M Beaton - There Goes The Bride

He broke off as the door opened. A short thickset man stood there. He had a pugnacious face, small grey eyes and a thatch of unkempt grey hair.

‘Mr Trymp?’ ventured Agatha.

‘Who’s asking?’

‘My name is Agatha Raisin and this is Roy Silver. Your son wanted to see us on his boat at lunchtime today but we can’t find him.’

‘I don’t know where he is. He lives on that stupid wreck down in the harbour. Try there.’

‘We have but he’s not on board.’

‘Can’t help.’

‘Mr Trymp, may we come in?’

‘No.’

‘I am a private detective. I have offered a reward for any information about the death of the man who called himself Sean Fitzpatrick.’

‘I ’member you. You’re that bird what was married to the fellow who was going to marry Felicity. I think our Bert’s been playing games. He don’t know nothing.’

‘How can you know that?’

‘’Cos I know my son and he’s as thick as pig shit!’ Mr Trymp slammed the door in their faces.

‘Now what?’ asked Agatha gloomily. ‘Why are you staring about like that?’

‘I saw this chap watching us. He looked like a faun. No, well, maybe like one of those Pan creatures in the old paintings.’

‘Did he have grey hair, hooded eyes, slim figure?’

‘That’s him.’

‘That, if I am not mistaken, was Sylvan Dubois. You must have seen him at the wedding. Not like you to fail to notice someone like him. Why on earth did he not come over and speak to us? You know, Roy, much as I hate to do it, I’d better go to the police and tell them about Bert’s phone call. He may be lying dead in his boat.’

After a long wait at the police station, they were ushered in to face Detective Sergeant Falcon.

He listened carefully while Agatha told him about Bert’s phone call. When she had finished, he said, ‘You can now leave matters with us, Mrs Raisin.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ said Agatha. ‘You’d never have heard about it if it hadn’t been for me. I’m coming with you.’

Back to the harbour under a squally sky. Boats and yachts were bobbing at anchor. ‘You two wait here,’ commanded Falcon. He and a policeman went on board. Falcon eventually emerged. ‘I’ll get the boy’s father down here and tell him to bring any keys.’

The man from the harbour office came strolling along. ‘What’s up?’

‘We think something may have happened to Bert Trymp, Mr Judson,’ said Falcon. ‘Did he leave keys with you?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact. They’re on a nail in the office.’

‘Where anyone might have got hold of them while that lazy sod is in the pub,’ muttered Falcon.

They waited impatiently. Judson came back with a ring of keys. Falcon took them, and accompanied again by the policeman, went back on board. Agatha pulled her coat more tightly around her.

‘Here comes Sylvan,’ said Roy.

Agatha looked along the quay and saw Sylvan strolling towards them. He came up to Agatha and kissed her on both cheeks and then asked cheerfully, ‘Any more bodies?’

‘Do you know where Bert is?’ asked Agatha.

He shrugged and spread his hands.

‘We were up at the garage,’ pursued Agatha. ‘Why didn’t you speak to us?’

‘Things to do,’ he said lazily. ‘Places to go. Why are you looking for Bert? I assume that is why the police are here.’

‘He said he had information about Sean’s murder.’

‘But it has been established that Sean or whatever he was really called was killed by the IRA.’

‘And where’s the proof of that?’ demanded Agatha angrily. She was angry because those kisses had given her a flutter.

‘I don’t know,’ said Sylvan, ‘but the police seem sure of it.’ He raised his expressive eyebrows in the direction of Roy.

‘This is a friend of mine, Roy Silver. Roy, Sylvan Dubois.’

‘Charmed,’ tittered Roy.

‘Why don’t you both join me for dinner tonight?’ asked Sylvan.

‘We didn’t really mean to stay…’ began Agatha, but Roy chipped in with ‘That would be lovely. I mean, Aggie, we can hardly leave without finding out what happened to Bert.’

‘All right,’ said Agatha. ‘Where?’

‘There’s a very good Cantonese restaurant called China Dreams on the main street,’ said Sylvan. ‘Shall we say eight o’clock?’

He turned to leave. ‘Aren’t you going to wait and see if the police find anything?’ asked Agatha.

‘If they had, they’d be leaping about by now. À bientôt!’

Falcon eventually reappeared. ‘No sign of him,’ he called to Agatha. ‘He probably was playing a trick on you. But we’ll keep looking.’

‘Now what?’ asked Roy.

‘I want to find a Marks and Spencer,’ said Agatha, ‘and buy some clean underwear and a nightie. We may as well stay the night.’

After they had booked rooms in The Jolly Farmer and done their shopping, Agatha said, ‘We’ve still got time until this evening. I’d like to have a look at the bottom of the Brosses’ property. Bert might be working on a boat there.’

‘We could go back to the harbour and see if anyone will take us down the river,’ suggested Roy.

‘Good idea.’

But Judson said he didn’t know of anyone available. They did not say where they wanted to go, only that they wanted to sail down the river for a bit. ‘I’ve a dinghy you can rent,’ said Judson, ‘but I don’t think you’d know how to handle one of those.’

Roy looked out over the water. The sun was shining and the wind had dropped. He had only ever had one lesson, but he knew Agatha often thought he was a wimp and wanted to impress her. ‘I can handle a dinghy,’ he said eagerly.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Agatha nervously.

‘Oh, sure as sure.’

Agatha was impressed when Roy got the sail up and the dinghy began to move swiftly down the river. Roy was proud of himself as he tacked backwards and forwards down the river.

Then the wind returned with a roar and Agatha screamed as the dinghy heeled dangerously.

‘Do something!’ shouted Agatha. ‘My bum’s wet.’

Roy scrambled to lower the sail but the boat was now caught in a strong current and they were borne at what seemed like a terrifying rate. Just when they both feared they would be taken right down the river and out to sea, the current drove the dinghy straight into a group of willows on a headland just after the Brosses’ property. They seized the branches and held on.

Roy swung on to the shore by the branches and grabbed the dinghy’s tender and made the boat fast. He helped a shaken Agatha ashore. They both sat down on the muddy, grassy bank. Agatha’s face was white. ‘You silly chump,’ she said. ‘You told me you knew how to handle the thing.’

Roy shivered. ‘You know, that Judson must have known it was dangerous. He must know all about that current. I’ll pull the dinghy up on the bank and he can collect it. If those willow branches hadn’t been blown down so near the water, we’d have had it. Let’s get back to the pub. I’m freezing.’

Agatha was recovering. She took out her mobile phone and asked directory inquiries for Judson’s number and then called him. She blasted him for having risked their lives. He shouted back that they were incompetent until Agatha threatened to go to the police. He said he would come down the river, collect the dinghy and take them back. Roy, with a sinking heart, heard Agatha say, ‘We’ll find our own way back.’

‘Why?’ asked Roy miserably.

‘Because, as we scooted past, I saw the Bross house through the trees. If we walk back along the riverbank, we’ll be able to get to Bross’s boat. Bert might be there. If he’s not, we’ll find a way round the property to the village and phone for a taxi.’