Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye (15 page)

At that moment, Charles ambled into the kitchen. Agatha told him about the latest murder.

‘Chambers is no great loss,’ said Charles callously. ‘Good for you, Toni.’

‘I feel it’s all my fault,’ said Toni. ‘It was when I saw them all dancing around naked that I began to laugh. All that loose white fat jiggling about. That’s why
we ran to the quarry and hid in the bushes and that’s why Paul and Elsie followed us there.’

Agatha scowled into her coffee cup. She could feel a treacherous roll of fat at her midriff. Oh, to be as young as Toni. ‘With all the press that are going to be around,’ she said,
‘we’d all better keep clear of the manor until the fuss dies down. But I hate to leave it alone.’

‘I wonder if she made any enemies in her past,’ said George. ‘I mean, look at the way she treated her own children. Maybe there’s someone she crossed before.’

Agatha brightened. ‘That’s a good idea.’ Then she suddenly looked full at George, said a hurried ‘Excuse me,’ and rushed up the stairs.

‘Gone to grout her face,’ said Charles.

Sure enough, Agatha reappeared fifteen minutes later with her face made up.

Toni gave a massive yawn and knuckled her eyes.

‘Come on, young lady,’ said George. ‘Time I got you home.’

When they had left, Charles helped himself to one of Agatha’s cigarettes. ‘What goes on there?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. He’s too old for her.’

‘And too young for you,’ murmured Charles.

‘I’m going back to sleep,’ said Agatha. She had been roused from a glorious dream of Christmas, complete with James smiling down at her, and she wanted to see if she could
recapture it.

‘Now you’ve got to take all that make-up off again,’ Charles called after her.

But Agatha pretended not to hear.

George drove Toni to her flat. He turned to her and said, ‘Get some sleep and don’t answer the phone or the doorbell. If the police want to interview either of us
again, they can just wait until Monday morning.’

Toni thanked him and then hesitated, waiting for him to say something else. But he climbed out and went round and held the car door open for her.

‘Bye,’ said Toni and went inside.

In her flat she undressed, took a shower and climbed into her narrow bed. He hadn’t said anything about seeing her again. Maybe she wasn’t posh enough. It wasn’t as if she were
romantically interested in him. He was too old.

She slept all day and awoke feeling refreshed, but wondering if she would get any more sleep that night. Toni decided to drop in at the Tammy Club. It seemed ages since she had gone clubbing and
she wanted to be among people her own age.

There had been protests about the club being open on Sundays, but somehow it managed to survive the complaints.

Toni entered and breathed in the old familiar smell of alcohol and pot. Strobe lights were flashing across the floor where dancers gyrated to the loud beat of the music.

‘Hi! Look, folks, it’s Tone,’ called a girl.

Toni was soon surrounded by some of her ex-school friends. One of them, Karen, shouted above the music, ‘Heard you was a tec.’

Toni nodded in reply. The music suddenly finished and the DJ said, ‘Taking five minutes out, folks.’

‘Let’s get a drink,’ said Karen.

They all moved to the bar. They pressed Toni to talk about her work, but Toni did not feel like going into details. ‘What’s the talent like?’ she asked.

A thin spotty girl called Laura said, ‘You haven’t met the latest dreamboat. His name’s Rex.’

‘Sounds like a dog or a cinema,’ said Toni.

‘Look, that’s him over there.’ Laura pointed to where a young man was slouched at the end of the bar. He was wearing a black leather jacket over his bare chest and leather
trousers. His black hair was gelled into spikes. He had a stud below his bottom lip. His face was very white and he had heavy black eyebrows and designer stubble.

Toni suddenly felt a wave of isolation. Not so long ago, she might have found Rex attractive. But not now. She listened to the chatter of her former friends and felt she was looking at them
through the wrong end of a telescope. The music started up again.

‘Gotta go,’ muttered Toni and she headed towards the door and out into the night. She took great gulps of fresh air. Maybe after a week or two, she would go back to the club, but at
the moment she felt caught somewhere between the youth of her former school friends and what she thought of as the ‘old folks’ at the detective agency.

Agatha kept clear of the manor house for a week. She knew it would be impossible to move freely with press and police swarming all over the place. Other cases had to be dealt
with. She missed Toni, who was taking driving lessons, interrupted by police interviews.

After work she prowled the supermarkets because they were already selling Christmas decorations, wondering which ones would look best. She ordered a turkey from a Norfolk farm, to be delivered
ten days before Christmas. She ordered a new cooker with an oven large enough for the bird to fit into.

Charles had disappeared back to his home, promising to return the following week.

On Friday evening Bill Wong called on her at her cottage. He looked tired. ‘We’re getting nowhere. Elsie has been arrested, of course, but nothing about the murder at the manor or
who killed that poor old man.’

‘This factor, George Pyson,’ said Agatha, ‘anything odd about him?’

‘Highly respectable, by all accounts.’

‘Married?’

‘He was, but his wife died of cancer five years ago. No children. Why are you interested in him?’

‘I think he’s interested in young Toni and he’s too old for her.’

‘I sat in on the interviews with Toni. I would say that young lady is older than her years. Very sensible. I wouldn’t worry about her.’

‘You’ve interviewed all of them at the manor house,’ said Agatha. ‘Can you think of any one of them that might have done it?’

‘I’ve thought and thought. And the more I think about it, I’m amazed that with such a mother they’ve all turned out sane. Now, the people in the village with their damned
witchcraft, it’s beginning to seem more and more likely that one or several of them might have conspired to murder her.’

‘I can’t see them doing that,’ said Agatha.

‘Why?’

‘She charged them low rents. With her gone, ten to one the family or whoever they sell the estate to will jack up the rents. Where was Mrs Tamworthy brought up?’

‘I don’t know. You’ll need to ask one of the family. Why?’

‘Maybe it was someone out of her past.’

‘If you find out anything, let me know.’

On Saturday evening Toni was walking along the street to her flat, elated at having got her driving licence, when she felt her arm seized. She swung round. Her brother’s
beery face was thrust into her own. ‘You’re coming home, now,’ he said.

‘Leave me alone,’ howled Toni. People scurried past them, averting their eyes. No one wanted to get involved. These days, villains were apt to sue the rescuer for assault.

Toni kicked and struggled but Terry was much stronger. A battered Land Rover came along the street and stopped abruptly. George Pyson jumped down.

‘Leave her alone this minute,’ he shouted at Terry.

‘Piss off, you posh git,’ snarled Terry. ‘This here’s a family matter.’

George seized Terry’s arm and twisted it up his back. Terry howled in pain.

‘Who is this?’ asked George.

‘My brother,’ gasped Toni, breaking free. ‘He’s trying to get me to go home and I don’t want ever to go there again.’

‘Are you going to go quietly?’ asked George, giving Terry’s arm a painful wrench.

‘You’re breaking me arm! Yes. Let me go.’

George released him and Terry ran off down the street.

Toni said in a low voice, ‘Thanks.’ He won’t want to know me now, she thought, coming from my sort of family.

But George said, ‘Let’s go for a drink. I only caught glimpses of you at police headquarters when I was being grilled in one room and you in another. I’d better move the car.
It’s blocking the street.’ A volley of horns bore witness to this.

They both climbed into the Land Rover and George drove off.

‘I’ll just park in the square and we’ll go to the nearest pub and you can tell me about your driving lessons.’

‘I passed today,’ said Toni. ‘I’m still a bag of nerves.’

In the pub he asked her to tell him why she had left home and listened while Toni recounted how Agatha had come to her rescue.

‘And your mother?’ he asked. ‘Any chance of getting her into a rehab?’

‘Rehabs cost a lot of money.’

‘They take a few National Health patients. Her doctor could put her name down. She may have to wait but it would be better than nothing.’

‘She’s hardly ever sober enough to listen to me. Maybe I’ll try when Terry’s not around.’

Toni eyed him covertly, wondering whether he was coming on to her, but after she had finished her drink, he said briskly, ‘Right, young lady, let’s get you home.’

And that is exactly what he did, giving her a cheery goodbye as she climbed down from the Land Rover.

As she watched him drive off, her mobile phone rang. It was Agatha. ‘I passed my test,’ said Toni.

‘Great. We’ll get you some old banger. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.’

‘Back to the village?’ asked Toni uneasily.

‘No, we’re going to find out more about Phyllis Tamworthy.’

Alison had informed Agatha that her mother-in-law had been brought up in the village of Pirdey in Lancashire. With Toni studying a route map beside her, Agatha drove northwards
out of the Cotswolds.

Rain smeared the windscreen and she switched on the wipers. A blustery wind was pulling ragged grey clouds across a large sky. Out on the motorway, spray from huge lorries made driving a misery.
Agatha wished Charles had not turned down her invitation to come with them. In his company she often stopped thinking about James Lacey. Also, she liked being accompanied by a man after years of
battling on her own. She sometimes felt it was still an old-fashioned world. A woman on her own was often treated by hoteliers and waiters like a second-class citizen.

She had been pleased to learn that Phyllis Tamworthy had been brought up in a village. If she had been brought up in a large city, there would be little chance of anyone remembering her, thought
Agatha, forgetting that anyone who remembered Phyllis would have to be pretty old. Phyllis’s maiden name had been Wright. Agatha wished it had been something more unusual.

They stopped off at a motorway restaurant to break their journey. Toni had recently read an article which stated that the diet of the working classes was still abysmal, consisting as it did of
microwaveable meals and takeaway food. But Agatha was tucking into a large plate of greasy eggs and bacon with every sign of enjoyment.

Soon they were on their way again. Agatha slid a CD into the player and the strains of a Brahms symphony filled the car. She did not like classical music but was trying hard.

Toni had expected the village to be like Carsely but it was a grim little place stuck out on moorland. The rain had stopped but a yellow watery sunlight only enhanced the drabness of the place,
which seemed to consist of one long straggling street. Agatha drew up outside a sub-post office and general stores. ‘Wait here,’ she said to Toni. She marched in and asked an Asian
woman behind the counter where she could find some old residents.

The woman, her sari a bright splash of colour in the dingy shop, volunteered the information that the elderly residents met in the community centre at the eastern end of the village in half an
hour for tea.

Agatha rejoined Toni in the car. ‘We need to wait for half an hour. The old folk meet up at the community centre. The woman in there says it’s at the eastern end of the
village.’

‘What’s the eastern end?’ asked Toni.

Agatha scowled horribly. Then she admitted, ‘Blessed if I know.’ She got out and went back into the shop, returning after a few minutes to say, ‘It’s along on the left.
We may as well wait outside until they all turn up.’

The community centre was in what had once been a villa. A pokerwork sign with the legend ‘The Heights’ swung in the wind.

‘I wonder why they call it that?’ mused Toni. ‘The countryside around here is as flat as a pancake.’

‘Who cares?’ snapped Agatha and Toni gave her a hurt look of surprise.

The fact was that Agatha was uncomfortable in Toni’s company, the glowing youth of the young girl making her feel ancient.

To make matters worse, when the elderly began to arrive and Agatha made to get out of the car, she stifled a groan and clutched her hip. ‘I’ll help you out,’ said Toni.

‘Leave me alone,’ howled Agatha.

She rubbed her hip furiously while she watched the old folks totter up the short drive to the centre.

‘Is something up with your hip?’ asked Toni nervously.

‘There is nothing up with me,’ raged Agatha. ‘It was that long drive.’

‘I can do some of the driving,’ said Toni. ‘I got my licence first time off.’

‘I may let you.’ Toni as a novice driver might give Agatha something to feel superior about.

When they entered the community centre, a stout matron was ushering men and women – mostly women – to seats at a long table where cakes and sandwiches had been laid out.

Agatha approached her. ‘I am a private detective,’ she said. ‘I am investigating the death of Phyllis Tamworthy whose name when she was brought up in this village was Phyllis
Wright.’

‘I think you should wait until they have had their tea,’ said the woman. ‘For some of them it’s the only food they get. Pensions don’t go far these days. I’m
Gladys.’

‘I’m Agatha and this is Toni.’

‘If you and your daughter would like to sit over in the corner, I’ll ask them when they’ve settled down.’

‘She’s not my . . .’ began Agatha, but Gladys had walked away.

Agatha watched the elderly ladies. She watched the wrinkled hands, some of them trembling as they reached for sandwiches. Is this what we all must come to? she wondered sadly.