him.”
“I know you’ve had far-fetched ideas before that turned out to be true, but this one is ridiculous. Also, I don’t think the poisoning of the jam was intended to kill anyone. I think it was a senseless prank that went wrong. Think about it. There seems to have been no specific target. That’s what was making it so difficult trying to find out who did it. But now we are sure it was Sybilla. There is no other explanation for her suicide or for that note. As far as Wilkes is concerned, the case is closed. He told the vicar his conclusions, so I’m afraid, if you want to go on pursuing the matter, you won’t be paid for it.”
_____________
Agatha was increasingly busy in the following weeks and put the Comfrey Magna case out of her mind. She needed to build up a healthy bank balance to make up for all she had
