Agatha Raisin And The Wellspring Of Death Part 11

"Did you report this to Zak?" asked Bill sharply.

"Who's Zak?" asked Agatha.

"An undercover policeman who made himself known to James."

Both looked at James. "I hadn't time to get to him."

"We know from him about the protest tomorrow," said Bill.

"So you knew where James was all along," said Agatha furiously, glaring at Bill.

"But Zak didn't know about Mary Owen," said James quickly. "I found that out by getting one of the members drunk."

"We'll pull her in for questioning. She has an alibi," said Bill. "On the night of the murder she was staying with her sister in Mircester."

"Her sister could be covering for her."

"You haven't met the sister, a Mrs Darcy, straight-talking, honest. But we'll check out the alibi again."

"You should have told me about this, James," said Agatha. "We've always investigated tilings together in the past."

"I would have done if you hadn't been preoccupied in s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around with a toy boy."

"That's enough." Bill got to his feet. "Come along, Agatha."

When they had gone, James phoned a hairdresser in Evesham and made an appointment to get his hair dyed back to its normal colour. Agatha and Bill had made him feel small and petty. Bill was right. He should have told Zak.

When Agatha went into her cottage, her phone was ringing. She answered it and found it was Roy Silver.

"Just calling to see how things are going," he said cheerfully.

"Murder or water?"

"Murder."

Agatha told him about James. Roy listened and then said, "That was a bit mean of him."

She warmed to him. "Why not come down for the weekend and we'll go and watch the demonstration?"

"Great. I'll get the early-morning train."

Agatha put down the phone feeling better. However outrageously Roy had behaved in the past, he always popped up again and she felt like company. She remembered Guy and swore under her breath. She had been so stunned after leaving James that she had not even checked to see if his car was still outside.

"Guy!" she called up the stairs.

There was no reply. With a little sigh of relief, she went up and stripped the bed and put on a clean sheet, pillow cases and duvet cover. Then she undressed and climbed into bed and plunged down immediately into a dreamless sleep. An hour later, she could faintly hear the phone downstairs ringing. She had switched off the one in the bedroom. She lay until it had finished ringing and then went back to sleep.

In the cottage next door, James replaced the receiver. He had planned to ask Agatha to come into Evesham with him, but he rang off the minute her answering service came on the line.

Rain was thudding down on to the platform at Moreton-in-Marsh Station next morning as Agatha waited for the arrival of Roy Silver.

A large bouquet of flowers from Guy had arrived just before she left. She had slung them into a bucket of water, planning to arrange them later. She wondered why the idea of having a handsome man send her flowers was so infinitely depressing.

The Great Western train slid smoothly alongside the platform. Roy appeared looking quite ordinary for once in a Burberry worn over cords and a sports shirt and V-necked sweater.

"h.e.l.lo, Aggie," he said, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. "I hope we don't get this weather for the fete. What will we do?"

"I've already contacted one of those firms that rent out marquees. They'll have to be decorated and some heat supplied. There's nothing more dampening than people crowded into damp tents with the rain pouring down. The Freemonts were all for having an orchestra, but I persuaded them that the Ca.r.s.ely village band would be more traditional. They're actually jolly good. Don't want to make it too ritzy. When it's good weather here, I always envisage the fete being held on a cloudless day, but when it's like this, I picture it as being damp and horrible and full of crying children."

"We'll see," said Roy. "How could we find out if Mary Owen has money or not?"

"We could ask Angela Buckley. She's pretty direct, although, come to think of it, she did warn me off."

"Now why did she warn you off? She must have something to hide. Let's go and see her."

"All right. We'll leave your bags first and have a coffee."

After Roy had taken his bag up to the spare room, he joined Agatha in the kitchen.

He looked at the flowers in the bucket, and then picked up the florist's card which Agatha had left on the table. "Oho," said Roy. "'Love from Guy.' That wouldn't be the delicious Guy Freemont, would it?"

"We have a close working arrangement," said Agatha frostily.

"If you say so, dear." He accepted a mug of coffee. "So after we see this Angela, I Suppose we go to the spring for a punch-up. I wonder if Mary Owen really has money. What about asking James?"

"No."

"Have it your way. Is that sunlight outside?"

Agatha walked to the window and looked out. Raindrops glistened on the bushes and flowers in the garden. "I'll be able to let the cats out," she said, opening the door. Hodge and Boswell slid through and disappeared into the shrubbery.

"I could fix up a cat flap for you," said Roy. "I'm pretty good at DIY."

"I never got around to getting one. I keep imagining some small, slim burglar crawling through it at night."

"Have it your way."

Half an hour later, they set out for Ancombe, driving through the glittering rain-washed countryside. Agatha opened the car windows. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers.

She drove through puddles, sending up sheets of water on either side of the car. Roy began to sing happily in a flat, reedy voice. "I'm not very good at leisure," said Agatha.

Roy stopped singing. "How come?"

"I was just thinking that on a day like this, I should be sitting in the garden with my cats, reading or just looking. I always seem to be doing something. If I'm idle, I feel guilty."

"Take up a sport, then, tennis or something. Good for the waistline. Is that a bite on your neck, Aggie?"

"Insect bite."

"Oh, yes? I know those sort of insects. We have them in London as well."

"Here's Ancombe," said Agatha, anxious to change the subject. "The Buckley farm is off this way."

Soon they were b.u.mping up the farm drive. "Looks prosperous," said Roy.

"Never can tell with farmers, I gather," said Agatha. "They can't all have that rich or idyllic a life, or so many of them wouldn't commit suicide."

"It's all those things they do with animals. I don't think so many people are eating meat. I don't. And I read that n.o.body wants to eat pork. They eat bacon, but no pork chops."

"I'll tell you why that is. When did you last have a pork chop that tasted like anything? You're not thinking of joining an animal-rights group, are you?"

"Not me, sweetie. I just don't enjoy meat so much. Feels unhealthy."

"Here we are." Agatha drew up outside the farm door. "And there is Angela."

Angela Buckley stood watching them, strong arms folded across a checked shirt-covered bosom, strong legs in cord and cowboy boots.

"Wouldn't want to meet her on a dark night," muttered Roy.

They got out of the car. Agatha introduced Roy.

"What d'you want?" demanded Angela harshly. "Not still poking your nose into things that are none of your business, are you?"

"Did you know Mary Owen was paying those Save Our Foxes people to demonstrate, and that they're going to be at the spring this afternoon to fill it in with cement?"

"What? You'd better come indoors. I've got the kettle on."

"I like this," said Roy, looking around the farm kitchen. "So truly rural."

Angela flashed him a look of contempt.

"So what's this about Mary?" She took the kettle off the Aga and proceeded to make a pot of coffee.

Roy watched anxiously. Angela's way of making coffee consisted of spooning coffee into the pot and pouring boiling water on top of it. He hoped she would allow the grounds to settle, but she stirred the mixture up with a long spoon. Agatha said black and Roy, white, and then Roy bleakly looked down at the gritty coffee swirling around in his cup.

Agatha explained again about Mary. "The old b.i.t.c.h," said Angela furiously. "I hope the police have arrested her."

"They've taken her in," said Agatha. "But what puzzles me is that Fred Shaw said Mary was broke and that's why she wanted to marry Robert Struthers. But if she's broke, how come she could pay these people-wages, transport, not to mention bags of cement, and fines in court?"

"I think Fred Shaw invented the whole thing. He's always sneering because Mary lives in the manor and doesn't seem to put much money into it. She does all the cleaning herself, things like that. Did he say Mary wanted to marry old Robert?"

"Yes, and he said Jane Cutler was after him as well."

Angela's face darkened. "That I could believe. The mercenary old bag."

"Don't you think Mary could have murdered Struthers? She must have felt very strongly about the spring to pay Save Our Foxes." Agatha took out a tissue and dabbed at the moustache of coffee grounds above her mouth.

"She felt very strongly about having her will crossed. I noticed she always seemed to be wining and dining Robert, but I thought that was because she didn't like not getting her own way and Robert used to drive her mad with exasperation because he wouldn't tell her of his decision."

"Why did you warn me off?"

"Because," said Angela patiently, "once you start digging around people's personal lives, a lot of people get hurt, and unnecessarily so." She glared at Roy. "Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

"Friend of Aggie's down for the weekend. Me and Aggie go back a long way."

"You're too young to go back a long way. You don't have to try to make a liaison look respectable to me."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," howled Agatha. "Can't I have a conversation with anyone in this d.a.m.n village without being insulted?"

"If you poke around people's private lives to find out the worst about them, they're bound to think the worst of you," said Angela. "Now, I'm busy. Why don't you push off?"

"Well!" said Roy when they drove off. "Is it something in the soil here that makes everyone bitter and twisted? Feel like seeing anyone else?"

Agatha looked at the clock on the dashboard.

"No, let's have lunch, and then go to the spring for the fun and games."

As they sat over lunch, Roy asked if anything had been found out about the cat with white hair. "Not that I know of," said Agatha. "You remember, we looked and looked."

They heard the wail of police sirens in the distance. "The troops have arrived," said Roy. "Cheer up, Aggie. All this will keep Ancombe in the news."

They left the car outside the pub and walked along to the spring. Alerted by the sirens, villagers were starting to make their way along as well.

Agatha saw Bill Wong talking to some policemen and went across to him. He led her a little to one side. "Mary Owen does have a cast-iron alibi."

"But her sister could be covering for her, surely?"

"She was seen by the neighbours. The curtains in the evening weren't drawn and the two sisters could be seen sitting over dinner, and talking."

"Rats. Back to square one. Have you arrested Mary Owen?"

"No, there's nothing illegal about donating money to these groups. Unless we can get one of them to confess that Mary Owen actually told them to take action, we haven't anything on her. And she says all that about her being broke is a fiction and says we can check with her bank."

"What about that chap who told James she was paying them?"

"Billy Guide? With any luck he'll be with the rest. Here's James."

James and Agatha exchanged frosty little nods.

"Here come the protesters," said Roy.

The bus canying them stopped a little way along the road. Agatha could see several of them glaring out at the unexpected sight of the large police presence. They argued for a few minutes, then the door of the bus slid open. Four of the men appeared, carrying between them a bag of cement.

Followed by the others, they headed for the spring. James, his hair dyed back to its normal colour and minus the ear-rings, said to Bill Wong, "Billy Guide is not among them, and where's Zak?"

"He was pulled out. After seeing us all here today, they'd start searching around for an informer. They'll probably think it was you, but they might have picked on Zak, and he was fed up with the job anyway. Billy Guide was taken to hospital the day after your hospitality suffering from pancreat.i.tis."

A policeman stood in front of the four carrying the bag of cement. "Where are you going with that?"