As Agatha and Charles, hanging on to each other, staggered through the snow to the other side of the green, Charles said, 'You're slipping, Agatha.'
'I know I am. These boots were not made for walking.'
'I don't mean that. There was one person out of that room last night surely?'
'Who?'
'Was the vicar there?'
'Well, no.'
'And he's got a bad temper
'I thought of him,' lied Agatha huffily, 'but I thought I would explore that avenue later.'
'Says you!'
'Says I. Here we are,' said Agatha.
Happenstance was a very old cottage which leaned towards the garden under a heavy snow-covered thatched roof. Two front windows looked like eyes.
'The air's suddenly turned warmer,' said Charles. 'Everything's beginning to drip. And the sun's coming out.'
Agatha rang the bell. No one answered. 'Maybe the bell doesn't work,' said Charles. 'Give the door a good bang.'
Agatha hammered on the door. But her banging precipitated a small avalanche of snow from the roof which cascaded down on them.
'Snakes and bastards,' howled Agatha.
'Let's give up,' said Charles. 'Damn, I've got snow down the back of my neck.'
'What do you want?' demanded a voice behind them.
They both swung round. The round figure of a woman muffled up in a coat and two shawls with a woolly cap pulled down over her face stood glaring at them.
'We just wanted a word with you,' said Agatha. 'I am a private detective working for Miriam Courtney. This is Sir Charles Fraith.'
'Oh, if you're working for Miriam, you'd best come indoors. But leave your coats in the hall. You're covered with snow.'
She pushed past them and opened the door. The 'hall' was a tiny space cluttered up with Wellington boots and coats on pegs on the wall. Agatha looked for a spare peg but could find none. She took off her coat and rammed it over a hanging oilskin. Charles dropped his on the floor.
Tilly had disappeared somewhere. They stood irresolute until they heard her call, 'In here.'
The sound of her voice came from the left. They pushed open the door and entered a cluttered cottage parlour. A fire smouldered in the grate. The mantelpiece above it was crowded with china ornaments. One wall was covered with bookshelves full of paperbacks. A computer and printer were set up on a table at the window. The three-piece suite so beloved by English households was missing. Instead three hard-backed chairs fronted a low coffee table.
Divested of her outer garments--where had she put them, wondered Agatha--Tilly was revealed as a stocky middle-aged woman with a swarthy face and large black eyes. She had a small curved nose like a beak and a thin mouth. She was dressed in a lumpy wool cardigan and a black T-shirt over a baggy skirt.
'So what do you want to know?' asked Tilly. 'Sit down.'
Agatha and Charles sat down on two of the hard chairs and Tilly stood in front of them with her back to the fire.
'We heard you were a friend of John Sunday,' said Agatha, miserably aware that her boots were now full of melting snow.
'I knew him. So what?'
'Did he have any enemies?'
'Of course he had, you stupid woman. Anyone trying to bring a little law and order always has enemies.'
'Anyone more threatening than the others?'
'Well, there was Carrie.'
'Carrie Brother?' asked Agatha. 'The one whose dog fouled the village green?'
'That's the one. Great hulking brute of a woman. Swore at poor John like a trooper.'
'Were you having an affair with John Sunday?'
'We were friends, that's all.'
'May I ask what you had in common?'
'I'll tell you what we had in common,' snarled Tilly. 'A hatred of all the mealy-mouthed parochial little insects called villagers.'
Charles found his voice. He asked mildly, 'If you dislike the people in the village so much, why do you live here?'
'They're the incomers, not me. This was my parents' cottage and my grandparents' before them. They come and they go, trying to fit into village life, or some Merchant-Ivory view of village life. House prices rise so they sell up and off they go back to their cities. I liked seeing John making them sweat.'
'Did you see him on the evening of the murder?' asked Agatha.
Something flickered in those obsidian eyes of hers but she said curtly, 'No.'
'Are you interested in finding out who murdered him?' asked Charles.
She shrugged her meaty shoulders. 'I would be if I thought the police would ever find the culprit, but they won't.'
'Why?' asked Agatha.
She grinned, revealing very white dentures. 'Too many suspects. Now, why don't you push off?'
'I don't like her and I'm freezing,' moaned Agatha when they drove off. 'Let's get home and change. Then we'll go back and tackle Carrie Brother.'
'We, Paleface?'
'You mean you're leaving?'
'People to see, places to go,' said Charles.
Agatha would have liked to protest but realised she had no claim on him. He didn't work for her.
Outside her cottage, Charles got into his own car and sped off. Agatha felt rather bereft. He had not said if he would be back.
Inside, Agatha's cleaner, Doris Simpson, was hard at work. She switched off the vacuum when she saw Agatha and said, 'Terrible, that murder. Not that he didn't deserve it, though.'
'I must get changed,' said Agatha, heading for the stairs.
'I'll make you a nice strong cup of coffee,' Doris called after her.
Agatha had a hot shower and put on dry clothes. Back in the kitchen, Doris put a mug of coffee down on the kitchen table. 'Have you heard of anyone who might have wanted to kill Sunday?' asked Agatha.
'Lots of people,' said Doris. 'But not the kind that'd actually do it. Like our vicar. They're putting the tree up on the church and the lights up in the village street.'
'Won't they get into trouble?'
'No, John was disliked at the Health and Safety. Insisted on shoving everything through and making work for his colleagues they didn't want.'
'There's an idea,' said Agatha slowly. 'Of course. I was thinking they were all bastards on that safety board. Maybe he really wound someone up. But who would follow him in a blizzard to a small village?'
'Drink your coffee, love. I'll just get on.' Doris left the kitchen. Agatha's cats, who adored the cleaner, scampered after her. Agatha watched them sourly. Charles, who was like a cat, had been smarming all over Miriam, and her treacherous cats seemed to always prefer Doris to herself.
She felt lonely. She suddenly did not want to go back to Odley Cruesis and detect on her own.
Agatha phoned Toni. Mrs. Freedman said Toni was out of the office. Agatha told her to draw up a contract for Miriam Courtney, gave her the address and told her to express post it. Then Agatha called Toni on her mobile. 'I'm heading in your direction,' said Toni cheerfully. 'It's quiet here today. I think everyone's saving their money for Christmas and the recession has been hitting us a bit. Be with you in about ten minutes.'
