Dishing the Dirt Page 8

  Gwen had moved into the garden and was speaking to a large muscular man.

  He approached Toni and Simon and growled, “Get lost. Mrs. Simple has had enough of you detectives making her life a misery. Get out or I’ll throw you out!”

  “See what I mean?” said Toni when they had beaten a retreat.

  * * *

  As Roy Silver sat in Agatha’s living room that evening, desperately switching from news channel to news channel in the hope of seeing himself talking to the press and failing to find anything, Simon was arriving at Ruby’s house in Oxford.

  He had an engagement ring in his pocket and was clutching a large bouquet of roses.

  Ruby answered the door but turned her face away to avoid a kiss. “I’ve heard the news,” she said curtly. “Case solved. This is not a good evening, Simon. I’ve had a hard day and I’m pretty tired. Can we take a rain check?”

  “The case isn’t solved by a long shot,” said Simon, looking hurt and disappointed. Two children appeared behind Ruby and stared at him with flat eyes.

  “What? Come in, sit down,” said Ruby, suddenly smiling. “What do you mean it’s not solved?”

  She led him into the kitchen. Simon, although she had originally invited him for dinner, noticed gloomily that there were no signs of cooking.

  The boy, Jonathan, said, “Have you brought us presents?”

  “Sorry,” said Simon.

  “Go and watch television,” ordered Ruby. “You can have half an hour before bed.”

  They trailed off. “Now,” said Ruby eagerly. “What’s all this?”

  Simon told her about Victoria killing the neighbour’s dog and said that Agatha was sure someone had threatened to expose her, left her the wolfsbane, and Victoria had committed suicide or that she had been forced into leaving the note.

  Ruby rose from the kitchen table and came back with a notebook and began to write busily. Simon felt he was back in the interrogation room as she asked question after question. At last she leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Is Agatha Raisin really clever?”

  “Well, sometimes you wouldn’t think so. But she blunders about, never giving up and she’s got the most marvellous intuition.”

  “We’ve still got the outstanding murders of Tremund and Herythe,” said Ruby. “Any chance of an introduction to your boss?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What about now?”

  “What about our dinner?”

  “That can wait.” She leaned forward and gave Simon a lingering kiss on the lips. “Phone her.”

  Agatha said she would like to meet Ruby. Charles had left and Roy was moaning about his lack of publicity.

  Ruby took her children round to her mother’s, but before they set off in Ruby’s car, Simon said awkwardly, “I wouldn’t mention anything to Agatha about us being an item. She can be controlling.”

  “Don’t worry. Won’t say a word.”

  * * *

  “We met before,” said Agatha to Ruby. “Simon tells me you are still interested in the murders. Come in. This is a friend of mine, Roy Silver. Roy, Detective Sergeant Ruby Carson.”

  “Any press in the village?” asked Roy.

  “Couldn’t see any,” said Ruby. “If there are any, they’ll be hanging around the Bannister woman’s cottage.”

  “I think I’ll get some fresh air,” said Roy, heading for the door.

  After he had gone, Agatha suggested they should sit in the garden because the evening was fine.

  Over drinks, Ruby began to question Agatha. And when Agatha answered her questions, her curious bearlike eyes moved from Ruby’s face to Simon’s adoring one. Oh, dear, thought Agatha, I do believe she’s using him and now me as well. Still, information works both ways. She could come in handy. But what’s with young Simon? He looks well and truly smitten.

  “There is the matter of Gwen Simple,” said Agatha. “I could never believe she was innocent of the murders her son committed. For some reason, men go weak at the knees when they come across her. I think she uses people, and if there is one thing I cannot bear, it is women who use sex to further their own ends. Don’t you feel the same?”

  “Of course,” said Ruby, suddenly taking an intense dislike to Agatha.

  “Are you married?” asked Agatha.

  “Divorced.”

  “Children?”

  “Two. Look, thank you for a most interesting talk but I’d better be getting back. Come along, Simon.”

  * * *

  Simon was silent on the road back to Oxford. He was also hungry and bewildered. Agatha and Ruby had somehow made him feel like a small boy caught between two domineering aunts. The ring was in his pocket. But he was damned if he would give it to Ruby until there was a more romantic time.

  Outside her house, Ruby looked at his worried face and said, “My darling, I am treating you horribly. Let Ruby make it up to you.”

  Simon could only be glad that because of the humidity of the evening and the sexual athletics in the front seat, the windows soon became steamed up.

  After it was over and Ruby gave him a final kiss goodnight, he got into his own car, wondering why he felt like a small boy who had failed his exams and had been given an apple by a sympathetic teacher.

  * * *

  Agatha sleepily answered the door, after peering through the spy hole, to survey a miserable-looking Simon. In the light of the lamp over the door, her sharp eyes took in his rumpled hair, swollen lips and love-bitten neck.

  “Need a drink?” she asked, leading the way to the kitchen.

  “I need food,” said Simon.

  “I’m not the world’s greatest cook,” said Agatha.

  “Have you eggs?”

  “Yes. Loads.”

  “Give me a pan and some butter and I’ll make an omelette.”

  With rare forbearance, Agatha waited until he was fed. Then she said cautiously, “You look used.”

  “That’s it,” said Simon. He told her what had happened, ending up with, “I feel awful. In her car, in front of her house! What if the children had looked out of the window? What if Granny had brought them back? I’ve got a ring, Agatha. I meant to ask her to marry me.”

  “Take it back to the shop,” said Agatha, stifling a yawn.

  “Maybe she really does love me,” said Simon plaintively. “Maybe I’m being too uptight about it all.”

  “The woman invites you for dinner,” said Agatha patiently. “Instead, she uses you to come and grill me. She then gives you a quickie to keep you on the leash. That one is walking, talking ambition. Why don’t you use her? We need good police contacts. Did they contact any of the people going into Tremund’s office? Is there CCTV in that street?”

  “Okay.” Simon visibly brightened. He had been feeling hunted. Now he could play the role of the hunter.

  “What do you feel about her now?” asked Agatha.

  “I’m still in shock.”

  “Couldn’t you just have held her off and suggested a bed would be a better place?”

  “She was all over me. I thought we would move out of the car and into the house. I didn’t expect to be dismissed.”

  “Did you use any protection?”

  “Ruby had it with her.”

  “Cheer up,” said Agatha. “She’s got what she wants for now. But she’ll be back.”

  “Another subject,” said Simon. “Toni and I went over to Gwen’s. We felt you had forgotten about her for the moment. We tried to look round her garden but a man chased us off.”

  The doorbell rang. “That’ll be Roy back from a publicity hunt,” said Agatha.

  As she opened the door to him, she saw, over his shoulder, Charles arriving.

  “Does nobody want to go to sleep?” complained Agatha.

  “I’m off to London,” said Roy sulkily. “I’ll get my bag.”

  “What brings you?” Agatha asked Charles.

  “I got a call from Adrian Sommerville. He says I can pick up the keys tomorrow and have
a look at Jill’s house. After we’ve had a look, we should call on him again, Agatha. I mean, did he know his sister was hooking in Chicago? What’s her background? What does he think of her ex?”

  “I’m tired,” said Agatha. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  * * *

  The day was humid and overcast. They collected the keys from an estate agent in Mircester, saying they did not need anyone to show them over, and then went back to Jill’s cottage in Carsely.

  The front garden looked even more neglected than the last time Agatha had seen it. Bits of yellow police tape fluttered amongst the bushes. Down in the village, the church bells rang out. Then came the tenor bell, and then the silence of a country Sunday.

  “Here goes,” said Charles, unlocking the door.

  “You’d think that brother would have cleaned the place up,” complained Agatha. “I’m surprised the estate agent didn’t suggest it. There’s still fingerprint dust everywhere.”

  “Let’s start with the office,” said Charles.

  “You do that. I’ll try the other rooms,” said Agatha.

  Across from the consulting room, on the other side of the small dark entrance hall, was a living room–cum–dining room. There were the usual things to be expected: television, bookcase, small table with four chairs, sofa and two armchairs, but no desk or chest of drawers. Agatha wondered whether to search through the books, but decided to leave them until later.

  The kitchen was in the back. There were signs that the police had been through every food container. Agatha then made her way up the narrow wooden staircase. On the left of the landing was a bathroom. The cupboard over the hand basin was empty. No doubt the police had taken everything away. In the middle was a bedroom. There were no clothes or underwear. No doubt her brother had got rid of them. So no hope of finding anything in pockets. There was one room left, with a massage table and anatomical charts on the wall.

  Agatha began to feel wearily that it was all a waste of time. The police would have been thorough in their search. There were three sockets in the house for hands-free phones but the phones were missing.

  She trailed back down to the office. “Anything?” she asked Charles.

  “Not a thing. Not even a phone,” said Charles. “It’s only in books where the detective finds something taped to the bottom of a drawer.”

  “Let’s try the back garden,” said Agatha. “With all her blackmailing carry-on, she must have needed places to hide things. I wonder if she hid that book in Jenny’s desk or if kleptomaniac Jenny pinched it.”

  They walked through the kitchen to the back door. Charles tried several keys and then unlocked the door.

  “She was no gardener,” he said. The back garden was nothing but a square of weeds with a shed at the end. The day had turned very dark and as they made their way to the shed, lightning split the sky, followed by a massive crack of thunder.

  Then the heavens opened and the rain came pouring down. The shed was unlocked. They dived into it out of the rain.

  “Wasn’t it Charles the Second who said that the English summer consisted of two days heat followed by a thunderstorm?” asked Charles.

  Agatha scowled at him. She hated quotations. They made her feel more badly educated than she actually was. She looked around. Rusty garden implements were propped against the walls.

  “I don’t like this shed,” said Agatha. “There’s something wrong here.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s the storm,” said Charles. “There’s nothing here but us.”

  “Would she have buried things?” asked Agatha. “I mean, she thieved Tris’s wallet and kept it. Perhaps she kept souvenirs of all the people she had conned. Maybe there’s a loose plank or something.”

  “The floor looks untouched,” said Charles. “There’s nothing here.”

  “The police didn’t dig up the garden,” said Agatha, looking out of the grimy shed window.

  “Why should they?” remarked Charles. “They weren’t looking for dead bodies. I mean, Jill was the dead body. Look at it. That garden hasn’t been touched in years.”

  “Snakes and bastards!” howled Agatha. “I’m sick of the whole thing.”

  “Never mind,” said Charles. “The rain’s easing off. Let’s make a dash for it.”

  Agatha stumbled across the garden in her high-heeled sandals. One foot caught in the now muddy earth in front of shallow wooden steps leading up to the kitchen and she fell heavily.

  Charles rushed to heave her up. “Look!” said Agatha. There were three wide wooden steps and the top of one of them had become dislodged in her fall.

  “There’s something in there,” she said excitedly. “It’s a box.”

  “Put on gloves,” said Charles.

  Agatha pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her handbag. She lifted out a metal box. “I’ll take it into the kitchen,” she said.

  She put it on the kitchen table. “It’s not all that heavy. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  She took out items and laid them on the table. “We’ve two Rolex Oyster watches, three wallets, a big pile of notes, all sorts of currencies, sexy photographs of her in bed with various men. She must have had a partner to take these photos. What a contortionist she was! But no documents or letters.”

  “Anything in the wallets?”

  “No cards. But family pictures in two of them.”

  “You’ll need to call the police,” said Charles.

  “Do I have to?” wailed Agatha. “I found it.”

  “Agatha, those photos are probably from her hooking days in Chicago. You need the police to follow it up. That way, they’ll find out who she was working with.”

  “Anybody home?” called a voice. Agatha put the items back in the box and slammed down the lid. “Who’s there?”

  “Me,” said Simon, walking into the kitchen. “What have you got there?” He had been searching for her.

  “Just found it,” said Agatha. “I stumbled over a box of Jill’s stuff. I’ll need to call the police. There are photos she probably used to blackmail her clients in America.”

  “May I have a look?” asked Simon.

  Agatha took the lid off the box again. “Hurry up. I’ll phone Bill.”

  Simon carefully examined the items, his thoughts always on Ruby. He wanted the old Ruby back, the one he had been in love with. He had tried to call her that morning, but his calls went straight to her voice answering message. He knew if he left her a message about this discovery she would call him back, and he wanted to find out that the hard woman he had encountered the night before had changed back into the Ruby he wanted to marry.

  “I really don’t feel like waiting for the police, Agatha,” said Simon. “I’m still upset about Ruby. Do you mind if I clear off?”

  Chapter Seven

  Simon walked down through the village to where he had left his car outside Agatha’s cottage. He took out his mobile phone and dialled Ruby’s number. It went straight to voice mail. “We’ve made a big discovery at Jill’s cottage,” said Simon. “If you want to hear about it, call me back.”

  He leaned against his car and waited. A sudden brisk breeze rustled through the leaves of the lilac tree outside Agatha’s garden.

  Simon felt a sudden frisson of fear. It was as if the leaves were whispering a warning. He looked along the lane. Nothing and nobody, except a discarded sweet wrapper that skittered along and stuck to his trousers.

  His phone rang, making him jump. “Hullo, darling boy,” cooed Ruby. “What have you got for me?”

  “It’s a terrific find,” said Simon. “I’d rather see you in person.”

  “Come over. It’s my day off,” said Ruby.

  When she rang off, she turned to her children. “I’m taking you to Granny.”

  “Wicked!” cried her son, Jonathan.

  And Pearl said, “We love Granny more’n you.”

  Ruby shrugged and phoned her mother, who lived a few
streets away. She fought down a small twinge of guilt. Her children spent more time with their grandmother than they ever did with her.

  * * *

  Simon drove to Oxford, praying that his dream of a warm and loving Ruby could be restored. He was about to ring the doorbell when he heard a man’s voice through the open window of the living room, saying, “Don’t you think I should stay? We’re desperate for a break in this case.”

  “No, run along,” came Ruby’s voice. “The little sap is spoony about me and he might get jealous if he saw you and clam up.”

  “I might get jealous,” said the man with a laugh.

  “Don’t be an idiot. He’s just a rather boring little boy.”

  Simon backed off and crouched down behind a bush. The door opened and a thickset man came out. He kissed Ruby and walked off down the path.

  The door closed and there was only the sound of the strengthening wind rustling through the leaves.

  Simon suddenly felt immeasurably tired, silly and depressed. He crept out from behind the bush, making sure he was not observed from the windows of Ruby’s house and made his way to his car and drove off. By the time he got back to Mircester, his phone had rung several times. Each time he recognised Ruby’s number and finally switched his phone off.

  Ruby paced angrily up and down her living room, wondering what to do. She tried to remind herself that if there was anything pertaining to the murder of Tremund, it would surely come through to Thames Valley Police and all she had to do was wait.

  But she was ambitious and impatient. Simon had given her his address. She decided to drive to Mircester and challenge him.

  The night was very dark. The air was sticky and humid and from far away came a rumble of thunder.

  Her old car did not have air-conditioning and she was tired and sweating by the time she reached Simon’s flat. Ruby rang the bell. But Simon, looking through the spy hole in his door, decided not to answer it. “The hell with her,” he muttered, and went back to bed.

  Frustrated and angry, Ruby decided to drive on to Carsely and confront Agatha Raisin.

  Simon’s flat was in a pedestrian area and so Ruby had left her car in the main square. Before she reached it, the heavens opened and the rain came pouring down. A flash of lightning lit up the square and she saw to her dismay that the back window of her car had been smashed. She slid into the front seat and tried to dry her sopping hair with some tissues. Police headquarters were beside the square but she decided against going in to report the window; they would consider that she was poaching on their territory. She noticed the streetlights were out. The storm must have caused a power cut.