Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body

'Ah, propinquity!'

'It won't do,' said Agatha. 'They are two very good detectives and I don't want Toni off having babies when she's little more than a baby herself.'

'But, Mrs. Raisin,' said the vicar's wife with a steely note in her voice, 'you would not possibly do anything to spoil a budding romance?'

'Me? Perish the thought,' said Agatha, and crossed her fingers behind her back.

Bill Wong was waiting for Agatha after she left the vicarage and returned to her home. 'Social call?' asked Agatha.

'Sort of. Been visiting Mrs. Bloxby?'

'Yes, she came up with some interesting ideas. Do you want me to get rid of the cats? They're crawling all over you.'

'No, I like them.' Hodge was draped around Bill's neck and Boswell had jumped up into his arms. 'But maybe I'll put them in the garden if you've got anything very interesting.'

'Might be.'

Bill opened the garden door and detached the cats.

'Now,' he said, sitting down at the kitchen table. 'What gives?'

Agatha told him of Mrs. Bloxby's theories.

'Unfortunately, she may be right. Can you imagine all that murder and mayhem over Christmas lights?'

'I can in a way. Some of these people on reality TV have their moment of fame and never get over it. John Sunday was a thoroughly nasty man and must have enjoyed thwarting them. You know the bus drivers on that route past the Grange. How were they interviewed?'

'Back at the depot.'

'Did you have photographs of the two women?'

'Yes, we got a photo from Cotswold Life. There's really only the one driver that does that route.'

'I'd like to start at the beginning of their journey. In the meantime, do you think your boss would let you phone up watering holes around the south coast to see if any elderly women reported missing passports a few days after Mrs. Summers and Mrs. Beagle disappeared?'

'I'll probably need to do it in my own time.'

'I'll get Patrick onto it as well. They would be gussied up for their photo in Cotswold Life. I think I might trot over to that hellish village and see if I can get a better one.'

Penelope Timson gave Agatha a cautious welcome. 'I am so glad it is all over,' she said. 'I do hope you haven't come about some other murder.'

'No, no,' said Agatha soothingly. 'Nothing like that. Have you any photographs of Mrs. Summer and Mrs. Beagle?'

'The police got a very good one from Cotswold Life.'

'Yes, but I need a more informal one.'

'Oh, I might have something. I found a box of photos taken at village fetes. But you should have something yourself, Mrs. Raisin. Wasn't someone taking photographs at that cream tea?'

'Of course. Phil. Thanks.'

Agatha phoned Phil and said she would meet him at his cottage in Carsely, where she knew he had a dark room and kept neat files of photographs.

She waited impatiently as he went searching for the photographs of the tea party. At last he came back and handed her a photo. 'There you are.'

'Genius!' said Agatha. It was a clear shot of Mrs. Beagle and Mrs. Summer, sitting together. 'What are their first names? I can never remember.'

'On the back of the photo. Gladys Summer and Dora Beagle.'

'Grand.'

'Starting again?'

'You bet.'

Toni waited at the depot in Cheltenham for the bus to come in. When it arrived, she waited for the passengers to dismount and then climbed on board.

'Don't leave for another half an hour, gorgeous,' said the driver, eyeing her appreciatively. 'Fancy a cup of tea?'

'All right. I just want to ask you a few questions.'

'What?'

'I'm a private detective.'

'Go on with you, lass. You're too young.'

Toni handed him her card. 'Well, I never!' he exclaimed. 'Come along then. Must have a cuppa.'

Installed in the canteen over milky cups of tea, Toni showed him the photograph. 'I know the police have asked you before, but on the day of that crash between the car and the truck, just before it, did two women like this get on your bus? This is a better photograph of them.'

He studied it carefully. 'Sorry, lass. I'd like to help you, but I'm sure they never got on.'

'Do you notice the passengers much?'

'Only if they're as pretty as you. Of course, if they're in them Moslem get-ups, you wouldn't know what they'd look like anyway.'

'Burkas?'

'Is that what they call 'em? Suppose so.'

Toni took a deep breath. 'Think carefully. Did two women in burkas, you know, veiled and everything, get on your bus that day?'

'As a matter of fact they did.'

'What height?'

'Pretty small. Couldn't tell you much else.'

'Where did they get off?'

'At the railway station.'

'Thanks,' said Toni.

When Toni told Agatha what she had found out, Agatha said, 'Maybe they got straight onto Eurostar and over to Brussels or Paris before the passport control at St. Pancras got alerted. Nobody is going to hassle a couple of what look like Moslem women in case they're accused of racism. Snakes and bastards! They could be anywhere now.'

Chapter Twelve

Christmas was fast approaching. The piles of paperwork associated with the murders of John Sunday and Dan Palmer had at last been completed.

Bill Wong called on Agatha one evening to say that he thought the work would never be finished. The lodge keeper had had to be cleared of carrying loaded weapons and causing the crash by shooting out the wheels of the escaping car. The fact that Agatha had brought all her old public relations skills to bear on making the lodge keeper a hero had helped considerably.

'What are you doing for Christmas this year?' Bill asked.

'Nothing,' said Agatha firmly. 'Except I might invite Roy. Thank goodness he made a full recovery. So the case is over? What about the loose ends of Mrs. Beagle and Mrs. Summer?'

'Interpol are still looking for them. But no news. You know, Agatha, I don't think we'll ever find them now.'