Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body (21 page)

‘Why do you think they did it?’ asked Toni.

‘If
they did,’ said May severely. ‘Oh, dear, it was those Christmas lights. They were photographed in
Cotswold Life
and then they were filmed on Midlands TV. They
were so proud. Then John Sunday turned up to ruin it all. Money, please.’

Simon took out his chequebook, and wrote out a cheque for two hundred pounds.

May blushed. ‘I shouldn’t be taking this, but times are hard.’

‘We’ll just borrow this map,’ said Simon, ‘and I’ll return it to you later.’

Outside, they tried to phone Agatha, but she was being interviewed and had her phone switched off.

‘We’ll go and recce anyway,’ said Simon. ‘We’ll take your car. My motorbike makes too much noise.’

Thirley Grange was buried in a fold of the Cotswold hills a good fifteen miles from the village. There were no signposts to it.

They finally located a weedy lane beside the ruin of a cottage. ‘Look!’ exclaimed Toni. ‘I think someone’s been through here already. You can just make out car tracks.
Oh, Simon, we really should phone the police.’

‘And they’ll arrive with sirens blaring and helicopters overhead and we may never catch them,’ said Simon. ‘We’d look like real amateurs. See how far along you can
drive.’

Toni set off again. Trees and bushes began to press against the car on either side. Toni finally stopped again. ‘I’m not going to sacrifice my paintwork on a hunch,’ she said.
‘Let’s get out and walk.’

‘It can’t be that far,’ said Simon as they trudged along. ‘I mean, May said it was a Georgian gem. Gems surely don’t have that much land.’

They walked forward under the green shade of the overarching trees. Simon suddenly stopped. A patch of mud on the road showed clear tyre tracks.

Toni took out her phone. ‘I’m trying Agatha again.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s the boss. You don’t keep things like this away from Agatha.’

This time Toni got Agatha and talked rapidly. ‘Don’t run into danger. You catch a glimpse of even one of them, call the police. I’m coming.’

Agatha phoned Charles. ‘Toni thinks they might be hiding out at a place called Thirley Grange. Know it? They’re on a back road to it.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Parked in front of police headquarters.’

‘I’m in Mircester. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

Agatha thought she ought to call Patrick and Phil off the jobs they were working on, but then decided against it. It was too much of a long shot that they would find the couples.

Charles joined her and they set off.

‘There’s the back of the house,’ whispered Toni as they emerged from the trees sheltering the road. ‘What should we do now?’

‘I think we should hide back in the trees and bushes and watch,’ said Simon.

They crouched down in the bushes and waited. The house seemed ruined, empty and deserted. ‘If they drove right up,’ whispered Toni, ‘then their car must be badly scratched. I
noticed an awful lot of broken twigs and branches as we walked along. They must be there. No one else would be crazy enough to force a car along that road.’

‘Agatha won’t be long now,’ whispered Simon. ‘You should have left it to us.’

Toni took her mobile out again. ‘I’m phoning the police.’

‘You’re
what?’
Simon made a grab for her phone, but Toni darted away from him and into the trees. She had felt a sudden frisson of fear. It was almost as if her old
friend Sharon was around, telling her not to be such a fool. Toni still had Bill Wong’s mobile phone number programmed in her phone from the days when they used to date. She called it.
‘Bill, I’m at Thirley Grange. I think they’re here. I’m—’

A low voice in her ear said, ‘If you wants to see your boyfriend again, missy, drop that phone.’

Toni swung round. Fred Summer stood there, holding a hunting knife. ‘Drop it!’ he snarled. Toni dropped the phone and Fred ground it under foot. ‘Now, march!’

Toni was urged forward, feeling the point of that knife at her back. Simon was where she had left him, but he was lying face down on the ground and Charlie Beagle was standing over him, holding
a shotgun.

‘On yer feet,’ said Charlie. ‘Both of you into the house.’

Bill Wong called for urgent reinforcements. Then he called Agatha. ‘What were you doing sending that young pair into danger? They’ve been caught. Don’t go any
further if you’re on your way there. Two people are enough to rescue.’

‘What was that about?’ asked Charles, who was driving. Agatha told him. Charles pressed harder on the accelerator and the car leapt forward. ‘We’ll go in by the main
gate,’ he said. ‘We could waste valuable time looking for that side road.’

A man came hurrying out of the lodge house and held up a hand. Charles lowered the window and shouted to him that escaped murderers were hiding up at the Grange. The lodge keeper dashed to open
the gates. ‘Have you any guns?’ called Charles.

‘Couple of shotguns and a rifle.’

‘Bring them quick and get in the car.’

Agatha fretted with impatience. Was Toni alive? How could she ever forgive herself if something had happened to the girl?

Toni and Simon were forced down into a cellar. They heard the door above being locked and then they were alone. A faint light shone from a cobwebbed window up near the
ceiling.

‘They’re going to kill us,’ said Toni. ‘They’re up there right now figuring out how to dispose of us.’

‘What happened? Did Fred hear you calling the police?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then with any luck they’re going to make their escape and leave us locked up here. I wish we could find some way out. They are murderers, after all.’

‘Turn your back,’ said Toni, feeling her way off into a dark corner.

‘Why?’

‘I’ve got to pee. I nearly peed myself out there.’

When she rejoined him, she said, ‘That’s coal over there, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. What are you planning? To throw lumps at them when they come back?’

‘Coal means a coal hole, see? That’s how the coal got down here. It’s not a wine cellar. It’s where they kept the coal.’

‘Right,’ said Simon eagerly. ‘It must be up there somewhere.’

Charles drove up to the front door. The lodge keeper, who had introduced himself as Matt Fox, jumped out and unlocked the front door.

‘Wait!’ shouted Agatha. ‘I can hear a car.’

‘It’s coming from the back,’ said Charles. Matt jumped back in the car as Charles drove round to the back of the building.

‘That’s Dan Palmer’s car,’ shouted Agatha. ‘They’re not taking the side road. They’re circling round to go down the main drive.’ Matt was
hurriedly loading a rifle in the backseat. They sped after them at a frantic pace. Matt lowered the window, leaned out and took carefully aim. He shot out one back tyre and then the other. Then
just as the Volvo reached the lodge gates, Matt shot out its back window with one of the shotguns.

The Volvo screeched and swayed across the road, straight into the path of a huge articulated lorry. There was a sickening
crump -
and then silence.

‘Agatha, go and see if that lorry driver is all right. Matt, give me a shotgun. Is it loaded?’

‘Yes.’

Charles shot in the window of his own car. ‘Self-defence, see?’ he said.

Agatha was helping the lorry driver out of his cab as two police cars came racing up. Bill came out of the first one. ‘I’ve got to get back to the Grange,’ she howled.
‘They’ve taken Toni and Simon.’

‘Just wait there. We’ll handle it.’

Police were taping off the road. A van full of scene-of-crime operatives stopped, climbed out and began to put on their white suits and masks. Inspector Wilkes arrived. ‘Now, what
happened?’ he asked grimly.

‘Are they dead?’ asked Agatha.

Wilkes looked at the crumpled wreck of the Volvo. ‘Yes. Now, begin at the beginning. You first, Mrs Raisin.’

Agatha was about to speak when a car drove out past the lodge and stopped. Toni and Simon, black with coal dust, got out and stood staring at the scene of carnage.

Agatha Raisin ran straight to Toni and flung her arms around her. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re alive.’

It was a long day. Statements, statements and more statements. Then Agatha, Charles and Toni, along with the lodge keeper, were taken back to police headquarters for further
grilling.

They learned that the Grange had been searched and there was no sign of either Mrs Summer or Mrs Beagle. Matt backed the story of self-defence and Agatha insisted it was put down in her
statement that the lodge keeper was a hero.

By early evening, Wilkes went out to face the press and make a brief statement.

At last, Agatha and the rest were told they were free to go home.

In the weeks that followed, it transpired that Charlie and Fred had sold their cottages to a builder two months before their deaths. Their bank accounts had been cleared out a
week before their flight. Fred’s fingerprints had been found on the knife that Agatha had found at the vicarage along with DNA evidence that the blood on the knife belonged to the late,
unlamented John Sunday.

A massive search for the missing wives was put into operation, but they seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

‘How can two such frail elderly ladies escape the police just like that?’ Agatha exclaimed one evening to her friend, Mrs Bloxby.

‘Perhaps easier than you think,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘No one notices the elderly. Busses run along that road going to Cheltenham.’

‘But surely the police have questioned all the bus drivers?’

‘I’m sure one elderly lady looks much like another to these men. Did they have passports?’

‘Yes, fairly new ones, too. And it’s not as if they would know anyone who could get them fake ones.’

‘Perhaps I might be able to do it,’ said Mrs Bloxby dreamily. ‘I’d head for some seaside resort where there are a lot of elderly people and set about stealing a few from
handbags. It wouldn’t be handbag snatching. Maybe a seat in a shelter looking at the sea. Friendly talk. Visit to the public toilets. More talk while hands are washed. Handbags are often left
at the basin while women go to dry their hands. Quick dip and out comes a passport. Now, if you’re an elderly lady and you have still got your money and keys, you might not notice your
passport is missing for some time. Even if you go to the police, to them you’re just another forgetful old woman.’

‘Really, Mrs Bloxby. You would make a very good criminal. Toni and Simon have searched and searched.’

‘They make a nice pair. Do you think they’ll get engaged?’ asked Mrs Bloxby.

Agatha stiffened. ‘They’re too young! They’re just colleagues.’

‘Ah, propinquity, Mrs Raisin.’

‘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 fngers 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 on to 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 more informal ones.’

‘Oh, I might have something. I found a box of photos taken at village fêtes. But you should have some 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.