Agatha Raisin and The Wellspring of Death ar-7 Read online

  "Water of Life," Agatha heard one reporter shout down the phone. "Water of Death would be a good headline."

  Portia appeared beside Agatha. Her tweed suit, thought Agatha sourly, looked as if it had been painted on. How she managed to get it so tight and yet so smooth must be some miracle of tailoring. "Have you got Mr Peter's speech?" she asked.

  Agatha gathered up the pages from the printer tray and handed them to her. "I suggest that Guy makes this speech."

  "Why?"

  "He's better-looking. Look good on television."

  Portia leaned forward and whispered, "Don't you find your infatuation with Guy a little sad at your age?"

  "Piss off," said Agatha furiously.

  "What was that about?" asked Roy.

  "Never mind. Have we phoned everyone?"

  "Yes, and with this lot telling their news desks, and their news desks telling London, I should think everyone knows. It'll be out on the radio news anyway."

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of hectic activity for Agatha. Peter Freemont made the speech she had written. There were cameras everywhere, flashing and clicking. Television reporters did their job, which had everyone they could think of making a statement, preceded by the eternal TV film clich.6 of having the interviewee walking. Why, Agatha wondered, did people have to be seen walking before they faced the cameras?

  Boom microphones, oblong and furry, were held above heads. The rain drummed relentlessly down. Children, thwarted of their performance in the talent competition, screamed and cried if they were very young and moodily sulked and dug up chunks of grass with their Doc Martens if they were older.

  To Agatha's horror, she came across Lord Pendlebury making a statement to the press. "It's all the fault of incomers," he said. "Nasty people. Never had this trouble when people who belonged in the cities stayed in the cities."

  She quickly moved in front of him and said loudly, "We owe much to Lord Pendlebury for lending his support to the launch of Ancombe Water. He will agree with me that anything that brings business and jobs to a rural area is welcome. Do you know that the Ancombe Water Company gave first priority in jobs to the villagers of Ancombe?"

  And so on, until the disgruntled lord shuffled off and the press yawned.

  Finally she and Roy had to sit down in a police trailer facing Bill Wong.

  "Now, you two," he said severely, "what on earth were you about, hinting to the press that something awful was going to happen? I can tell you that there are mutterings amongst them that Robina Toynbee was murdered because of a publicity stunt."

  "That's ridiculous," said Agatha.

  "So why did you say such a thing?"

  Agatha looked miserable. "I felt the press were beginning to lose interest. I didn't hint at murder. I hinted there might be another demonstration. It could have well happened. It's my job, Bill. Had to get them here."

  "You've got the lot now," said Bill grimly.

  "Why wasn't Robina at the festivities anyway?" asked Roy.

  "Part of the arrangement was that Robina Toynbee was to be at her garden wall over the spring when the procession arrived. So she told her neighbour."

  "And who made this arrangement?" asked Agatha. "I heard nothing about it. The Free-monts?"

  "No, luckily for them, or I really would have begun to think it was some macabre publicity stunt. According to this neighbour, a Mrs Brown, Robina thought up the whole thing herself. She was miffed because she had not been asked to make a speech, considering it was her water. So she planned to be at her garden wall and, when the procession arrived, make a speech. It was found on the grass beside her--her notes, I mean."

  "Oh, help!" Agatha stared at Bill, wide-eyed. "Robina left a message for me last night. She wanted me to phone her. Then I got the news about the pop group not being able to make it and I forgot all about her. Maybe she just wanted to tell me about her speech."

  "Could be," said Bill. "Did you save the message?"

  "Yes, it'll still be there."

  "I'll get along to your place later and listen to it."

  "So it looks as if we're back to the ones on the parish council who didn't want the water company to go ahead," said Agatha. "The againsts are Bill Allen, Andy Stiggs and Mary Owen. Where were they?"

  "Mary Owen was at home. She said she didn't want to have anything to do with it. Bill Allen says he was at his garden centre, but as his staff of two young people had been given an hour off to go to the fgte, we have no witnesses. Andy Stiggs says he was working in his garden."

  "In this weather?"

  "He says the heavy rain had battered a climbing rose and he was tying it up. With all that shrubbery in Robina Toynbee's garden, anyone could have hidden there and as soon as she got to the garden wall, struck her a blow from behind. Most villagers were already at the fete."

  "Yes, and when we walked along to the spring, apart from those from the fete who were accompanying the procession," said Agatha, "there was no one about."

  "I am going to take statements from both of you," said Bill. "I want you to go over carefully and clearly why you hinted to the press that there might be trouble and then what you were both doing at the time of the murder."

  It seemed to take a long time.

  "I need a drink," said Agatha when they were finally free. "Let's go and see the Freemonts. I really want to get away from here."

  They found Guy, Peter and Portia in the press tent. Portia was laughing at something Guy was saying, her hand on his arm. Agatha's eyes narrowed. Then she reminded herself that she did not want to have anything more to do with Guy, romantically, that is. She had a craving to be her age, act her age, and stop worrying about wrinkles and sagging flesh.

  "Agatha!" cried Guy, detaching himself from Portia. He gathered her in his arms and gave her a kiss. "Isn't it all too awful? But you handled things magnificently."

  "I don't know," said Agatha, awkwardly disengaging herself. "I heard one reporter suggesting a good headline would be the Water of Death."

  "Don't worry. You should know. By the time all this blows over, all they'll remember is the name. We'll be world headlines tomorrow. We've got a great marketing manager. We've sent complimentary supplies to every restaurant round about, and to the top restaurants in London. It's a clever bottle. It would have been cheaper to put the water in plastic ones, but we think the success of Perrier, say, is that because it's in a glass bottle with a screw-top, it doesn't go flat, like the stuff in the plastic ones."

  "Have you made statements to the police?"

  "Yes, everything's over and done with. Don't worry, Agatha. It's all worked out all right."

  "Well, the arrangement was that my job would finish on the day of the f@te," said Agatha. "I won't be seeing much of either of you again."

  "Did we make that arrangement?"

  "Yes," said Roy, moving forward. "I've got the week off, Aggie. So if you can put up with me putting up with you, I'd like to stay on."

  "Okay," said Agatha.

  "Wait a minute," said Peter quickly. "Perhaps you could drop into the office on Monday. We haven't got a replacement for you. We needed an expert to get this off the ground, but now with the murder and all, we could do with your services."

  "Let me have a week off," said Agatha quickly, "and I'll think about it."

  She and Roy left the press tent and emerged into blazing sunlight. "Typical," said Agatha, and then she began to cry.

  Seven

  Bill Wong arrived at Agatha's cottage with Chief Inspector Wilkes and a policewoman. They listened carefully to Agatha's answering service.

  "She sounds agitated," said Wilkes.

  "Robina could have received more of these threatening letters," said Agatha. "She'd been getting them and I told her to take them to the police, but she wouldn't. I told you about them, didn't I, Bill?"

  "You'd better go over again, for the chief inspector's benefit, everything you've found out."

  So Agatha began at the beginning. It all seemed such a mu
ddle, and the idea that one of the respectable members of the Ancombe Parish Council should suddenly turn murderer was too strange to believe.

  There was a ring at the doorbell.

  Roy went to answer it and came back followed by James.

  Agatha looked at him stonily, in her heart blaming him for her affair with Guy.

  "Good," said Bill, looking up from his notes.

  "We were going to call on you, and this saves time. Do you think any of those Save Our Foxes people could be mad enough to commit murder?"

  "Could be," said James, sinking down in an armchair. "It might explain the second murder, but surely not the first. No one knew which way old Struthers meant to vote."

  "It's a pity about Mary Owen," said Agatha. "She was my prime suspect. She's strong enough and nasty enough."

  "There seems enough proof that she was where she said she was, at her sister's."

  "Have you thought about, the water company?" asked James. "They've got world-wide publicity out of today. They would have got very little if it hadn't been for the murder. No pop group. Nothing to draw them."

  "I think that's ridiculous," said Agatha hotly.

  "Well, you would." James's voice was cold. "But if we can keep emotional involvement out of this and look at it objectively, this publicity is worth millions to the Freemont brothers."

  "If you keep jealousy out of it," said Roy, "and think about it, it shouldn't do them all that much good. Two dead people dripping blood into that spring!"

  "Why on earth should I be jealous?"

  "Because of Aggie's ring-a-ding wish Guy Freemont."

  "Rubbish," said James.

  "There is nothing between me and Guy Free-mont," howled Agatha.

  "Oh, so his car just happens to be parked outside your cottage all night by accident," said James nastily. "What were you doing all night? Drinking water?"

  "Get out of here!" shouted Agatha, tears starting to her eyes.

  "Calm down, all of you," said Wilkes. "I want the three of you to report to police headquarters tomorrow morning and we'll go over it again."

  James left with the police.

  "What now?" asked Roy. "Should we think of somewhere for dinner?"

  "Let's go for a drive first," said Agatha. "I know, we'll go into Mircester. There's a new Chinese restaurant."

  "Just look at the weather," said Roy bitterly as a flaming sunset settled over the Cotswold Hills and the first stars glimmered faintly in a perfect sky.

  "There's a curse on the whole venture," said Agatha gloomily. "Perhaps, after dinner, we should go for a long walk and tire ourselves out."

  "I'm tired already." Roy yawned.

  "I mean I want to be exhausted when I go to bed or I'll keep seeing dead Robina."

  They parked in the square at Mircester and walked to the Chinese restaurant. Agatha grabbed Roy's arm before he could go in and hissed, "Look who's sitting at the window."

  Roy looked and saw a middle-aged Chinese man with a droopy moustache and what appeared to be a typical Gloucestershire housewife.

  "So?"

  "That's Bill Wong's parents."

  "The father's Chinese, surely. Good sign."

  "No, it's not. They like terrible food."

  "Oh, well, where to? I'm not really hungry."

  "Me neither. Let's walk for a bit."

  They set off in a westward direction, glancing aimlessly in shops, both wrapped in their own thoughts.

  Finally they reached the suburbs and walked along a quiet street lined with villas.

  "Am I seeing things?" asked Agatha, breaking the silence. "Or is that Mary Owen just turning in at that gate?"

  Under the light of a street lamp a little way ahead, the tall figure certainly looked like Mary Owen.

  Agatha quickened her pace. "Mary!" she called.

  The woman stopped, her hand resting on the gate, and looked back at them.

  "Mary!" said Agatha again.

  "I am Mary's sister," said the woman. "I am Mrs Darcy, and who are you?"

  "I am Agatha Raisin, and this is Roy Silver."

  "I have heard of you. You're that interfering busybody who fancies herself a detective. Good evening." Mrs Darcy went in and shut the gate with a clang. Agatha and Roy walked on.

  "Did you notice the remarkable resemblance?" said Agatha excitedly. "They could be twins. Why didn't Bill say something about it?"

  "So what?"

  "That's how the alibi could have been established. The neighbours could have thought they were seeing Mary when in fact they were seeing Mrs Darcy."

  "Wait a bit. The curtains were drawn back on the evening of the murder. They were seen dining together."

  "But dinner doesn't take all evening." Agatha gave a skip of excitement.

  "When was it you went to the spring?"

  "It was nearly midnight. They're vague about the time of death, but put it somewhere earlier in the evening. Now, when you and I think about dinnertime, we think about eight o'clock or after, but a lot of people have it much earlier."

  "We could ask the neighbours."

  "I've a feeling if we did that, Mary and her sister would report us for intrusion of privacy. We'll ask Bill tomorrow. Roy, I'd begun not to care who committed the first murder. But two! And James going ahead and investigating without me! By God, I'd like to find out who did it just to see his face."

  "I'm really tired now," complained Roy, "and hungry. Look at the time, Agatha." He thrust his Rolex watch in front of Agatha's eyes. "Eleven o'clock. A lot of the pubs are shut. We'll be lucky to find anywhere open."

  "They trudged the long way back into the centre of Mircester. The Chinese is still open."

  "Oh, let's just have a bowl of something, then," said Agatha.

  The restaurant was nearly empty. "Let's just order one of the set meals," said Agatha. "I'm too weary to wade through the menu."

  The food was delicious. "So we wandered around for nothing," said Roy.

  "Not nothing. We know now that Mary looks remarkably like her sister."

  "Can I have something to drink? You're driving."

  "I thought you'd gone off alcohol."

  "It's the stress."

  "You know what they say--once you start saying you need a drink, you're in trouble."

  "But that's your favourite line, Aggie dear."

  "Well, these are exceptional circumstances." Agatha called the waiter over and asked for the wine list. "We'll get a cab home. James can drive us in the morning."

  "Oho! I thought you wanted nothing to do with him."

  "We're in competition now and I want to know what he's up to."

  Agatha slept heavily and awoke to find it was nine in the morning. She let out a squawk of alarm and phoned James.

  "Yes, what is it, Agatha?" Crisp, very crisp.

  "I've left my car in Mircester and wondered if you could give me and Roy a lift over to Mircester this morning."

  There was a short silence and then James said curtly, "I'll pick you up at ten."

  Agatha shot upstairs, calling on Roy to wake up as she did so. She washed and made herself up with care.

  Roy and Agatha walked along to James's cottage promptly at ten. He got in beside the wheel of his car. Roy made as if to get into the front passenger seat, but Agatha jerked him back.

  "Only trying to save you embarrassment, Aggie," muttered Roy, getting into the back seat.

  "So who do you think is committing these murders?" asked James.

  "I favour Mary Owen."

  "Why?"

  "Just a hunch."

  "It's more than that," said Roy eagerly. "We took a walk in Mircester last night and we came across that sister, Mrs Darcy. She's the spitting image of Mary."

  I'll kill you, Roy, thought Agatha, who had been hoping to keep back that bit of information.

  "But Bill said something about the neighbours having seen them having dinner together."

  "But Aggie didn't find Struthers's body until near midnight. Mary could have
driven over from Mircester, bumped him off somewhere and dumped the body at the spring. Or she could have been helped by her sister."

  "I don't like that idea," said James. "I would like to know more about the Freemonts."

  "You can't think it's them," said Agatha.

  "Why not? They may have known Struthers was going to vote against the water."

  "But what about Robina?" asked Agatha.

  "Well, she could have changed her mind."

  "Too late to do that," Roy pointed out. "She must have signed something and that speech of hers--or rather the notes for it--if there had been anything about stopping the water company, it would have been in those notes and the police would have said something."

  "True." James negotiated a bend too quickly and Agatha was thrown against him. She struggled upright. That touch of her shoulder against James's had sent an electrical charge through her body. "What is the background of the Freemonts, Agatha?"

  "Business in Hong Kong. Rag trade. Moved over here."

  "I know all that. Anything else? Either of them married or been married?"

  "Guy isn't married," said Agatha quickly. "I don't know about Peter."

  "How do you know Guy isn't married?"

  "I just know," said Agatha crossly. "Oh, look out!"

  James braked suddenly. A small deer darted in front of the car and vanished into the dappled shade of a wood at the side of the road.

  James drove on more slowly. "I mean," Agatha continued, "he hasn't tried to hide me off in obscure restaurants."

  "His wife need not be living in the area," said James.

  "I still think the murderer is one of the parish council," said Roy. "They all seem pretty nasty."

  "If there is one thing I hate," said Agatha, "it's environmental groups, them with their open-toed sandals and open-toed minds."

  "They can be a pain." James accelerated along the Fosse. "But someone's got to put the brakes on some of the time. Do you know what they did with some of those lovely old Georgian houses in Mayfair? They're supposed to preserve the facade, so they take down the building behind in such a way that the whole thing collapses. Oops! Sorry, they say, and build some horrible modern box instead. Then take Greenpeace."