Agatha Raisin: As The Pig Turns (7 page)

‘So?’ demanded Agatha. ‘What the hell has this to do with me?’

‘This letter that came with the invitation.’ Toni handed her an airmail.

Agatha read: ‘Dear Toni, I would like you to come to my wedding because I have fond memories of the work we did together. I would have married you then, but Agatha told me you were too
young and to go away and think about it for three years. I couldn’t bear to go on snubbing you and seeing you hurt. So I joined the army. Luckily I met Susie, who’s the girl for me, so
maybe Agatha was right all along not to trust me. Love, Simon.’

‘Thanks to your interference, he could be blown up out there,’ said Toni. ‘I am eighteen years old, not a child. Do not interfere in my life again. Oh, and take a month’s
notice.’

Agatha sank down into a chair as Toni stormed out.

‘Anyone home?’ came Charles’s voice.

‘Oh, do walk in and stamp all over my feelings,’ howled Agatha, and burst into tears.

Charles waited until Agatha had finished crying and said gently, ‘I saw Toni driving off like a bat out of hell. Has she found out about Simon?’

Agatha sniffed miserably. ‘She forgot these.’ She pushed the wedding invitation and the letter in front of him.

Charles read both carefully. ‘I see.’

‘And she’s given a month’s notice.’

‘You shouldn’t have interfered.’

‘I know, I know. It wasn’t
all
selfish. It wasn’t all because I didn’t want to lose a good detective. But there was something unstable about Simon. I sensed
it.’

‘You should have let her find out for herself.’

‘What about Paul Finlay? If I hadn’t found out from Bill he was a wife beater and if Bill hadn’t gone round to her flat, she would not have been rescued from a
beating.’

‘Didn’t she try to defend herself?’

‘Well, yes,’ admitted Agatha. ‘She grabbed him by the balls.’

‘Toni can fight her own battles. She’s been taking classes in judo. I think maybe Bill arrived in the nick of time to rescue Paul.’

‘What about the time that creep took her to Paris and she begged me for help? Who got her out of that mess? Me! That’s who. She’s just going to lurch from one hopeless man to
another.’

‘Like you, Aggie.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘Your first husband was a drunk, your second husband is a coldhearted confirmed bachelor type, and you nearly married a control freak and
I
had to come and rescue
you
.’

‘That’s different.’

‘It’s not. Oh, let’s not quarrel. How are you going to get Toni to stay?’

‘Try giving her the top jobs and nothing else. Keep out of her way.’

The next day in the office, Agatha greeted her staff breezily as if nothing had happened. ‘Toni,’ she said, ‘I want you to give whatever jobs you have to
Patrick and Phil. I’ve got a big one for you. Let me outline the case to date.’

They all listened intently. When Agatha had finished, she said, ‘Toni, I want you to go and see the first Mrs Richards. Try to find out if Richards wanted her to have a face-lift.
I’m working on the theory that he might be a nasty, manipulative man.’

‘Give me the address,’ said Toni.

Agatha handed it to her. ‘I’m going to type out what I’ve just told all of you so it can be checked on the computer at any time. Patrick, if you have any spare time today, I
want you to get on to your old police contacts and find out if they have any suggestions how Beech could have been making money on the side.’

Toni gathered up her belongings and left the office. Agatha looked wistful as she watched her go.

Toni felt emotionally numb as she drove in the direction of the Richardses’ villa. She pushed out of her mind all the times Agatha had come to her rescue, beginning with
saving her from her alcoholic brother and finding her a flat and a job.

The Richardses’ home was an imposing villa screened from the road by a thick thorn hedge and a stone wall. She opened the gate and walked up a short gravel drive to the front door.

A woman answered the door, a fairly elderly woman wearing an old-fashioned floral apron. ‘Mrs Richards?’

‘No, I’m just the cleaner. Her’s out.’

‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’

‘Around the time the children get out o’ school.’

‘Is there anywhere in Mircester I might find her?’

‘Her might be at that new health bar for lunch. Rubbish, I calls it. Pay a fortune for a bit o’ lettuce.’

Toni thanked her and left. She knew where the health bar was. A chill wind was blowing from the northeast, and lowering clouds threatened snow. What a day for rabbit food, thought Toni. More
like a day for soup and steak and kidney pie. Her stomach rumbled.

She had been so upset over Simon’s wedding that she only had a cup of coffee for breakfast.

She parked in the main square and, bending her head before the rising wind, picked her way gingerly through the rapidly freezing slush to Barry Wynd, where she knew the health bar was located.
She cursed the weather, which seemed to be involved in a vicious cycle of thaw and freeze.

The bar was called Green Happiness. The windows were steamed up, so Toni could not see who was inside. She pushed open the door and went in. There were very few customers. The people of
Mircester preferred cholesterol and loads of it.

A sullen waitress with a bad case of acne approached Toni after she had taken a table in the corner, facing the door. Toni looked at the menu and ordered vegetable soup, to be followed by
cauliflower and cheese and a glass of an elderberry drink.

To her relief, the soup was accompanied by bread rolls and butter. She looked around. Two women, quite elderly, were sitting by the window. The only other customer apart from Toni herself was a
severe-looking man with glasses and a long beard.

The door opened just as Toni was finishing her meal with a cup of dandelion coffee. The woman who entered was tall and dressed in pseudocountry wear: a Barbour worn over a cashmere sweater and
corduroy knee breeches, thick woollen stockings and stout brogues. She had a long, mild face that reminded Toni of a sheep. The rings on her fingers were many and sparkled in the light.

When she called over the waitress and gave her order, her voice was revealed as coming from someone who was trying desperately to sound posh, and failing. The other customers had left. Now there
was only Toni and what she hoped was Mrs Richards.

She smiled vaguely in Toni’s direction. Toni boldly rose and went to join her.

‘I thought I recognized you,’ said Toni. ‘Are you Mrs Richards?’

‘I was. If you’re from the press, you want the present wife.’

A small dessert bowl of a salad consisting mostly of bean sprouts was placed in front of Mrs Richards.

‘I’m not from the press,’ said Toni. ‘Excuse me, but on this freezing day, is that all you’re going to eat?’

‘Yes. My ex-husband says I have to watch my figure.’

‘What’s it got to do with him?’ asked Toni. ‘He’s your ex.’

‘He’s the father of our children, and I rely on him for maintenance. Now, go away.’

‘I am a detective,’ said Toni, passing over her card. ‘Now, our agency is supposed to be working for the present Mrs Richards, but I feel there is something very odd about
her.’

‘Nothing odder than common little slut.’

‘Why don’t we discuss this over lunch?’

‘I’m having lunch.’

‘No, you are not. You are punishing yourself. You are slim enough. Leave the rabbit food alone and come with me to the nearest pub and we’ll have steak and kidney pie and a good
bottle of wine.’

Mrs Richards poked dismally at her salad. ‘What if he finds out?’

‘I won’t tell him, you won’t tell him. Look, I think you’ve been through a lot,’ said Toni, ‘and that no one ever listens to you. But I’m here. Come on.
Live a little.’

Over steak and kidney pies and a good bottle of Merlot, Mrs Richards thawed, unlike the weather outside. As Mrs Richards ate hungrily, Toni talked generally about the weather
and told several funny stories of trying to recover lost animals. ‘I was asked to help find a lost cat called Napoleon. I at last found the animal actually up in the branches of a tall horse
chestnut tree in the woman’s garden. I climbed up. It was difficult because the wind was blowing strongly and the cat was almost at the top. Just as I was reaching out for it, the wretched
animal promptly nipped down to the ground, branch by branch. I followed and chased that cat and finally caught it by taking it in a rugby tackle.’

Ms Richards giggled, a surprisingly girlish giggle. ‘You can’t rugby tackle a cat.’

‘Oh, yes, you can,’ said Toni. ‘What about a brandy with the coffee?’

‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t . . .’

Toni raised her voice and called for two brandies.

‘Did you know the present Mrs Amy Richards?’

‘Oh, yes. Look, call me Fiona. We worked in the same supermarket. She was on the till and I stacked the shelves.’

‘Seems a rather menial job for you. What about the care of your children?’

‘We had . . . have . . . an excellent nanny for the two youngest: that’s Carol, aged four, and Josie, aged five. My eldest, my boy, Wolfgang, is at Mircester High. He’s
thirteen.’

‘Wolfgang is an odd name for a British child.’

‘Tom’s father is German. He insisted the boy was named after him. He’s called Wolf at school, so he doesn’t mind. My husband thought I should understand the workings of
his business empire from the ground up. I didn’t mind the shelf stacking. It was a peaceful, mindless job. I got to know Amy. The others knew I was the boss’s wife and thought I had
been put there to spy on them, but Amy would chatter away to me.

‘I invited her back one afternoon for tea. We both had the same day off. I thought Tom was away on business, but he turned up. He started questioning Amy about how much she thought was
being sold and what were the most popular items. Soon they were deep in conversation and seemed to have forgotten I existed.

‘A few weeks later, Tom asked me for a divorce. At first I was shattered, but when he explained he would pay maintenance, the thought that I could jack in my job and stay at home with the
children suddenly seemed like a road out of hell. Goodness, what a listener you are. I shouldn’t be criticizing Tom.’

‘I just wondered,’ said Toni cautiously, ‘whether Tom ever suggested improvements to your appearance.’

‘Night and day,’ said Fiona Richards gloomily. ‘He wanted me to go out to LA and get a face-lift. He always chose my clothes, but that was one thing too far. I tried to laugh
and say I wanted to reach an elegant old age and . . . and . . . he hit me.’

‘Didn’t you go to the police?’

‘He would have hired the best lawyers. I felt I wouldn’t have a chance. So I bought a tape recorder and I began to record all the vicious rows and the sound of the beatings. My small
salary was paid into an account in my name. I went to that bank and hired a safe-deposit box and put copies of all the tapes into it. Then I told him I was going to the police with the
evidence.

‘He stormed out of the house, but when he came back, he said that he had fallen in love with Amy and would give me a divorce. I couldn’t believe my luck until he finally moved out.
He comes back regularly to see the children. Oh, he’s all right with them. I bumped into Amy before she got her cosmetic alterations. She was very friendly, but she said an odd thing just as
she was leaving. She said, “I miss Gary. Gary would have sorted him out.”’

‘So it looks as if she was off her new husband before she even went to the States,’ said Toni.

‘Now, how am I to get home? I’m over the limit.’

‘I’ll get you a cab,’ said Toni. ‘Is there anyone who can come and get your car?’

‘Yes, the nanny, Mrs Drufus.’ She leaned forward and looked earnestly at Toni. ‘Do you think Tom killed Gary?’

‘If it had just been a blow on the head, I could believe it,’ said Toni. ‘But to kill a man – he was evidently knifed to death – and then to cut off his head and
try to get him roasted as a pig – no. It sounds to me like the work of several people.’

‘Would you keep in touch with me?’ asked Fiona plaintively. ‘You’re such a good listener. Now, if I had a daughter like you . . . Oh, well.’

She rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet. Toni found her a taxi and sent her on her way.

Agatha cursed under her breath. The girl’s report on Fiona Richards was so good. Toni, with her youth and air of innocence, could winkle stories out of people who would
otherwise have clammed up when faced with Agatha herself.

After leaving a note on Toni’s desk thanking her for her work, along with Simon’s letter and wedding invitation, Agatha went out into the freezing cold. The time had come to ask Amy
Richards why she had lied. Agatha realized she would need to tell the truth and confess she had never gone to Florida.

Amy answered the door. She wasn’t wearing her contact lenses, showing her eyes were brown. She looked as if she had been crying.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said bleakly.

Agatha shivered. ‘Let me in.’

She pushed past the slim figure of Amy and into the living room. Agatha removed her heavy coat and a shawl that made her feel she looked like Mother Machree, cursing all antifur activists under
her breath. Mink were vermin. They should be clothing her back instead of marauding around the countryside, killing off the native species.

‘Amy, I haven’t been to Florida.’ Agatha sat down on a sofa, and Amy sat in an armchair facing her. Between them was a glass coffee table holding glossy magazines –
OK!, Celebrity, Vogue
and colour supplements from various Sunday papers.

‘Why?’ asked Amy in a croaky voice.

‘I’m sorry to say this, Amy, but I did not believe you. A police contact told me that you have confessed that you were lying, that you were never in Florida and it was Tom Richards
who paid for you to go to LA for the transformation. I naturally began to wonder if you wanted me out of the way and why.’

‘I told the police the truth this time. I didn’t want them to think I was a gold digger. I mean, it takes an awful lot of money to look like this.’