She picked up the phone and got through to reception. 'I just want to thank you for the fruit and wine,' she said.
'We didn't give no fruit or wine to your room, ma'am. It's Mizz Raisin, isn't it?'
'Yes.'
'Maybe you got an admirer.'
Agatha slowly replaced the receiver. If by any chance the wine was drugged, she could pour some off, then pretend to be asleep and see if anyone came into the room.
On the other hand, that someone might kill her. She did not want to go to the police because it would take ages waiting for the contents of the wine bottle to be analysed, the American police would contact Mircester, who would no doubt be furious at her interfering in their investigation.
She went downstairs to reception and said to the clerk. 'I'm expecting a friend to arrive from England late tonight. May I book another room?'
'Sure, just fill up the form. There's one along the corridor from you. That do?'
'Fine.'
Agatha returned to her room and poured half the bottle of wine down the toilet after rinsing some of it around in a glass.
She made up the bed to look as if someone were asleep in it, finally placing a wig she kept for travelling stuffed with newspapers on the pillow. She opened the bedside drawer and took out a copy of the Gideon Bible and put it in her briefcase in the place of the photo album.
Then she went out, locking the door and letting herself into the extra room she had booked.
Agatha lay down on the bed and prepared to wait. But she was exhausted and jet-lagged and soon fell asleep, not waking until four in the morning.
She went out and walked slowly along to her old room. There wasn't any sign of forced entry. She unlocked the door and switched on the light. All seemed to be as she had left it but for one thing. The briefcase was gone. Gripped by panic, she packed up her few belongings, emptied out the wine in case one of the maids should drink it, went downstairs, paid her bills and phoned her taxi driver.
He grumbled a bit at being called out in the middle of the night but agreed to come.
When the cab arrived, she told the driver to take her to any large five-star hotel in the centre of the city.
He dropped her outside the Hilton Garden Inn. As Agatha stumbled wearily out of the cab, her handbag opened and the contents spilled onto the pavement. The driver helped her gather up the contents, including a packet of cigarettes. 'You won't be needing those,' he said.
'Why not?'
'Hotel's proud of the fact you can't do no smoking anywhere inside.'
'Oh, snakes and bastards,' howled Agatha. 'Take me somewhere where I can smoke.'
He drove her a few blocks to a boutique hotel called the The Cloche. 'Wait there,' ordered Agatha. 'I want a look at this place first.'
The entrance hall was all mahogany and brass. Yes, said the night porter, he had a smoking room available. Agatha went out and paid off the taxi and then followed the porter, who was carrying her bag inside. The price was steep but the room she was ushered into was large and comfortable and boasted a small sitting room.
With a sigh of pleasure, she lit a cigarette, realising she had not had one since leaving England. It tasted foul. Agatha studied the packet with narrowed eyes in case the cigarettes should turn out to be the contraband sweepings off some Chinese factory floor, but everything seemed correct. 'Rats!' she said to uncaring walls and went to bed instead, not waking until noon.
After showering and dressing, she ordered coffee and sandwiches and sat down to inspect the photograph album. She stared, puzzled, at various photographs. Someone appeared to have been cut out of quite a lot of them. There was Tom with his arm around someone who had been snipped out of the photograph; the same thing had been done to several of the others. There were a few of Miriam with her husbands on her wedding days.
'None of Amy,' said Agatha to the coffee pot. 'I wonder why.'
When she had finished her light lunch, she phoned her taxi driver. When she gave him the address of Camden Court, he looked puzzled. 'Don't you know it?' she asked impatiently.
'Sure, but you now being in this classy hotel and wanting to go to a place like Camden Court set me back a bit for a moment.'
'Why?'
'Bit out of town in the projects.'
'I've got to get there.'
'Okay, lady. You're the boss.'
Curious, very curious, thought Agatha. What is a frigid, rich queen like Amy doing with a pal in the projects? You'd think the very sight of a cockroach would make that sterile bitch faint.
The projects were not as insalubrious as Agatha had feared. She found number five and knocked at the door. The door was opened by a tall, tired-looking motherly woman with a bad perm and swollen ankles showing above scuffed slippers.
'Harriet Temple?' asked Agatha.
'I ain't buying.'
'And I'm not selling. I am a private enquiry agent working for Mr. Tom Courtney.'
'Mr. Courtney? You'd best come in.'
Agatha walked through to a cluttered living room. The furniture was shabby but there was an expensive flat- screen TV on one wall.
'I gather Mrs. Bairns stayed with you at the time of her mother's murder?'
'That's right.'
'Are you an old friend of Mrs. Bairns?'
'Used to be. My husband was a doctor but he lost his license and was sent to prison for supplying drugs. Still Amy would visit from time to time. She bought me that TV there. Right generous.'
'This may seem odd, but do you have any photographs of Mrs. Bairns?'
Harriet laughed. 'Amy asked me that, too. I only had the few and I gave them to her. Mind you, I kept the one of my wedding 'cause she was my maid of honour. I didn't want to let go of that one.'
'May I see it?'
'I'll get it.
She came back with a framed photo and handed it to Agatha. 'Where is Amy?' asked Agatha.
'Oh, of course she had all that cosmetic surgery. That's her.'
Agatha stared in amazement. Amy could almost have been her brother in drag. 'Are she and Tom twins?'
'Yes, fraternal. Mind you, it wasn't only her appearance that got changed. She just wasn't the same old Amy. Fussed about bugs and infections the whole time. Of course, she and Tom were always a bit like that.'
Agatha sat silently and then said slowly, 'Do you have a passport?'
'You know, Amy asked me that. I said I hadn't. So she said maybe she'd take me on a trip somewhere to make up for my man being in prison. Gave me that TV. She said if I gave her my birth certificate and everything, she'd fix it up for me. But I never heard no more about it. I want to see her--it must have been after she got all that cosmetic work and, I swear to God, I've never seen such a change in anyone.
'Didn't even ask me to sit down. Said she had her position in local society to think of, and having a friend whose husband was a criminal wouldn't do her any good. She asked me not to come back. I was so hurt I went home and cried my eyes out.'
Agatha took a small powerful camera out of her handbag. 'If I could just photograph that picture?'
'Well, I promised Amy I'd got rid of all of them . . . but what the hell? She isn't a friend anymore. Go ahead.'
'You gave her an alibi for the time of her mother's murder. Did she really stay with you?'
'Of course,' said Harriet. 'I'm not a liar. Now, do you mind just getting out?'
A day later, Inspector Wilkes walked into Mircester police headquarters to be told by the desk sergeant that Mrs. Raisin was waiting to speak to him. Wilkes swung round. Fast asleep on a hard plastic chair was Agatha
