“Yes, she had opened the windows, but I could smell it.”
“And to think she got so upset when I wanted to light up a cigarette! I tell you, it’s positively PC these days to smoke pot but not nicotine.”
“Not any longer,” said Toni. “They say the new stuff on the market is so strong it causes things like schizophrenia.”
“If she’s into pot, she could be into something stronger, like acid.”
“A lot of people smoke pot. It’s easily come by,” said Toni.
“I’d send you round the clubs trying to find LSD, but I don’t want you to get into trouble again.”
“It wouldn’t work,” said Toni. “Ever since I was on television on that last case, everyone will know I’m a detective and back off. I can ask my friend, Sharon. I wonder what the life of LSD is. Whether it has a sell-by date?”
“Why?”
“Because it might be an idea to find out if any of the suspects has had a wild youth.”
Agatha frowned in thought. “We’ve got to start somewhere. I know, let’s go to the vicarage and ask if they’ve got a collection of photographs of previous fetes. See if anyone looks odd. Maybe they’ve got some old photographs.”
“You mean like, say, Mrs. Glarely dressed as a hippy?”
“Something like that. We’ve really got nothing else to go on.”
The vicar himself opened the door to them. “Can I help you?” His voice was unwelcoming. “The case is closed and the money has been returned—money taken by one of your detectives who, no doubt, murdered Arnold.”
“True. But we recovered that money for you,” said Agatha briskly. “We are still trying to find out who killed Mrs. Jessop and Mrs. Andrews.”
“The police say it was probably a youthful prank gone wrong.”
“I’d like to be sure.”
“I do not see how I can be of any help to you.”
“We wondered,” said Toni, “if you had old photographs of the previous fetes, going back a bit. We might see someone there who shouldn’t be. I mean, all the previous ones must have been very small affairs.”
The vicar hesitated. Then he said reluctantly, “I suppose there is no harm in your looking. You must come and wait. I have boxes and boxes of them in the attic.”
“I’m sure you’re awfully busy,” said Toni eagerly. “Just lead us up to the attic and we’ll do the searching ourselves.”
The vicar looked relieved. When they had reached the first landing, Trixie appeared at the foot of the stairs and called out, “Where are you taking them?”
“Just to the attic. They want to look at our old photographs.”
“Whatever for?”
“I’ll tell you when I come down.”
As in all old Cotswold buildings, the stairs grew steeper as they climbed higher. Agatha’s bad hip gave a sinister twinge, reminding her that the hip injection she had paid for had been responsible for the recent absence of pain, and not, as she had desperately hoped, to the fact that she had not been suffering from arthritis at all.
Arthur Chance threw open a low door. “In you go,” he said. “All the old photographs are piled up in that trunk over there. I am afraid they are not in any sort of order.”
“Don’t worry.” Agatha knelt down by the trunk. “We’ll manage.”
When the vicar had left, she opened the trunk and let out a groan. “Hundreds of them. You take a pile out, Toni, and I’ll start on another pile.”
They worked in silence. It had usually been a very small affair indeed. Agatha found a photograph of George standing with two women. One was recognizable as Sybilla. The other, she supposed, must be George’s late wife, Sarah. Sarah Selby was less attractive than Agatha had imagined her to be. She was small with a neat figure, but her hair was a mousy colour and her dress was a print one with an ugly fussy design on it. Sybilla was gazing up at George adoringly. Agatha was about to put the picture down and reach for another when something caught her eye. She fished in her handbag and took out a magnifying glass. Toni giggled. “I didn’t think real-life detectives used those.”
“Never mind. Come here and look at this.” Toni peered at the photograph. “There, in the background, behind those three, that’s Maggie Tubby and just look at the expression on her face. Now which one of the three do you think she hates so much?”
“That’s interesting, but hardly proof of anything,” said Toni. “Let’s go on looking for something else, or there might be other photos of Maggie.”
“Oh, here’s another wedding at the church and Maggie again,” exclaimed Toni. “Take a look at this one. There! In the background on the left side.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Agatha peered at the photograph. Maggie was standing at the side gazing up at George.
“Now, surely that’s the look of a woman in love,” said Toni. “I thought she was a lesbian.”
“Never mind about that. These days, if a woman lives with another woman, particularly in a small village, then they’re judged to be a pair of lesbians.” Agatha scowled. “I’d like to show her this, just to see her reaction. I wonder if there is a way of getting her on her own. I also wonder why she was so anxious to say that George had worked up Sybilla to killing his wife.”
