"Didn't she have any friends among them?"
"No, they only saw her during office hours. They all remember Jimmy Raisin. Mrs. Gore-Appleton was very proud of him, they said. She said it all showed what a little kindness and care could do. Two of the ladies got the impression that Mrs. Gore-Appleton and Jimmy were lovers."
"Well, we can't blame Jimmy for corrupting her, as she was running a bent charity when they met. How did she get away with it? She would need to be registered with the Charities Commission."
"She never did that. Just hung out her shingle, didn't advertise for volunteers, simply canvassed a few churches. Quite a scam, in a way. One woman gave her fifteen thousand pounds, and she was the only one who would admit to the amount she paid, so goodness knows what she got from the others."
Agatha thought of the waste of humanity she had spent the night with under the arches, all God's lost children, and felt a surge of fury. Mrs. Gore-Appleton had, in her own sweet way, been robbing the poor.
"I can't bear the idea that she should get away with it. At the moment, the villagers have dropped the idea that either James or myself did it, but I met the horrible Mrs. Boggles in the village shop the other day, and she sneered at me darkly about 'some folks can get away with murder'. If the case isn't solved, then who knows? Everyone might start to think that way again."
"I'll let you know anything I can," said Bill.
"How are things?" asked Agatha. "I mean with you."
"Maddie? Oh, that's finished. My mother is quite pleased, and so is Dad. I thought they would be disappointed, because they both hope to see me married."
Agatha privately thought Mr. and Mrs. Wong would do anything in their power to drive off any female interested in their precious son, but did not say so, which went to show she had changed slightly for the better. The old Agatha had been totally blind and deaf to anyone else's feelings.
But she saw the pain at the back of Bill's eyes and felt a surge of hatred for Maddie.
"So what happens now with you two?" asked Bill.
There was an awkward silence and then Agatha said brightly, "We'll soon be back to normal - me in my small cottage and James in his. We can wave to each other over the fence."
"Oh, well, I'm sure you'll sort something out," said Bill. "I'm glad to see you've given up investigating murders, Agatha. Not that you weren't a help in the past, but mostly because of your blundering about and making things happen."
Agatha looked at him, outraged. "You can go off people, you know."
"Sorry. Just my joke. But you've nearly got yourself killed in the past. Don't do it again." His face beamed. "I'd hate to lose you."
Agatha smiled suddenly. "There are times when I wish you were much older, Bill."
He smiled back. "And there are times I wish I were, Agatha."
"Do you want coffee, Bill?" asked James sharply.
"What? Oh, no, I've got to be going."
Agatha followed him to the door. "Don't stay away too long. When I'm back in my own place, come for dinner."
"That's a date. And nothing microwaved either."
He kissed her on the cheek and went off whistling.
"Oh, God," said Agatha, coming back into the living-room, where James was moodily kicking at the rug in front of the fireplace. "I've just remembered. We're hosting the ladies' society from Ancombe. I'd better get along to the village hall. I know what. I'll see if Mrs. Hardy wants to come."
"Do what you want," muttered James.
Agatha stared at him. "What's got into you?"
"I haven't been writing," he said. He went and sat down in front of the word processor and switched it on.
Agatha shrugged and went upstairs. Love sometimes came in waves, like flu, but she was temporarily free of the plague and hoped to make it permanent.
She came back downstairs whistling the same tune she had heard Bill whistling when he left. James was glowering at the screen of the word processor.
"I'm off," said Agatha brightly.
No reply.
"It was nice of Bill to call." She gave a little laugh. "I sometimes wonder why he bothers with me."
"He comes," said James acidly, "to get a tan from the light that shines from the hole in your arse."
Agatha stared at James, her mouth dropping. James turned bright red.
"You're jealous," said Agatha slowly.
"Don't be ridiculous. The thought of you and a man as young as Bill Wong is disgusting."
"But definitely intriguing," said Agatha. "See you later."
She went out feeling an unaccustomed little surge of power.
Mrs. Hardy was at home, and after a certain show of reluctance said she would accompany Agatha to the village hall.
"What's in store?" asked Mrs. Hardy.
"I don't really know," said Agatha. "I'm usually very much part of the arrangements, but with all the frights and running around, I've had nothing to do with this one. But whatever it is, you'll enjoy it."
Agatha's heart sank when they entered the hall and she learned from Mrs. Bloxby that the Carsely Ladies' Society were giving a concert.
"How can we do that?" hissed Agatha. "I didn't think we had anyone who could perform anything."
"I think you'll be surprised," said Mrs. Bloxby blandly and moved away to help the grumbling Mrs. Boggle out of her wraps.
Mrs. Hardy and Agatha were handed printed programmes.
The first performer was to be Miss Simms, the society's secretary, who was billed to sing 'You'll Never Walk Alone'.
But the opening number was a line-up of the village ladies performing a Charleston, dressed in twenties outfits. Agatha blinked. Where on earth had the portly Mrs. Mason come by that beaded dress? Mrs. Mason, she remembered, had threatened to leave the village after her niece had been found guilty of murder, but she had finally elected to stay and no one ever mentioned the murder. The ladies did quite well, apart from occasionally bumping into one another on the small stage.
Then Miss Simms walked forward and adjusted the microphone. She was still wearing the skimpy flapper dress she had worn for the opening number. She opened her mouth. Her voice was thin and reedy, screeching on the high notes and disappearing altogether in the low notes. Agatha had never realized before what a very long song it was. At last it was mercifully over. Fred Griggs then took up a position on the stage in front of a table full of rings and scarves. Fred fancied himself as a conjurer. He got so many things wrong that the kindly village audience decided he was doing it deliberately and laughed their appreciation. The only person not joining in the laughter was Fred, who grew more and more anguished. At last a large box like a wardrobe was wheeled on the stage, and Fred nervously asked for a volunteer for the vanishing-lady trick.
Mrs. Hardy walked straight up the aisle and climbed on the stage.
Fred whispered to her and she went into the box and he shut the door.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Fred. "I will now make this lady vanish."
He waved his stick and two schoolchildren turned the box round and round.
Then Fred, with a flourish, opened the door. Mrs. Hardy had vanished.
Warm applause.
Fred beamed with relief and signalled to the schoolchildren, who revolved the box again.
"Viola!" cried Fred. He meant 'voila', thinking French some magical language. He opened the door. His face fell and he slammed it shut again and muttered something to the schoolchildren. The box was revolved again.
Again Fred cried, "Viola!" and opened the door.
No Mrs. Hardy.
It must be part of the act, thought the audience, as Fred, with his face red and sweating, began to search inside the box.
"You couldn't even find my cat," shouted Mrs. Boggle. "No wonder you can't find that woman. Can't even find your brains on a good day, Fred."