M Beaton - A Spoonful of Poison

“Difficult,” said Toni. “I’m sure we’ve already set the lace curtains in this village twitching. How do we get round the back without anyone noticing?”

Agatha scowled in thought. “I know,” she said. “We could drive up to the manor house and go through the grounds and make our way across the fields from there.”

“Maggie’ll be a while yet. Can we go somewhere and buy some sandwiches and drinks to take with us?” asked Toni.

“Good idea.”

By the time they had made their way across the fields carrying a bag of sandwiches and drinks, Agatha felt hot and tired. Fortunately the cottage gardens were screened by trees and bushes.

“How will we know which garden is Phyllis’s?” asked Toni.

“It’s the one with the big cedar tree against the fence,” said Agatha. “I’m dying to sit down and have a cigarette.”

“You can’t!” protested Toni.

“Why? Have you joined the ranks of people who persecute smokers?”

“No, it’s just that there isn’t even a breeze and Phyllis could smell cigarette smoke and decide to investigate.”

“Good point. It’s all right. I don’t need to smoke,” said Agatha defiantly, but thinking longingly of the packet of twenty in her handbag.

They found the back of Phyllis’s garden and settled down on the grass at the edge of the field to wait. They couldn’t talk in case Phyllis heard them. They ate sandwiches as quietly as they could and drank mineral water.

As the afternoon dragged on, Agatha fell asleep. She dreamed that she was passionately in love with James Lacey once more. Once more all her senses were alive and her life full of excitement. Then she was dragged out of her highly coloured dream by Toni shaking her awake.

“Maggie’s back,” whispered Toni.

They strained their ears.

At first all they could hear were faint sounds of some altercation. Then the voices grew louder as Maggie and Phyllis moved into the garden.

“I’m asking you again,” came Phyllis’s voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never liked George.”

“No, and I thought you didn’t either. You were always saying there was something fishy about Sarah’s death. Anyway, I had that infuriating woman, Agatha Raisin, round here warning me that George was only after your money.”

“What!”

“Said he made a pass at her.”

“Rubbish!”

“She is rather sexy, you know.”

“Nonsense!”

“Then dear George’s interest in her must have been because of the money.”

Maggie said, “He got a terrific whack from Sarah’s insurance.”

“I happen to know,” said Phyllis coldly, “that he didn’t get a penny. He had let her life insurance lapse.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” shrieked Maggie this time.

“I didn’t want you to know that he had taken me out for a romantic dinner about a month ago. You were always saying that you didn’t like him. He said we both seemed comfortably off. That’s when I told him you had all the money and I hardly had a bean. Up to that point, he had been quite flirtatious. The minute I told him about not having money, he looked just as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. I never found out why he was so desperate for money. Did you?”

“No,” said Maggie, sounding suddenly weary. “I knew you wouldn’t like it, so I only pretended to think he caused his wife’s death. I’ve got to go inside. I didn’t put the milk and cheese in the fridge.”

Agatha signalled to Toni that they should leave. Toni rose up in one single fluid movement while Agatha struggled to her feet, ignoring that warning twinge in her hip. They made their way wearily back to the car.

Agatha drove up out of the village and then stopped at the side of the road. “What do you make of that?”

“I wonder why he so desperately needs money,” said Toni. “Maybe we should be following him.”

“Good idea. I feel whatever he’s up to happens in the evening. Give Mrs. Freedman details of your overtime.”

When Toni checked her phone that evening, there was a text from Harry. “Please phone. Going on holiday tomorrow.” She nervously bit her thumb. The grown-up thing would be to phone. “But I’m not grown up,” said Toni aloud, “and I don’t want to phone him.” She switched off her mobile and decided not to check it for messages until the following day, when she hoped Harry would be safely on his way somewhere for his holiday.

Early the following evening, Toni and Agatha set out to park in the same place where they had lurked to watch for Maggie leaving the village. “He drives a black BMW,” said Agatha. “It’s going to be difficult to spot a black car racing past.”

“I know,” said Toni, “I’ll go down to the road and hide behind one of those trees. When I spot him, I’ll run back.”

Agatha waited impatiently. She lit a cigarette, took a few puffs and then put it out. She had been momentarily cheered by a new item on television about a hundred-year-old woman who had smoked since the age of seven, but was then depressed when the old lady said she smoked only four cigarettes a day and didn’t inhale.

Just as it was beginning to get dark, Toni hurtled back to the car, crying out, “He’s just gone past.”

Agatha set off in pursuit.

After several miles, straining their eyes to try to keep him in view, George turned onto the Oxford Road.

“It’s so hard to see with all these cars,” complained Agatha as they approached Oxford.

“I see him,” said Toni. “He’s taken the roundabout. Must be going into Oxford by the Woodstock Road.”

“Unless he’s going in to London,” said Agatha.

But on the Woodstock Road, where the traffic slowed down to thirty miles an hour under the harsh glare of the sodium lights, they could clearly see George’s car. At last he turned off on Clarendon Street and went along Walton Street a little way and then parked. Agatha carefully parked several cars behind him.

He turned down Aurelius Street, went up to the door of a trim villa and rang the bell. A statuesque blonde promptly answered the door and fell into his arms. The couple engaged in a passionate clinch.

“I wonder who she is,” said Agatha. She and Toni had cautiously followed on foot. “We can hardly stand out in the street waiting to see what happens. We’ll go back and wait in the car.”

They waited and waited. At one point Toni went off to a fish-and-chip shop and came back with their supper. By the time the bells of Oxford were chiming out midnight, there was still no sign of George.

Agatha yawned and stretched. “I think we should check into a hotel for the night and then come back, say, about seven. This is only two-hour parking, so he’ll want to collect his car before the traffic wardens start checking in the morning.”

To Toni’s relief, Agatha booked them into two single rooms at a hotel up by the roundabout. She wanted to wash out her underwear for the morning and somehow did not want to endure the intimacy of stripping off in front of Agatha.

They set out again at six-thirty the following morning. To Agatha’s relief, George’s car was still there.

At quarter past seven, George appeared, hurrying towards his car. He jumped in and drove off. “Don’t we follow him?” asked Toni.

“No, we put some more money in the parking meter and then go to the end of the road and keep a watch on that house. I want to find out who she is and where she goes.”

It was another long wait. At last, just before nine, the blonde came out and got into her car, a small Ford Escort, and drove off. Agatha groaned as, followed by Toni, she rushed back to her own car and set off in pursuit.