Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body (5 page)

‘So far,’ said Agatha, ‘all we have learned is that Tilly Glossop was close to Sunday and may have been having an affair with him. Carrie Brother confessed to doing the murder
by telekinesis as a joke and is being charged by the police for wasting their time. The vicar threatened to kill Sunday for banning candles in the church. Anyone else?’

‘There are the Summers and the Beagles,’ said Miriam. ‘They decorated their cottages each year with masses of Christmas lights and illuminated plastic Santas in the gardens.
Yuck! We were all rather pleased when Sunday put a stop to that. Let down the tone of the place no end.’

‘What reasons did he give?’

‘Oh, you know . . . Thank you, Natasha, leave the tray on the table and we will help ourselves. Light bulbs had to be subjected to a “pull” test, their carbon footprint was the
size of a hobnailed boot, dangerous electrical wiring, you name it.’

‘Can you see any of them murdering someone?’ asked Toni.

‘Go and see them. They’re all old and frail.’

‘If they are that old and frail,’ said Agatha, ‘how did they get all the decorations up?’

‘Old Fred Summer did most of the work. He’s a retired builder. Charlie Beagle is a retired electrician. Both of them competed a bit to see who could get the most lights up but it was
a friendly competition.’

‘Where do they live?’ asked Agatha.

‘The last two cottages out on the Badsey road.’

Miriam poured coffee. Agatha noticed the coffee was served in earthenware mugs. She began to wonder if Miriam was as wealthy as she was reputed to be or someone who had turned an old manor house
into a Disneyfied attraction for tourists.

‘You seem to have a very good track record as a detective,’ said Miriam. ‘One wouldn’t think it to look at you. Charles told me you were a wiz at ferreting things
out.’

‘I have had a lot of success,’ said Agatha, repressing a sudden impulse to throw her coffee cup at Miriam’s head.

‘I bet I’d make a pretty good detective. I’ll ask Charles when I see him.’

‘I doubt if you will,’ said Agatha.

‘Oh, he’s taking me for dinner tonight. We arranged it earlier.’

He’s
my
friend, not
yours,
thought Agatha savagely. She wished she’d never taken Miriam on as a client. She felt that this woman was going to move into her life and
circle of friends and take over.

Aloud she said, ‘Can you think of anyone else in this village before I get back to Mircester? I really must call in at the office.’

‘Let me think.’ Miriam scowled down into her coffee cup. Then her face cleared. ‘Of course. I’d forgotten. May Dinwoody. She makes toys and sells them at the markets.
Sunday damned them as unsafe for children and quite ruined her business. God, was she ever furious.’

‘Where will I find her?’

‘In the old mill house at the back of the shop, down that lane that runs at the side.’

‘We’ll try her. Come along, Toni.’ Agatha rose to her feet.

‘I’ll call on you later,’ said Miriam.

‘Don’t bother. I’ve got other work to do,’ said Agatha, heading for the door. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

‘Snakes and bastards,’ muttered Agatha as they got back into her car. ‘I really don’t like her.’

‘We can’t like all our clients,’ commented Toni reasonably. ‘We’ve had some horrors.’

‘Look at how fast the snow is melting,’ said Agatha. ‘That’s all the hopes of a white Christmas gone.’ Night had fallen and a large moon was shining down.

‘Are you having a party this Christmas?’ asked Toni.

‘Never again. What are you doing for Christmas?’

‘Going to my mother’s in Southampton.’

‘Right. Here we are at the shop. Let’s park here and walk.’

The old mill house had been divided into flats. It loomed over a weedy pond.

Agatha studied the names beside the front door and pressed a bell marked ‘Flat 3, Dinwoody’. A tinny voice came over the intercom. Agatha explained who she was. There was a long
silence and then the front door buzzed.

They entered and walked up carpeted stairs to the flat, which was on the first floor. A woman was waiting by the open door. Agatha’s heart sank. May Dinwoody certainly did not look the
type of lady to plunge a knife into anyone. She was possibly in her sixties, slightly stooped with grey hair and thick glasses, through which pale grey eyes stared at them myopically She was
wearing a pink T-shirt emblazoned in sequins with the slogan Born To Party, over which she wore a man’s brown cardigan. She was also wearing black leggings and pixie boots. Agatha wondered
whether she was a thrift shop junkie wearing a younger relative’s clothes.

‘Come in,’ said May. ‘I hear you are investigating this murder for Miriam.’

She stood back to let them past and then led them into a dimly lit room, filled with flowers and pictures. A square window looked over the pond. Moonlight sparkling on the water threw flickers
of wavering light into the room.

‘Take your coats off,’ urged May. Her voice held a Scottish burr. ‘The central heating here is excellent. Now, coffee?’

‘I think we’ve had enough coffee for one day,’ said Agatha. She saw a large glass ashtray on a coffee table. ‘Mind if I smoke?’

‘Go ahead,’ said May. ‘I smoke myself. We are a persecuted race. First the smoking ban closed down the village pub and now they don’t allow smoking on aircraft, the air
is no longer changed and we all have to get slowly poisoned with gunk leaking from the engines. Pilots are trying to sue for brain damage but it keeps getting hushed up. I hate this politically
correct nanny state.’

Agatha sat down in an armchair and lit a cigarette after offering one to May.

Soon smoke lay in bands across the room. Toni took a chair by the window, longing to open it, because the room was hot and stuffy and she did not want to suffer from passive smoking.

‘Now,’ said Agatha, ‘I hear you had a row with Sunday.’

‘I did so. Horrible wee man. Ruining my business, claiming my toys were unsafe. But I won! I took him to court and proved all my toys were well made and there was no danger of children
choking on bits of them. The Health and Safety Board had to pay me compensation.’

‘There’s a thing,’ said Agatha. ‘Why on earth did they keep him on after that?’

‘I can’t imagine.’

‘I can’t remember seeing you at the protest meeting.’

‘Having got satisfaction, I couldn’t be bothered going. Penelope organized it and ineffectual is her middle name. I knew they’d all sit and talk and nothing would come out of
it.’

‘Can you think of anyone in this village who could get so riled up they might murder him?’

‘To be honest, no. I think you should check out Mircester. Big towns are more likely places to find murderers than in this wee village.’

‘It’s late,’ mourned Agatha as she drove off. ‘I’ll drop you at my place and you can pick up your car. I’m starving. Would you like
something to eat?’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Toni, who had experienced Agatha’s cooking in the past.

‘Right. I’ll call on you later and see what we can do about Sharon.’

‘I can cope myself.’

‘No, you can’t. I’ll see you later.’

Charles had invited Miriam to dinner, partly to play detective and partly to annoy Agatha. The restaurant was a French one in the centre of Mircester.

To his surprise, Miriam had not dressed up in any way. She was wearing a much-washed sweater and droopy skirt. ‘Don’t let’s speak yet,’ said Miriam, gazing at Charles
over the menu. ‘I love my food and want to concentrate on ordering.’

Charles, who had hoped to get away with one dish each and coffee, decided to say – as he had done so many times with Agatha – that he had forgotten his wallet. He became even more
determined on this course of action when he heard Miriam ordering a dozen large snails to begin, followed by turbot and asparagus. The turbot was criminally expensive.

Charles ordered a modest salad followed by a pepper steak. Miriam insisted on choosing the wine – ‘I’m by way of being an expert.’

She scanned the wine list and then said brightly, ‘I know, let’s celebrate the beginning of our friendship, Charles.’ She ordered a bottle of vintage champagne.

‘When did your husband die?’ asked Charles.

‘He didn’t. He’s still alive. Widow sounds much more respectable. I caught him in bed with the help. Never had much luck. The one before him was a rat as well
and
the
one before that.’

‘How many times have you been married?’

‘Just the three times. What about you?’

‘Once. Didn’t work out.’

‘What about Agatha?’

‘Two times.’

‘Tell me about her.’

‘If you want to know anything about Agatha Raisin, ask her yourself. I don’t discuss my friends.’

Miriam’s snails arrived. They were very large snails. She winkled each one out of its shell, popped it in her mouth and chewed, making
mmm mmm
sounds.

‘What about this murder?’ asked Charles. ‘Did you do it?’

‘My dear man! No, but I’ve been thinking hard and I’ve a pretty good idea who did it.’

‘Who?’

She waved her two-pronged snail fork at him roguishly and a tiny drop of garlic butter flew across the table and landed on Charles’ silk tie. ‘Wouldn’t you just like to know?
But I’ll tell you this. Tomorrow I’m cancelling the services of Agatha Raisin and going to the police. When I was getting the brandy, I saw something. Didn’t think much of it at
the time. It seemed so impossible. I—’

But Miriam had made the mistake of talking while she was eating and a snail lodged in her throat.

Charles stared as she made frantic noises. An efficient waiter rushed up, dragged Miriam to her feet and performed the Heimlich manoeuvre. The snail shot out and landed in Charles’
lap.

Miriam thanked the waiter profusely, took a gulp of champagne and said, ‘Sorry, Charles. I think I’d better go home. Remember to give that waiter a good tip.’

Charles tried to protest but Miriam exited the dining room at a remarkable speed.

He wondered whether they had a doggy bag for turbot.

Agatha entered Toni’s little flat and looked narrowly at Sharon, who was sprawled on the sofa. Sharon was a bright, bouncy girl with large breasts, always displayed, no
matter what the weather, in low-cut tops. Her hair changed colour weekly. That evening, it was flaming red. An empty pizza box was on the table in front of her along with two crushed beer cans.

‘I thought I’d make a brief call on you to discuss the case,’ said Agatha. ‘Don’t bother leaving, Sharon. As my employee, this concerns you as well.’

‘Don’t need to leave,’ said Sharon. ‘I live here now.’

‘But Toni hasn’t got room for you!’

‘Oh, Tone doesn’t mind. Me and Tone are friends.’

‘But why did you move out of your family home?’

‘Big stinking row with me dad.’

‘Why?’

‘Caught me smoking a spliff.’

‘Sharon! The junk on the streets is dangerous.’ Agatha’s bearlike eyes bored into her. ‘Do you like your job, Sharon?’

‘Sure.’

‘No drugs and pack up your stuff and get back home. Look at this place! It’s a tip. Toni hasn’t said anything but I can see you are causing her stress.’

‘Don’t want to go home,’ wailed Sharon.

‘I pay you enough to rent a flat,’ said Agatha. ‘Come along. Out of here tonight or out of a job tomorrow.’

‘Toni!’ begged Sharon.

‘Don’t say a word,’ said Agatha. ‘Get your things – now!’

Agatha felt weary by the time she had dealt with Sharon’s parents. She did not want to fire Sharon as the girl had a natural bent when it came to detecting. She was just
getting back into her car when her phone rang. It was Charles. Agatha listened in amusement to his description of the aborted dinner, but her amusement died when he told her that Miriam was sure
she knew the identity of the murderer.

‘I’ll get over there in the morning and choke it out of her,’ said Agatha.

Miriam was lying in bed reading a literary novel. She was not enjoying it at all, but it had been nominated for the Booker Prize and Miriam only read to impress people with her
knowledge of the latest literary talent. She had phoned Penelope Timson before she had gone to bed and had told her she was sure she knew the identity of the murderer. Penelope had asked for a name
but Miriam had told her to wait and see. Now, she felt a bit silly and was sure she had imagined the whole thing.

Her doorbell rang. She waited for Natasha to answer it and then remembered the girl had said something about going up clubbing in Birmingham. Then she grinned. Probably that Raisin female.
Charles would have phoned her.

She got out of bed and put on her dressing gown and slippers and made her way down to the front door of the manor. The bell rang again. ‘I’m coming!’ she shouted.

She switched off the burglar alarm and unlocked the door and slid back the bolts. The night had turned chilly and the slush was beginning to freeze. There was no one there. She stepped outside
and looked down the drive and then to the right and left. Nothing moved in the stillness of the night.

‘Probably kids,’ she muttered. But she went back inside and picked up a powerful torch. She went out again and shone the torch round and about, in case any children were hiding in
the bushes on either side of the drive. An owl hooted mournfully.

Miriam went back inside. She reset the alarm and made her way back to bed. She was about to pick up her book and resume her reading when the light went out. Miriam groped her way to the bedroom
door and pressed down the switch of the overhead light. Nothing.

Odley Cruesis had suffered from occasional power cuts in the past. But she decided she’d better go downstairs to the fuse box and make sure the trip switch was on. Wishing she had brought
her torch upstairs with her, she groped her way down to the hall where she had left the torch but could not find it. There were candles in the kitchen. She made her way there. Moonlight was
flooding the kitchen. She opened the drawer where she kept candles and matches and lit one of the candles. Holding the candle in one hand, she reached up and opened the fuse box. A heavy blow
struck her on the back of the head. The candle flew out of her hand and landed in a pan of fat on the stove. The maid saw the glow in the sky as she drove down into Odley Cruesis. A fire engine
raced past her and then another. When she turned into the manor drive, she could see the house was in flames from top to bottom. Natasha did a U-turn and sped off. She had planned to tell Miriam in
the morning that she was leaving. She was an illegal alien from Albania and she knew the police would soon ferret out that fact. They had not seemed to be much interested in her after the murder of
John Sunday, but she knew they would focus on her now. She had all her belongings packed up in the battered old Ford Miriam had bought for her. Her real name was Blerta, but Miriam had said,
‘I suppose you’re called Natasha,’ and Blerta had agreed. As she was sure Miriam suspected her of being an illegal alien, she had agreed to low wages and to wearing a maid’s
uniform. Blerta decided to head back to Birmingham to stay with friends.