all went around asking intimate questions before they'd even opened the bedroom door. It had been a gut conviction that there was something seriously weird about Tom Courtney that had driven her on.
Alibis had been checked by the police on both sides of the Atlantic. What on earth did she expect to find out?
Once through immigration, she took out the Google maps she had run off her computer before leaving and asked a taxi driver to take her to Sellivex Drive, home of Dr. and Mrs. Bairns.
What if they're not at home? fretted Agatha as the taxi eventually swung round into a leafy drive. She asked the driver if he would wait. 'Sure thing, lady,' he said. 'But pay this part first.'
Agatha did, and added a generous tip.
The house was pseudo-Colonial, built of red brick and with white columns at the entrance. Manicured lawns separated it from its identical neighbours on either side. No children played.
Agatha went up the red brick path which ran along the right side of the lawn, past a garage pretending to be a stable with a brass horse on the roof and so round to the door.
She pressed the doorbell. A voice from inside called out, 'See who that is, Sally.'
The door opened. A stout woman with grey hair stood there. 'Yes?'
Agatha presented her card. 'Mrs. Bairns, please.'
'Just you wait heah.'
Agatha waited.
After a few moments, Sally reappeared. 'Step this way, ma'am. Remove your shoes first.'
Agatha walked into a blast of freezing air conditioning and through to a large, spacious room furnished with very little indeed. The Bairns family seemed to prefer minimalism. The walls were white. The paintings seemed to be totally black. There were only three leather chairs with spindly steel legs in the room and one black marble coffee table.
Mrs. Amy Bairns remained seated. She was a tall blonde with that California face-lift look which makes a lot of face-lifted women look the same--like creatures from the Planet Botox.
She did not smile. Probably would crack her face if she did, thought Agatha.
'How can I help you?' asked Amy. Agatha sat down.
'Tom Courtney has asked me to help find out who murdered your mother,' began Agatha.
'So what brings you here?'
'As you are his sister, I thought you might remember something, something that might give me a clue as to who might want your mother dead. Did she have any enemies?'
'Mother was not popular. But, no, no one hated her enough to kill her.'
'Perhaps I might have a word with your friend Harriet Temple.'
'Are you trying to tell me you
'No, nothing like that. But she may remember something about Mrs. Courtney.'
'She barely knew Mother. Now, my time is valuable even if yours is not.' Amy must have pressed a hidden bell somewhere because Sally promptly appeared.
'Mrs. Raisin is just leaving.'
Agatha threw her a baffled look. Why such animosity when all she was doing was trying to find out who murdered the woman's mother?
She followed Sally out into the hall, sat down on a white leather chair and put on her shoes. Agatha drew a hundred-dollar bill out of her wallet. 'Meet me later?'
Sally knelt down at Agatha's feet. 'You got a speck on that there shoe. I'll just wipe it off.' And in a whisper, 'Jimmy's Bar down on Peach Tree. Eight o' clock.'
Agatha nodded. She went out to her waiting taxi and asked to be driven to the nearest hotel. 'There's a motel out on the freeway, not far,' said the driver. 'But you ain't got a car.'
'Give me your card and I'll phone you if I need you.' He passed over a grimy card.
'And where is Jimmy's Bar on Peach Tree.'
'That's just one block behind the motel.'
'Great.'
'Look, lady, if you goin' to need me tomorrow, you'd best fix a time, see. I cain't afford to sit around waiting for a fare.'
'Pick me up at nine in the morning.'
_______
The motel was clean and efficient. Agatha unpacked a few belongings from her overnight case. She was feeling dizzy with jet lag. She turned her alarm clock back five hours to set it to American time. Then she telephoned Patrick.
'Don't tell anyone, Patrick, but I'm in America. Have you got any notes of the Courtney murder with you?'
'Got them somewhere here.'
'Tom Courtney's sister's alibi is someone called Harriet Temple. You didn't manage to get an address out of the police?'
'Can't remember. Hang on.'
Agatha waited impatiently. Outside on the freeway, the traffic swished past like some great mechanical ocean. At last Patrick came back on the phone. 'Got it. Harriet Temple . . . got a pen?'
'Yes.'
'Divorcee. Address, Camden Court, Apartment 5, Number 252. Didn't get a phone number.'
'Thanks, Patrick. I'll tell you about it when I get back.'
Agatha showered and changed into a cool shirtwaist dress and then went out to look for Jimmy's Bar.
As the driver had said, it was indeed only one block from the hotel, a red flashing light above the door proclaiming Jimmy's into the still, dark evening air.
Agatha opened the door and went in. There were a few men at the bar and some men and women seated in red imitation leather booths along one wall.
She sat down in one of the booths which afforded a good look at the door. It was exactly eight o' clock.
Then Agatha realised there was no waiter service. She went up to the bar and ordered a bottle of Budweiser. 'May I have a glass, please?'
She braced herself for the usual sort of are-you-English questions but the barman looked too tired to waste time on starting a conversation. 'I'll be having a Bud as well,' said a voice at her elbow. Agatha turned and saw Sally. She paid for the drinks and led the way over to one of the booths.
'So what you want of me?' asked Sally.
'I thought you might have an idea if Mrs. Courtney had any enemies.'
'Can't right say she could've had any. See, hardly anyone was allowed in her house, and that's a fact. Didn't like to take your money for nothin' but maybe you'd like to see these. Miz Bairns asked me to burn 'em and I clean forgot. Old family photos. Might help.'
Agatha took out her wallet and handed over a couple of hundred. She knew she probably didn't have to pay anything for them but there was a beaten-down weariness in Sally's brown face that went to her heart.
'Why do you stay in such a job?' asked Agatha.
'Pay's good. But with this money you just done give me I'm off back home to Atlanta in the morning. I'd rather go back to waiting table than work for her. Been only there three weeks. She follows me around like a cat. Looks for dirt. Crazy about dirt she is. She pays me end of the week, which is tomorrow. I'll collect that and then leave her a note. Now, I best get back.'
'Who worked for her before you?'
'Don't rightly know. I know she's only lived there a couple o' months.'
Agatha thanked her and wished her luck. She put the album in her briefcase. Now, she thought, as she headed back to the hotel, let's see why Amy was so keen to have this lot burned.
Agatha found to her surprise that there was a bowl of fruit and a bottle of sparkling wine on the bedside table. A note read, 'With compliments.'
Now that's nice, thought Agatha. How odd that such a functional type of roadside motel should go to such a courtesy.
