Part 12 (1/2)
”Yes,” said Agatha. ”Mr Deny has just been threatening me.”
”Indeed? Well, Mr Deny, you come with me and we'll have a talk about this. Come along.”
John shouldered his way past Agatha. ”I'll get you for this, you old trout,” he said.
Agatha sat down weakly when they had gone. She then began to worry about her burglar-alarm system. It had gone on the blink while she had been away on holiday and she had done nothing about phoning up the security people. But part of the security system was that outside lights went on all around the cottage when anybody approached and she did not want her back garden floodlit when Roy and his men arrived to put in the plants. But right after that, she would get it fixed.
She turned on the television set and stared blankly at a movie, the kind which tried to make up for lack of script with exploding cars and blasting guns.
At first she did not hear the doorbell above the noise and then a sudden cessation in the shooting and screaming brought it to her ears and she scrambled to her feet and went to answer it.
”Why didn't you just walk in like last time?” she asked Bill Wong, who stood there grinning at her.
”The reason I walked in last time was because one of the locals said they had seen John Deny going into your cottage, and when you didn't immediately answer the bell I decided to let myself in. You always run to answer the bell, Agatha, and when you see me, your face always falls in disappointment, as if you were expecting someone else.”
”You're imagining things,” said Agatha curtly. ”Come in.”
She switched off the television and turned to him. ”So what did he have to say for himself?”
”Derry? He thinks you are an interfering old bag and that Lacey is either out to pinch his girlfriend or prove she murdered her mother.”
”That's mad. James and I only called on them once. Admittedly James has been seeing more of her since then, but...”
”No doubt they have heard about your reputation for sleuthing. I warned him not to disturb you again.”
”You should have charged him!”
”What with? Yes, he says he threatened you. But I believe he's just a suly young man.”
”You won't say that when you find me one dark night planted in my own garden, upside down, and full of weedkiller. He's strong enough to have hoisted her up on that hook.”
”We're not sitting on our b.u.ms, Agatha.”
”So what do you know that I don't?”
”That the body has been released for burial.”
”When is the funeral?”
”At a crematorium in Oxford tomorrow. Don't have any mad ideas about going in the hope that the murderer is lurking in the bushes. We've promised Beth Fortune to keep it quiet. She says she doesn't want nosy villagers or the press.”
”What about the husband? Is he coming over?”
”No, he doesn't want to know anything about it. Miss Fortune is going to the States to see him during the Christmas holidays. There's your doorbell. No doubt that's Lacey returned from his lunch. I'll get it just in case Derry's been stupid enough to come back.”
He returned, followed by James. ”Well?”
Agatha greeted him. ”How did you get on? While you were romancing Beth, her boyfriend was round here threatening me and telling me to warn you off.”
”Why on earth would he do that?”
”He thinks you're after her money, among other things.”
”I cannot understand what Beth sees in a lout like that.”
”I do. Like to like,” said Agatha, turning her eyes away from Bill's sharp look.
”She is a highly intelligent girl,” said James stiffly.
”We don't seem to be getting very far forward,” said Agatha in a placating tone. ”I mean, I am beginning to think it must have been someone from outside the village, someone from Mary's past. If it wasn't the husband, then it could have been someone she had an affair with. Sorry, James, I meant someone else.”
”We're working on the American end,” said Bill, getting to his feet. ”I'll leave you two to discuss the case with the usual warning. Don't get involved and don't go around suspecting villagers and letting them know it.”
There was a silence after he had left. Then James said, ”I made notes on our interviews. Would you like to come next door and we'll go over them?”
Agatha had a sudden pettish desire to say she would not. d.a.m.n Beth, she thought. Somehow Beth had reanimated all those feelings for James which Agatha thought she had lost. Compet.i.tiveness was a great part of Agatha Raisin's character.
”Wait and I'll get my cigarettes,” she said. ”You don't object to me smoking, do you?”
”I don't object to anyone smoking. I used to smoke myself.”
”You amaze me. Most of the people who've stopped are militant anti-smokers. How did you stop?”
”I got tired of it,” said James, who had actually given up smoking several years ago to please the then-current love of his life.
”I wish I could get tired of it. I don't even want to stop. Wait until I get the cats in from the garden. No, wait there!” she added sharply, terrified that James would see the bare garden.
”You're planning to surprise us all on Open Day,” he said. ”And yet you don't seem to spend much time in the garden.”
”I've spent all morning working on it,” lied Agatha.
In James's cottage some few minutes later, Agatha looked around, wondering not for the first time what it would be like if she lived there. And yet the living-room was comfortable, furnished with books and elegant old furniture. There was even a bowl of flowers on the window-ledge. She could not imagine putting her stamp on anything. James was that most irritating kind of bachelor, the kind who obviously does not need anyone to look after him.
He switched on the computer. ”I'm surprised you don't turn one of your bedrooms into an office,” said Agatha.
”I like to keep the spare bedroom free for guests,” he said. ”My sister and her children came to stay while you were away. Now let me see, I'll just flash this up on the screen.”
Agatha pulled up a chair beside him and read. Everything was neatly and accurately reported. ”If we were detectives in a book,” she said gloomily, ”I would stare at the screen and say mysteriously, ”There is something there that someone has said which is not quite right.” But all I can see is a lot of uninteresting twaddle.”
”Or I would say,” said James, ”that it must be Bernard Spott because he's the only one who said anything nice about her. Then I would go and make a citizen's arrest and have my photo in all the papers.”
”Did you really learn anything more from Beth about her mother?” asked Agatha.
”She said a bit curtly that she didn't want to talk about her mother, that Mary had made her, Beth's, early years h.e.l.l with her tantrums and scenes. She seems very fond of her father.”
”If she is as intelligent and charming as you say although I didn't get that impression then why get tied up with a lout like Deny?”
”I think he adores her and she needs that. Gives her stability.”
”b.o.l.l.o.c.ks! You've been reading magazines.”