M Beaton - A Spoonful of Poison

Arthur Chance threw open a low door. “In you go,” he said. “All the old photographs are piled up in that trunk over there. I am afraid they are not in any sort of order.”

“Don’t worry.” Agatha knelt down by the trunk. “We’ll manage.”

When the vicar had left, she opened the trunk and let out a groan. “Hundreds of them. You take a pile out, Toni, and I’ll start on another pile.”

They worked in silence. It had usually been a very small affair indeed. Agatha found a photograph of George standing with two women. One was recognizable as Sybilla. The other, she supposed, must be George’s late wife, Sarah. Sarah Selby was less attractive than Agatha had imagined her to be. She was small with a neat figure, but her hair was a mousy colour and her dress was a print one with an ugly fussy design on it. Sybilla was gazing up at George adoringly. Agatha was about to put the picture down and reach for another when something caught her eye. She fished in her handbag and took out a magnifying glass. Toni giggled. “I didn’t think real-life detectives used those.”

“Never mind. Come here and look at this.” Toni peered at the photograph. “There, in the background, behind those three, that’s Maggie Tubby and just look at the expression on her face. Now which one of the three do you think she hates so much?”

“That’s interesting, but hardly proof of anything,” said Toni. “Let’s go on looking for something else, or there might be other photos of Maggie.”

“Oh, here’s another wedding at the church and Maggie again,” exclaimed Toni. “Take a look at this one. There! In the background on the left side.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Agatha peered at the photograph. Maggie was standing at the side gazing up at George.

“Now, surely that’s the look of a woman in love,” said Toni. “I thought she was a lesbian.”

“Never mind about that. These days, if a woman lives with another woman, particularly in a small village, then they’re judged to be a pair of lesbians.” Agatha scowled. “I’d like to show her this, just to see her reaction. I wonder if there is a way of getting her on her own. I also wonder why she was so anxious to say that George had worked up Sybilla to killing his wife.”

“We can hardly stalk her in a small village like this,” said Toni. “Is there a village shop here?”

“Didn’t notice one. Did you?”

“No. So that means they’ll need to go into Mircester to do their shopping. People do go shopping on Sunday. We could go up out of the village and find a secluded bit to conceal the car and see if she drives past. Or if Phyllis leaves, then we can go back to the village and see Maggie on her own.”

“Right,” said Agatha. “We’ll try that and just hope that precious pair don’t decide to go shopping together. We better drive past their cottage and see what sort of car they drive.”

Agatha reversed up a road in a lane leading up to a farm and parked under the shelter of a stand of trees. “So we’re looking for one of those old Volvo estate cars, built like a hearse.”

After half an hour of watching and waiting, Toni said, “This is going to be difficult. Everyone from the village who’s passed us must have been driving at sixty miles an hour.”

“There she goes!” howled Agatha as a glimpse of a grey Volvo flashed past. They set off in pursuit.

“Can you see who’s driving?” asked Toni.

“I’m sure it’s Maggie. She’s smaller than Phyllis.”

“Don’t get too close! You don’t want her to see us!” cried Toni.

“I am not getting too close ,” said Agatha through gritted teeth. She did not like the feeling of taking orders from Toni. But she held back when they reached the main road and let two cars get in front of her.

Maggie-and with any luck it was Maggie, thought Agatha-drove into the main car park in Mircester. “I’ll look,” said Toni after Agatha had parked some distance away. She jumped out of the car and after about a minute came racing back. “It’s her.”

“You’d better follow her,” said Agatha reluctantly. “She would spot me a mile off. Tell me if she goes into a restaurant or goes to the supermarket. Then come back quickly.”

Agatha lit a cigarette while she waited, wondering as she often did if she would ever give up smoking, or if something awful like cancer would make up her mind for her.

Toni seemed to be gone a long time, but she was away only ten minutes before she came flying back.

“Well?” demanded Agatha.

“You’ll never believe this.”

“Believe what?”

“Maggie went into that Chinese restaurant and George Selby was already there. I looked through the window. He got up to meet her and kissed her full on the mouth!”

“Now, there’s a thing,” said Agatha. “I wonder if Maggie has a lot of money. I know she sells expensive pottery, but maybe she’s got family money. Yet it was Maggie who suggested that Sybilla might have murdered Sarah because of her infatuation with George.”

“George might have heard the rumours she’s putting around and is trying to smooch her out of any such ideas,” suggested Toni.

“I know,” said Agatha. “Let’s go and call on Phyllis. I’ll ask her if George is interested in women with money and tell her about my date with him. I’ll be blunt.”

As usual, thought Toni. But she said aloud, “I didn’t know you’d had a date with George.”

“It might have ended up something warmer if Charles hadn’t been at my cottage when I got home. Now I think of it, George might have been courting me because he thought I was rich.”

As she said those last words, Agatha felt a darkness settle somewhere in the region of her stomach. She didn’t want to believe the truth of what she had just said, and yet she had to admit, sadly, it was possible, particularly when she set herself against the glowing youth of Toni.

“Get in the car,” she ordered gruffly.

Not receiving any reply when they rang the front doorbell, Agatha and Toni made their way round the side of the cottage to the back. Phyllis was sprawled out on an old green canvas deck chair in her back garden.

She did not get to her feet when she saw them but smiled lazily up at them and asked, “What is it now?”

“It’s about Maggie,” said Agatha.

Phyllis’s catlike features hardened. “If you want to know anything about Maggie, ask her. She’s gone into Mircester to do some shopping, but she should be back later this afternoon.”

“Maggie is in Mircester, yes, but having a romantic lunch with George Selby,” said Agatha.

For one brief moment, Phyllis’s face registered shock. She quickly regained her composure and said, “Why not? What business is it of yours?”

“George came on to me,” said Agatha, “and I think his motive was because I am a rich woman.”

Phyllis’s eyes raked Agatha up and down. “It could hardly be anything else,” she said sweetly. Her gaze fell on Toni, who was wearing a crop top and shorts, showing an expanse of slightly tanned midriff and long smooth legs. “Now, if you had a figure like that-”

“Take this seriously,” snapped Agatha. “Does Maggie have money?”

“She does. But why should that interest George Selby?”

“Look at it this way. You said Sybilla was dotty about George. Perhaps he encouraged her to push his wife down the stairs. Now he’s after Maggie.”

“Get out of here!” said Phyllis. “You’re only cross because you didn’t even get to first base with George. You’re jealous!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Agatha. “Come on, Toni.”

“Now what?” asked Toni when they were outside the cottage.

“That garden of theirs backs onto a field,” said Agatha. “I wonder if we could get into that field. I would like to listen to what happens between that pair when Maggie gets back.”