“Stands to reason it must have been someone from Portsmouth.”
“Harriet?”
“I’m sure it’s not Harriet. Damn. Let’s go in and have some coffee and think before we see Bill Wong.”
When they were seated over the coffee-cups, Agatha said, “If only we could find the wife.”
“Maybe the police have already found her. They’re bound to have found her.”
“You see, perhaps we’ve become all messed up by this blackmail business. Perhaps it was just marital hate.”
“Trust me,” said Charles. “When you’ve got a blackmailer in the picture, then someone is going to murder him.”
“Anyway, I think I’ll call on Bill Wong.”
“Shouldn’t you phone him first?”
Agatha hesitated. Then she said, “No, let’s just go. Unless you have anything else planned?”
“No,” said Charles gloomily. “I’m off women.”
Meaning I don’t count as a woman, thought Agatha.
As they drove to Mircester, Agatha admired the autumn colours of the trees. “How quickly the seasons change now,” she remarked. “It seems as if someone drew a line between summer and autumn. Not so long ago we were sweltering and then suddenly, fall fell. Do you think it’s the ozone layer?”
“Probably it’s disintegrating under all the cigarette smoke from people like you.”
“Nasty. I wonder if that hypnotist in Gloucester is any good.”
“You’ll never know until you try.”
“It’s the mean people like you who manage to cut down on their smoking, Charles.”
“You’re just jealous because you’re a confirmed addict. Why don’t you just stop now?”
There was a silence and then Agatha said suddenly, “Why don’t I? When we get to Mircester, I’m going to take the cigarettes out of my handbag and throw them in the nearest rubbish bin.”
“And what about that carton you’ve got at home?”
“We shall burn them ceremoniously on the fire when we get home.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Agatha felt the hunger for a cigarette. She would fight it. It was only a matter of will-power.
They parked outside police headquarters in Mircester. “Probably be out on a job,” said Charles. “We should have called.”
“We’ll try anyway.”
They were in luck. They were shown into a room and told that Bill would be with them shortly.
He arrived and greeted them with the words, “I hope you two have been keeping your noses clean.”
“Yes,” said Agatha huffily. “But we can’t help being curious. We just wanted to know if you’d found Shawpart’s wife.”
“I don’t see that there is any harm in telling you that we haven’t. Why?”
“She could be in Evesham.”
“She was last heard of in Glasgow. A friend of hers got a postcard from her.”
“What friend?” asked Agatha eagerly.
“I’m not telling you. When you call on someone, Agatha, the next thing we know, that person has mysteriously died.”
“Mrs. Dairy was from Portsmouth,” said Agatha eagerly. “That was the connection.”
“Obviously,” said Bill. “But we do not know what she found out.”
“Can’t you give us any help?” asked Agatha.
“I can’t,” said Bill. “You caused enough trouble by masquerading as Shawpart’s sister and then lying about driving past the house. Agatha, please just leave it alone.”
“Well, if you don’t want my help…”
“I DON’T!”
“There’s no need to shout.”
“Look, Agatha, you’ve nearly got yourself killed before and I don’t want to see that happening again.”
But Agatha was deeply offended. “Come along, Charles,” she said haughtily. “Bill obviously doesn’t want to tell us anything.”
Charles winked at Bill and meekly followed her from the room.
“He’s only concerned for you, Aggie,” said Charles mildly when they were outside.
“Tough,” grumbled Agatha. “He can sit there and rot. I shall never offer him my help again.”
“Bit hard. He’s gone out on a limb for you before.”
“Like when?”
“Like when he faxed all that stuff to you in Cyprus. Let’s go back to your cottage and cool down.”
After a late and silent lunch, Charles suddenly said he would go home and check out things there. Agatha could think of nothing to say or suggest to keep him. She heartily wished there could be some way she could find out more about what the police had discovered.
She pottered around aimlessly for the rest of the day, played with her cats and fed them, watched some television, or rather flicked backwards and forwards through the channels, and then decided to have an early night.
But Agatha tossed and turned. She kept going over what she had found out again and again. Faces swam in front of her-Maggie, Jessie, Harriet, Josie and the rest. At last, she felt her eyes close. She would forget about the whole thing, go to that nice hairdresser, Marie, and get her hair done and maybe buy a new dress.
Suddenly her eyes shot open. She could almost hear Marie’s voice talking about the jealousies and rivalries in the hairdressing business. And wait a bit! John Shawpart had said the same thing. And who was it had said that John’s wife had been jealous of him?
Her heart beat faster. And who was it who had turned up in Evesham after John’s death, set up business and taken over his staff?
Eve!
Mrs. Shawpart had been described as blonde and statuesque. But then in these days of clever dying and tinting, Eve could have changed her hair from blonde. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.
The next day she phoned up Eve’s and told Josie she insisted that Eve herself did her hair. Josie sulkily said she could fit her in at three that afternoon, although Agatha was sure that the day was probably full of free appointments.
Agatha felt she should tell someone what she was about to do… well, just in case. If she told Bill, he would order her not to go. But if she told Charles, perhaps he could phone the police.
She dialled Charles’s number. To her relief he answered the phone himself. He listened carefully and to her relief did not tell her she was behaving like an idiot.
“Tell you what, Aggie,” said Charles. “I’ve got a friend in the village who’s a TV sound man. I’ll see if I can get him and bring him over. He’ll put a mike on you and then we’ll wait across the road with the headphones on and if there is even a glimmer that she’s the one we want, I’ll call the police.”
“Don’t be long,” urged Agatha.
She waited impatiently and, as the hands of the clock crept around to two in the afternoon, was beginning to wonder if she should go ahead without them. But suddenly Charles’s car drove up, and Charles got out followed by a tall thin man.
“Right, Aggie,” said Charles when she had let them in, “Brian here will just fix you up and then you can get off.”
Agatha was wearing a trouser suit. The sound pack was clipped onto the waistband of her trousers and the small mike fastened on her collar. “She might see that little black thing,” said Charles. “Have you got a brooch or something?”
Agatha went up to her jewel box and found a gaudy piece of costume jewellery. “That’s quite horrible,” commented Charles, “but it will stop her noticing the microphone.”
They all set off in Charles’s car.
“I never thought about this,” exclaimed Agatha suddenly. “How can I start accusing her of murder in front of her staff?”
“Try anyway,” said Charles. “Say you want a quiet word with her.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”
Agatha was feeling nervous on two counts. First, if Eve were the murderess, then she might be in real danger. And second, if Eve were not, Agatha felt she would make a terrible fool of herself in front of this sound man.
They parked and then walked along the High Street. “Now,” said Charles, “we’ll wait across the street in this doorway. Go to it, Aggie, and best of luck.”