Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam Read online

  "It's incomers," said Mrs. Jackson, taking off her coat. "Never had nothing like this afore the incomers came."

  And coming from a woman who was married to a jailbird, that was a bit thick, thought Agatha. But she was too weary to argue. She scooped up her cats and went upstairs with them and plunked them on the end of the bed, climbed in herself and drifted back into sleep.

  When she awoke again, it was eleven o'clock. She hurriedly washed and dressed and went downstairs, followed by the cats. She could heard Charles's voice coming from the kitchen and guessed he was talking to Mrs. Jackson. She took a look in the sitting-room. It was polished and gleaming and free of dust and the fireplace had been cleaned out and the fire reset. At least she can clean, thought Agatha.

  She went into the kitchen. The conversation stopped abruptly when she opened the kitchen door. Mrs. Jackson was rinsing out a cloth at the sink and Charles had the morning papers spread out in front of him.

  "Nearly finished here," said Mrs. Jackson. "Want me to do upstairs?"

  "Yes, if you please," said Agatha.

  Charles rose. "We're going out, Betty. Just let yourself out and lock the door."

  "How can she do that?" asked Agatha. "I've got the key."

  "I went down to the estate agent's and got another," said Charles. "I've paid Betty. Come along, Aggie. You can eat later."

  "So it's Betty now," said Agatha. "What did you get out of her?"

  "Get in the car and I'll tell you."

  "Wait a bit. Will the cats be all right?"

  "I let them into the garden. They'll be fine."

  "What does she do with her children when she starts so early?"

  "They get the early school bus. The school supplies free breakfasts to the children of working mothers provided they're poor enough."

  "So what did you get out of her?"

  Charles pulled into a lay-by and switched off the engine. "It's what I didn't get out of her that fascinated me. She says Lucy was a good employer."

  "Was? Isn't she working for her anymore?"

  "No, she says that Lucy paid her off and very generously, too. Seems as if our Lucy is going to put the house on the market as soon as she can and says she'll get a commercial firm in to do the whole place over. But you would think that someone like Lucy would want someone in the meantime to wash the dirty dishes and Hoover. Mrs. Jackson doesn't talk much about Tolly but sticks to her story that they were a devoted couple."

  "Maybe we're wrong. Maybe they were."

  "Come on. You don't believe that."

  "No, I suppose not. Where are we going?"

  "A little of Betty Jackson goes a long way. There's something about that woman that makes my flesh creep. I've been thinking about Lizzie Findlay."

  "The captain's wife? Because I thought I saw her all glammed up?"

  "I suppose it's because I'm restless and can't think of anything else. Remember Lucy said something to the effect that Tolly was crawling to Lizzie."

  "Yes, but surely that was only to ingratiate himself with the captain."

  "I don't know. Take Lucy, for instance. She must spend a fortune on her appearance and she's as hard as nails. There's downtrodden Lizzie, everything that Lucy is not."

  "But she's so dowdy and faded!"

  "We don't know how she shapes up if she takes a bit of care with her appearance."

  Agatha thought about Lizzie. She had not really noticed her. Myopic, wispy hair, figure hidden in shapeless garments. She shook her head. "Not possible."

  "Let's go for a long shot. Let's drive to the captain's house and hide the car somewhere and keep an eye on things."

  The sun was shining but there was a stiff breeze blowing. "Not for long, then," said Agatha cautiously.

  They set off again. Charles turned off a country lane near the captain's house.

  "I don't know how we're going to spy on her," complained Agatha. "There's that long drive past the farmhouse before you even get to the captain's house."

  "Don't be defeatist. We'll think of something. Look," said Charles, "if we trespass on the captain's property and cross that field, we can hide in that stand of pine and get a good view of the entrance to the house."

  "What if someone sees us! We'll be awfully exposed crossing that field."

  "We'll risk it."

  "What about the dogs?"

  "They like me."

  "What excuse are we going to give if we're caught?"

  "We'll say we saw a rough-looking trespasser or one of those New Age travellers, and inspired by neighbourly duty we set across the field to clear them off."

  "But-"

  "Come on, Aggie!"

  Reluctantly, Agatha set out next to him. Charles opened a gate into the field and shut the gate behind them. "We'll take the path around the edge of the field," he said. "No harm in that. It's when people walk across fields that the owners get mad."

  They walked on, Agatha looking nervously all about her. She heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the stand of pine. Pine trees, thought Agatha; why couldn't they have been some thicker variety of tree? They stood in the shelter of one of the sturdier pines.

  The entrance to the house was clearly visible. "Can I have a cigarette?" asked Agatha after half an hour.

  "No," said Charles sharply. "Someone might see smoke rising from the trees and come to investigate."

  "So how long are we going to stand here, freezing our assets?"

  "Shhh! Someone's leaving."

  As they watched, the tall figure of the captain emerged. He got into a dusty Land Rover, after, to Agatha's relief, putting the dogs in the back. They watched as he drove off down the drive and disappeared along the road, leaving only a black cloud of filthy exhaust to mark his going.

  "Now what?" muttered Agatha. "Is that the exciting event of the day?"

  "We wait to see if Lizzie Findlay makes a move."

  Agatha craved a cigarette. If only she could quit and not be a slave to the beastly things. She peered up at the sky through the tops of the pines. "It's getting darker, Charles. Sun's gone in. Don't you think we should get out of here before it rains?"

  "We waited this long. May as well wait a bit more."

  After another three-quarters of an hour, Agatha felt cold and miserable. A sudden gust of wind rustled through the pines and she felt a drop of rain on her cheek.

  "That's it," she said. "I'm off. I'm not waiting here to get pneumonia."

  "Here she comes," whispered Charles.

  Lizzie Findlay emerged wearing an old wax coat and with a scarf over her head. She got into a battered Ford Escort carrying a small case, which she put on the seat beside her, and after fumbling around a bit, put on a pair of driving glasses.

  "Let her get down the drive," said Charles, excited, "and we'll follow her."

  As soon as the Ford had disappeared, Charles grabbed Agatha's hand and forced her to run towards the car. Cold rain stung their faces, and as Charles had run straight across the ploughed field this time, Agatha's shoes were thick with wet mud by the time they got to the car.

  "Which way did she go?" asked Agatha, climbing into the car and fastening her seat-belt.

  "Don't know, but let's guess the Norwich road."

  Charles drove off at great speed, and Agatha hung on as he screeched round the bends on the twisting road.

  "Got her!" exclaimed Charles in triumph.

  "Where?"

  "Up ahead."

  "I can't see."

  "Three cars in front. I'll keep some cars between us in case she spots us."

  They drove on steadily. "Yes, she must be going to Norwich. Let's hope we don't lose her in the city. At least it's not foggy."

  Agatha was feeling depressed. Her feet were wet and muddy. Lizzie would probably go shopping and head straight home.

  Lizzie drove straight into the centre of town, to the same car-park where Charles had stopped the night before. They found a space two rows behind where she was parking, and then got out. Lizzie was hur
rying out of the car-park carrying the suitcase. They followed her along several streets until she stopped outside a betting shop, took out a key, unlocked a door next to the betting shop, which they guessed led to the flats above, and disappeared from view.

  " `Curiouser and curiouser,' " quoted Charles. "Look, there's a cafe opposite with a free table at the window. We can sit there and keep watch."

  The cafe owner cast a reproving look at Agatha's muddy shoes as they walked in. They ordered coffee and sat down at the table by the window. Time dragged on. They ordered more coffee.

  Then they saw the door opposite open. "You were right!" said Charles excitedly. For the Lizzie who emerged was transformed. She was wearing a smart white raincoat and silk scarf. She was wearing sheer stockings and high heels. Her face was cleverly made up. She was by no means a beauty, but she looked a chic middle-aged woman instead of a downtrodden housekeeper. They paid for the coffee and followed her. She walked about, looking at the shops. She went into a department store. They followed. Lizzie bought some cosmetics. Then she went through to the lingerie department and bought a lacy bra and French knickers.

  Carrying her purchases, and with Charles and Agatha in discreet pursuit, Lizzie returned to the door beside the betting shop and let herself in.

  Once more Agatha and Charles took up watch in the cafe. The table at the window had been taken and so they took turns to stand up, craning their necks.

  It was an hour before Lizzie emerged again as her old self, carrying the suitcase.

  "Quick, we'll follow her," said Agatha, getting to her feet.

  "No, sit down!"

  Agatha reluctantly did as she was bid. "Why?"

  "Because I think she's going home. I want to find out who rents that flat, if it's rented, and under what name."

  They finished their coffee. Agatha was beginning to wish they had ordered some food, but at least, with all the waiting around, her feet were dry.

  "We don't want the neighbours, if there are any neighbours, to report our visit," said Charles.

  "I've done this sort of thing before," said Agatha eagerly. "I'll get a clipboard from a stationer's and some lined paper and say I am doing market research. Can you see from here? Are there any belts on the door?"

  "Four, and an intercom."

  "You wait here. Let's just hope there's someone at home."

  She bought a clipboard at a nearby stationer's and then made her way back to the flats. Who should she be? Just vaguely market research. That would do.

  There were no names on the bells, just flat numbers. Only the fourth replied, an old woman's voice demanding shrilly, "Who is it? What d'ye want? If it's you kids again, I'll call the police."

  "Market research," said Agatha into the intercom.

  "Haven't got the time to answer a lot of damn-fool questions," came the reply.

  "I'll pay for your time," said Agatha.

  "How much?" Sharp and eager.

  "Twenty pounds."

  The buzzer went and Agatha pushed open the door and climbed up to flat 2. An elderly woman stood at the door, leaning on two sticks. "What's it about?" she asked.

  She had an untidy, uncombed thatch of hair and two sharp beady eyes in a wrinkled face.

  "Coffee," said Agatha.

  "Coffee? I don't drink coffee."

  I won't get far with this one, thought Agatha. Better go back to the cafe and wait to see if someone more amenable comes home to one of the other flats.

  "Sorry to trouble you," said Agatha.

  "Wait! Did you say twenty pounds?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, come in. I haven't got all day."

  Agatha followed her into a neat living-room. A canary chirped in a cage at the window and two cats lay in front of a two-bar electric fire. Agatha repressed a shudder. In this old woman, she felt for a moment, she was looking at her future. "I'm Mrs. Tite. T-I-T-E."

  Agatha dutifully wrote it down. "I don't drink coffee," said Mrs. Tire, "but my son does. Sit down." She lowered herself slowly and painfully into an armchair in front of the fire and Agatha took the one opposite.

  "How many cups a day?" asked Agatha.

  "About four or five."

  Agatha dutifully wrote it down and then proceeded to ask a lot of questions about Mrs. Tire's son's coffee-drinking. "Now," said Agatha, "is there anyone else in these flats who would be prepared to answer questions?"

  "There's George Harris and old Mr. Black-"

  "I would prefer a woman. They're better at answering questions."

  "Well, there's Mrs. Findlay, but I haven't seen much of her lately, or her husband, for that matter."

  Agatha felt a pang of disappointment. This was just a flat the Findlays had bought or rented in town. She fished out a twenty-pound note and handed it over.

  She rose to her feet. Mrs. Tite stroked and folded the note and then tucked it in the pocket of her old woollen cardigan. "I'll see myself out," said Agatha. "Don't bother to get up."

  "It's nice to see that," said Mrs. Tite, almost as if speaking to herself. "Love like that in middle age, and them married so long."

  Agatha swung round, her hand on the door-handle. "You mean Captain and Mrs. Findlay?"

  "Is he a captain? I didn't know that. Never used the title."

  "I knew some Findlays," said Agatha slowly. "I must be confusing this Mr. Findlay with Captain Findlay. What does he look like?"

  "Small, tubby man. High colour. Wore sporty clotheshacking jacket, cravat with a horse-head pin in it."

  "Thank you," said Agatha. She scampered down the stairs and across the road to the cafe, where she told Charles what she had found out, ending with "It couldn't have been Tolly, could it?"

  "Sounds like it."

  "But that's impossible! Why would a rich man like Tolly want to philander with someone like Lizzie Findlay?"

  "Think about it. He's married to a hard blonde who made it clear she only married him for his money. He chats up Lizzie, at first with the simple view in mind of ingratiating himself with her husband. What if it dawns on him that Lizzie finds him attractive? He's in love with the whole image of country life, and here's a real-live country lady who bakes cakes and makes jam-anyway, I'll bet she does. Maybe they meet by chance in Norwich one day and it takes off from there."

  "And maybe she got a bottle of rose perfume from Rosie," said Agatha, "and that's what Lucy smelt in the bedroom." She shook her head. "It's too far-fetched."

  "We can ask her."

  "What?"

  "We can just ask her. We'll try to get her on her own. Let's try this evening. I bet the captain goes out somewhere with his hunting cronies. Worth a try."

  "I can't bear the idea of hiding out in those pines again."

  "We'll go home and wait until after seven and then phone."

  "But," said Agatha, as they walked to the car-park, "why on earth would she keep on the flat, continue to dress up, buy sexy underwear, if Tolly was the man. Tolly's dead."

  "Maybe she found someone else."

  "Highly unlikely."

  "All will be revealed if we can get her alone."

  When they got home, Agatha ate a hurried meal of sandwiches and phoned Rosie Wilden and asked her if she could buy some of her rose perfume.

  "You're welcome to a bottle," said Rosie. "Next time you're in the pub, just ask."

  "Thank you very much. I smelt some of your perfume just recently. Let me see, who was it? Ah, I believe it was Mrs. Findlay, Captain Findlay's wife."

  "That'd be right," " said Rosie. "Very partial to my perfume is Mrs. Findlay. I can't tell you how to make it because it's a family secret, but you just drop by and I'll let you have it."

  Agatha thanked her and rang off. She went into the sittingroom, her face pink with excitement. She told Charles about the perfume.

  "So," he said, "all we need to do is find Lizzie on her own."

  Charles waited until seven-thirty that evening before dialling Lizzie's number. She answered the phone and when she said n
ervously that her husband was not at home, Charles said, "It's you I want to speak to. Can I come round?"

  "I'm afraid it's not convenient."

  "It's about your flat in Norwich."

  There was a little frightened gasp, and then Lizzie said breathlessly, "I'll see you, but not here."

  "Come here, then," said Charles. "It's Lavender Cottage, along Pucks Lane. Do you know it?"

  "Yes."

  "We'll expect you soon."

  "You know what's bothering me," said Charles after he had told Agatha that Lizzie was going to call on them. "The fairies. I mean, the fairies have been totally forgotten in all this murder and mayhem."

  "True. But if it was connected to the murder, why would anyone go to such elaborate lengths? Think of the risk, taking cheap bits of this and that."

  "You forget about the Stubbs."

  "I don't think the theft of the Stubbs had anything to do with it. Oh, there's the doorbell. Lizzie's quick."

  But when Agatha opened the door, it was Hand who stood on the doorstep.

  "Thought you would like to know," he said, stepping past her into the hall, "that whoever turned over your place wore gloves. Except for a set over near the fireplace. Had any children round here?"

  "No, none at all. In fact, I don't think there are any in the village other than Mrs. Jackson's."

  "So we believe. My men have gone to see her with Detective Sergeant Carey. Just thought I'd check with you first."

  "No, no children that I know have been round here," said Agatha, almost nudging him towards the door, desperate to get him to leave before Mrs. Findlay arrived.

  "Right, then," he said, looking at her suspiciously. "I'll let you know how we get on."

  "Good, good," said Agatha. "Many thanks."

  How slowly he seemed to leave! Walking slowly along the side path past the hedge to where his car was parked.

  Agatha waited nervously until she heard him drive off and then shot back into the house. "Phone Lizzie," she said to Charles. "She may have come round when Hand was here and got frightened off."

  Behind her, the doorbell rang again, making her jump.

  "That'll be Lizzie," said Charles.

  SIX