M Beaton - A Spoonful of Poison

Occasionally, she worried about Toni. The girl seemed to have lost a lot of her sparkle, although her work was as efficient as ever.

One Friday evening when she found herself alone with Toni in the office, Agatha said, “Let’s go for dinner.”

“All right,” said Toni. “Where?”

“There’s a new fish restaurant in Mircester, the other side of the square. It’s supposed to be good.”

Once settled over plates of Dover sole and a carafe of house white, Agatha said, “Out with it.”

“With what?”

“There’s nothing up with your work, Toni, but you’ve been looking depressed and that’s not like you. Is it anything to do with Bill?”

No, it’s…”

“Are you pregnant?”

“Absolutely not!”

“So what’s up?”

“It’s silly.”

“I can be the queen of silliness where men are concerned,” said Agatha with a rare burst of honesty.

“It’s Harry Beam.”

“My Harry Beam? What happened? I saw you both in Comfrey Magna and have been meaning to ask you about that.”

Toni told her about meeting Harry in Mircester and about their trip to Comfrey Magna, ending with “He asked me out for dinner, but I said I had a date.”

“And you didn’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You know my background, Agatha. Harry’s posh. I felt intimidated.”

“Don’t be. Nothing to be ashamed of. Your mother’s sobered up a treat. You haven’t anyone else in your family to worry about.”

“It’s just… I feel caught between two worlds. All my friends are from working-class backgrounds.”

“I’ll bet your mind raced on to the wedding and to meeting his parents.”

Toni gave a reluctant smile. “Something like that.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the English class system,” said Agatha, pouring more wine into their glasses. “People do go on about it, but it’s not as bad as France or Spain, say. These days, anyone with a job is now middle class. You’ll come across pockets of snobbery in the Gloucestershire middle classes, but those people are not worth bothering about. I had a lousy drunken family background just like you. Harry’s the last person to worry about where you come from. When the university holidays start, I’ll ask him to dinner with a few other people and you can take it from there. I feel pretty insecure socially at times, but I just charge along regardless. So don’t worry. Now, on to another subject. What do you make of Jimmy Wilson?”

“I don’t like him,” said Toni. “He leers at me and makes my skin crawl. I wonder why he left the police force without waiting for retirement?”

“There’s a point. I sometimes wonder if he really did have cancer. I’ll get Patrick to ask around. Now, cheer up!”

They drank a lot more wine and followed it up with large brandies. Agatha decided she had better leave her car and take a taxi home.

When the cab turned into Lilac Lane where her cottage was, she was dismayed to see that a police car and a van from the security firm, which had installed her burglar alarm, were parked outside.

A policeman came up to meet her as she got out of the taxi and paid off the driver. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“Are you Mrs. Agatha Raisin?”

“Yes, yes. What’s going on?”

“Someone tried to break into your house by the kitchen door. The alarm went off. Whoever it was seems to have been frightened by the alarm and ran away without going into the house, but you had better check and see if anything is missing.”

Agatha unlocked the front door and went in. “We turned off the alarm,” said a security man behind her. “We’ll reset it, but you’ll need some repairs to your kitchen door.”

Alerted by the police activity, villagers began to head towards Agatha’s cottage. The local carpenter said he would go back and fetch his tools and fix the door. Agatha turned down various offers of cups of tea.

Bill Wong drove up. “Do you think this was an ordinary burglar, Agatha, or have you been stirring something up in one of your cases?”

Agatha fiddled nervously with a silver chain around her neck and then, with an exclamation, pulled the whole chain out of her blouse to reveal a safe deposit box key attached to the end.

“I wonder if it could have been anything to do with this.”

“Tell me about it,” said Bill. Mrs. Bloxby came hurrying up, asking what had happened, and Bill waited impatiently while Agatha explained how her cottage had been broken into.

“Agatha was just about to tell me why it might be something to do with the key hanging around her neck. We’d better go somewhere quiet. A forensic team should be arriving shortly.”

“We’ll go to the vicarage,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “My husband is out this evening and no one will disturb you.”

In the comfortable peace of the vicarage, Agatha explained how she had kept the safe deposit key in order to protect the accountant.

“Now that the LSD case has been solved, I don’t think you need to worry any more.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Agatha. “It’s like this. The terrible twosome, Tubby and Tolling, say that Sybilla pushed George Selby’s wife downstairs. What if Sybilla’s suicide note was only apologizing for that and the LSD maniac is still at large?”

“What has that got to do with the money?”

“Just a feeling.”

“I have an idea,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “Mrs. Raisin, leave the key with the police. I will pay a visit to Comfrey Magna tomorrow and let as many people as possible know that that is where the key is.”

“Good idea,” said Agatha. She lifted the chain with the key from around her neck and handed it to Bill. He wrote out a receipt and gave it to her.

“Now, let it go, Agatha,” said Bill. “I checked our records on the death of Sarah Selby and it did seem to be a straightforward accident. She was carrying a tray and lost her balance.”

“And yet it took Sybilla Triast-Perkins one whole hour before she phoned the emergency services.”

“She said she fainted with shock.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Agatha, I’m sure you’ve got enough on your hands at that agency of yours without trying to find out murders that never existed. I’ve got to go.”

Toni at that moment was thinking uneasily of Agatha’s offer to hold a dinner party so that she could meet Harry again.

With her mother being drunk and incapable until comparatively recently, Toni had brought herself up. Agatha had already organized her life by finding her a flat and buying her a car. Toni suddenly felt she wanted a part of her life that was private and had nothing to do with Agatha. She had her own key to her office. Toni let herself out of her flat and walked round to the agency. Once inside, she searched the computer files until she found Harry’s e-mail address.

She decided to write to him. “Dear Harry,” she typed. “I am sorry I turned down your invitation for dinner. I didn’t have a date. I’m a bit shy, that’s all. Hope to see you again. Toni.”

She left the computer on, made herself a cup of coffee, and sat down on the sofa to watch the computer screen. After half an hour there was a ping from the computer signalling the arrival of new mail. Eagerly she read it. It said, “Dear Toni. See you next Saturday? OK? Harry.”

Hurriedly Toni typed back. “Dear Harry, I’ll meet you on Saturday at The George in Mircester. Eight o’clock. OK? Toni.”

She waited anxiously. Back came a message. “Great, see you then, Harry.”

Toni felt a rush of elation. She carefully deleted all the e-mails to and from Harry. Then she began to worry. What if Harry couldn’t make it and e-mailed the office and Agatha read it? She hurriedly typed out another e-mail to him, giving him her mobile phone number and telling him to text or call her if by any chance he couldn’t keep the appointment. She sent it off, deleted it and switched off the computer.