Agatha Raisin: As The Pig Turns (16 page)

She made a pot of tea and then arranged it with milk, sugar and a plate of biscuits and carried it outside. She then brought out a canvas chair and told him to make himself comfortable.

When she returned, Agatha explained about the interest in her cottage and Country Fashions. ‘So Bill decided to give me a police guard,’ she ended. ‘I’d love to get
inside that factory.’

‘What about James? He was always a dab hand at breaking and entering.’

‘He’s gone off somewhere and left his keys with Mrs Bloxby. Didn’t even have the decency to tell me where he was going.’

‘He’s a travel writer. He has to travel, Aggie.’

‘Don’t call me Aggie.’

‘Heard from Roy?’

Agatha sighed. ‘I did try to talk to him on the phone, but he screeched, “This is dangerous.
They
could be listening,” and rang off.’

‘He went through a lot, and he is a bit of a rabbit. So you think it might be the vulgar Bulgars?’

‘Patrick’s experience alone makes them look fishy to me. Maybe I could go in disguise and get a job in their factory.’

‘You! A lot of their stuff is hand-stitched. I bought one of their jackets. Mind you, they do fleeces and things like that. Can you work a sewing machine? No, of course you can’t.
Forget it.’

‘I can’t send Toni. Too dangerous.’

‘I saw Simon the other day,’ said Charles. ‘The wedding’s tomorrow. Are you going?’

Agatha flushed miserably. ‘If only he’d get out of the army, then I wouldn’t mind. I suppose I’d better go.’

‘Has he been in touch with Toni?’

‘Oh, I hope all that is over. She doesn’t seem heartbroken.’

‘Is Patrick winkling any information out of the police?’ asked Charles.

‘They seem to have clammed up, although Patrick says that it’s probably because they’re not getting anywhere and really do have nothing to tell him. Wait a bit. I wonder if
that sergeant outside has any little bits of information. I’ll just see if he wants any more tea.’

Soon Charles faintly heard Agatha’s voice coming from outside, saying, ‘Hey, wake up! You’re supposed to be on guard.’ And then a wail of ‘Charles!’

He ran out to join her. Tulloch was slumped in his chair, his eyes closed. Charles felt for a pulse and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘He’s not dead. Someone must have put something in
his tea. I’ll get the police and ambulance.’

‘Hurry up!’ Agatha looked around wildly. ‘If he’s only drugged, that meant someone wanted access to the house. Let’s go inside and lock the door.’

‘We can’t leave him here baking in the sun. Get me an umbrella and I’ll hold it over him. You phone the police. Do something and don’t stand there like a stuffed
fish.’

One hour later, Mrs Bloxby opened the door of the vicarage to a deputation from the Ladies’ Society. Mrs Ada Benson had obviously elected herself as spokeswoman.

‘We are here,’ she boomed, ‘to complain about the mayhem Agatha Raisin is causing in this village. Most of us ladies retired here for a quiet life.’

‘What has happened?’ asked the vicar’s wife.

‘A policeman on guard outside her cottage has been found unconscious. She has brought
terror
to this village. She should be asked to leave.’

‘Poor Mrs Raisin!’ exclaimed Mrs Bloxby. ‘I must go to her right away.’

‘And you’ll tell her to leave?’

Mrs Bloxby pushed past the women and said over her shoulder, ‘If it hadn’t been for the superb detective activities of Mrs Raisin in the past, then you really would find this a
terrifying place. Don’t be silly, Mrs Benson.’

‘I’m resigning from the Ladies’ Society,’ shouted Mrs Benson.

Mrs Bloxby’s voice floated back to her as she turned the corner. ‘Good!’

Agatha’s cottage was a hive of activity. Police cars blocked Lilac Lane, and white-suited men were carefully dusting Agatha’s front door for fingerprints. A
policeman volunteered the information that Mrs Raisin and her friend had gone to the pub.

Mrs Bloxby found Agatha and Charles in the pub garden. Agatha was smoking furiously, a carton of Bensons she had bought in the village store in front of her.

Charles explained what had happened. When he had finished, Agatha said, ‘I am the number one suspect. I took him the tea. Nobody saw a soul outside my cottage. Miss Simms, you know, the
secretary of the Ladies’ Society, well, her latest gentleman friend had given her a present of a nasty little yappy dog. She walked it along Lilac Lane, called hello to Tulloch, went to the
end where it meets the fields, turned back and saw what she thought was Tulloch asleep. She didn’t meet anyone either going or coming. So I’m sitting here, drinking gin and smoking
myself to death with nerves. I’m supposed to be on my way to headquarters with Charles to make a complete statement. But I told them I needed a short break first, and do you know what the
bastards did? They confiscated my passport. Every time they don’t know what to do with me, they take away my passport and I usually have to hire a lawyer to get it back.’

‘They can’t possibly think you had anything to do with it. Would you like me to come with you?’

‘That’s kind of you,’ said Agatha. ‘But they’ll want to interview Charles as well, so we may as well suffer together.’

Mrs Bloxby walked thoughtfully back to the vicarage. She sat down at her computer and began to type out a poster. It said: ‘From the Vicarage. Ladies’ Society
meetings will no longer be held in the vicarage. If you wish to continue, you will need to find somewhere else. I am resigning. Margaret Bloxby.’

I am not going around on this hot day, shoving separate notes through letterboxes, she thought. I’ll take this to the shop and put it up on the notice board.

She was just pinning it up when Miss Simms came to join her. ‘Well, if you ain’t going to be around, I’m handing in my resignation as well,’ she said. Miss Simms was
still damned with the title of Carsely’s unmarried mother, which Mrs Bloxby found grossly unfair considering that being unmarried seemed to be a growth industry. Young girls in Mircester got
pregnant knowing the council would supply them with a flat and allowances. Often it was a way of escaping from brutal parents. Other times, it was prompted by laziness.

‘It’s not as if there are any ladies any more, know what I mean?’ said Miss Simms. ‘It’s all pushy newcomers now like Mrs Benson. They come and they go. House
prices go up and they sell and a new lot comes in. They want the village dream, so they join the Ladies’ Society and we all sit around eating cakes an’ bitching. Oh, jeez, I am
sorry.’ For her little dog had peed into Mrs Bloxby’s shoes.

‘It’s said to be lucky,’ said Mrs Bloxby. Mrs Tutchell, the shop owner, produced a roll of kitchen paper, and Mrs Bloxby dried her ankles and shoes. ‘Are you sure there
was no one in or near Lilac Lane?’

‘Swear to God. I felt like inventing someone just so as to help Mrs Raisin, but that was afterwards. I didn’t know she’d get into trouble.’

‘They cannot possibly think she would be so mad as to dope that sergeant’s tea,’ said Mrs Bloxby.

‘Maybe someone sneaked in and put something in the tea caddy.’

‘Mrs Raisin uses teabags.’

‘Well, what about that security firm that changed the locks an’ all that?’

‘Vetted thoroughly by the police.’

‘Oh, well, she’s tough. She’ll stand up to the police. So it’s goodbye to the Ladies’ Society?’

‘As far as I am concerned. Such an old-fashioned name.’

‘Don’t them over in Ancombe still call it a ladies’ society?’

‘No. They’ve changed the name to the Forward Women’s Group.’

‘I’d better get on and take this pet rat with me.’

‘I see it’s a Chihuahua,’ said Mrs Bloxby.

Miss Simms giggled. ‘Is it really? Funny, that. That’s what one of my gentlemen friends called my . . .’ Her voice trailed off before Mrs Bloxby’s clear gaze. ‘Oh,
gotta go.’

‘Do you want me to stay the night?’ asked Charles.

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Agatha as they at last emerged from police headquarters into the fading sunlight.

‘I’d better go home first and get my togs for tomorrow,’ said Charles.

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Simon’s wedding.’

‘Snakes and bastards! I’d better find something to wear.’

‘Go to the office when you’ve found something,’ said Charles, ‘and wait for me. We’ll go to your cottage together.’

‘Thanks.’ A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek.

‘Come on, old girl, this isn’t like you. Where’s your stiff upper lip?’

‘As
The Goon Show
once memorably said, it’s over my loose wobbly lower one,’ said Agatha, taking out a crumpled tissue and dabbing her eyes. ‘I wonder what drug
was given to Tulloch and how it got there?’

‘Forensics, like the mills of God, grind slowly. We won’t hear for a bit.’

Once in her office, Agatha got a call from her cleaner, Doris Simpson, to say she had taken Agatha’s cats home with her. ‘Men in white suits all over the
place,’ said Doris. ‘And they could have been trodden on with those policemen and their big boots.’

Agatha thanked her, wondering how on earth she had managed to forget the welfare of her cats.

Sitting down with a pile of files covering both murders, Agatha began to read through them, looking for any sort of clue. Fiona Richards had been in the George when Staikov was there. Was there
a connection?

Phil had left a note saying he was watching the Richardses’ house but had taken pains to make sure he would not be recognized.

If I could solve Beech’s murder, then everything else might fall into place, thought Agatha. It was a particularly vicious murder. Revenge? Hate? A warning? And how could he possibly have
been any use to them apart from turning a blind eye to speeding and parking violations?

Patrick went into a Richards Supermarket in Mircester and began to look around. It was an example of the sort of giant supermarket that was slowly killing off the small shops
in Mircester, as it sold everything from food to pots and pans, clothes and takeaway meals. He remembered he needed a new shirt to wear to Simon’s wedding and headed for the clothes
section.

There was a placard in front of the section with the legend
THE CHEAPEST YOU CAN BUY
!
LOOK AT OUR LEATHER JACKETS
!

‘I wonder,’ muttered Patrick. He lifted down one of the jackets and examined the label. It did not say ‘Country Fashions’. Instead it simply had a small label saying
‘Richards’. It was not good leather. The jackets were made of the type of leather that looked almost like plastic and was stiff and unyielding.

Could there be a connection with Staikov’s firm?

Chapter Ten

Only Charles, in full morning dress, seemed to have made an effort for the occasion of Simon’s wedding. Agatha had not found anything suitable to wear in Mircester and
had not been allowed back into her cottage the evening before. In the morning she had rapidly scrambled into a pale blue trouser suit, realizing only when she got to the church how much she hated
it. Although it was well designed, she felt pale blue was definitely not her colour.

Roy, who had been invited, had sent his apologies, probably frightened he might be abducted again. Mrs Freedman was resplendent in black-and-red-patterned silk and with a large straw hat
decorated with silk poppies. Patrick and Phil were in lounge suits. Toni looked subdued. She was wearing a dark grey silk dress, rather drab, as if she were wearing half-mourning, like an Edwardian
lady. Mrs Bloxby was there with her husband, wearing the same outfit she had worn to many weddings: an unflattering brown chiffon dress and a large straw hat decorated with brown chiffon roses.

As if by common consent, they all shuffled into pews at the very back of the church. Agatha, worried about Toni, hoped the service would not be too long. There was to be a reception afterwards
at Simon’s parents’ home. They had all decided, for Toni’s sake, to forgo it.

For her part, Toni really did not know what she felt.

Many of Simon’s regimental friends were in the church, reminding guilty Agatha that it was surely her fault that he had gone to Afghanistan.

The church was very warm. Agatha began to regret she had jeered so many times about global warming. The stained-glass windows of the abbey sent down harlequin shafts of light. The organ played
softly.

Charles whispered, ‘What’s happening? Simon isn’t here. The best man’s there, but no Simon.’ People began to twist their heads, looking anxiously towards the
door.

Agatha experienced a sudden feeling of dread. She whispered to Patrick, ‘What if he’s been kidnapped like Roy?’

‘Probably sleeping off the effects of some stag party,’ replied Patrick comfortably.

Agatha craned her neck. She could see what must be Simon’s father talking urgently to some of Simon’s army colleagues. They left the abbey.

A babble of conversation rose up to the hammer beams on the roof. One woman left the church for a few minutes and then came back and announced excitedly, ‘Poor Susan is in the wedding car,
being driven around and around. Where is the wretched boy?’

Agatha was just about to go outside and phone Bill when Simon’s army colleagues came back into the church and went straight up to his father. There was a frantic discussion, and then
Simon’s father announced, ‘I am sorry. The wedding is off.’

People rose from their pews and began to stream out through the great double doors of the abbey. But Agatha, followed by Charles, thrust her way through the departing guests and approached
Simon’s father.

‘Has Simon been found?’ she gasped.

‘Yes, he has,’ he answered curtly. ‘He has been found at our home. I have much to do. Please excuse me.’

Thank God he’s at least safe, thought Agatha. She made her way back to Toni. ‘Have you still got Simon’s mobile phone number?’

‘Yes,’ said Toni.

‘Please phone him and find out what the matter is.’

‘He probably won’t answer,’ said Toni. ‘Oh, don’t glare at me. I’ll try.’

Toni went out and stood in the shade of a tall tombstone and called. Simon answered. ‘It’s Toni. Where are you?’

‘I’ve locked myself in my room. I couldn’t go through with it.’