M.C. Beaton - The Day the Floods Came

They scrambled out of the car and set off in pursuit of John. The hospital was busy with visitors arriving and leaving. They followed him along corridors until he stopped at a door and spoke to a policeman sitting outside. The policeman went into the room. Agatha and Roy hid behind a trolley full of laundry. The policeman came out again and said something to John. He went in.

“Let’s go,” urged Roy.

Agatha pulled him back. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll ask our names. If we give our real names, he’ll make a note of it and I might get a rocket from Brudge. If I say I’m Joanna’s aunt, she might start screaming that she hasn’t got an aunt.”

“Everyone’s got an aunt.”

“Her parents are dead. She may not have been in touch with her relatives. No, let’s retreat to the car-park and question John when he comes out.”

As they stood waiting beside John’s car, Roy asked, “Is he keen on her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s old enough to be her grandfather.”

“Makes no difference. That was an awfully big bunch of flowers.”

The inside of Agatha’s head felt like a mess. Guilt was swirling around in there, mixed with apprehension, mixed with jealousy that John Armitage, so indifferent to her, should be presenting Joanna with an expensive bunch of flowers.

They waited a full hour before John emerged. “Come to see Joanna?” he asked, walking up to them.

“We decided it would be better to get a report from you. I’m not a favourite with the police at the moment,” said Agatha. “And come to think of it, neither are you.”

“Oh, I’m all right. Joanna asked to see me.”

“Why?” demanded Agatha sharply. “Did she remember anything?”

“Not a thing. The last she knew was a hard blow on the head.”

“This turns out to have been one wasted journey. What about going back to Evesham, Agatha sweetie, and question some of the others?” said Roy.

“She can’t do that,” said John. “She’d need to wear her disguise, and apart from the fact that the police have got it, she’s been warned off.”

“I’ll sit in the car and let Roy do the questioning,” said Agatha quickly. “You were in there for an hour. What did you talk about?”

“Books, films, things like that.”

“Come along, Roy. You can drive.” Agatha turned on her heel and headed for her own car without so much as a goodbye.

John followed them down the road to Evesham. He noticed, as they were approaching the town, that Agatha leaned over to the back seat and picked up a blond wig and began to arrange it on her head. What on earth was she doing, keeping up the masquerade when the police had told her not to?

But he felt he was being left out. Could Agatha really be having an affair with that young fellow? Roy had implied as much. Roy would need to leave for work on Sunday evening. Better leave things until then and call on Agatha.

♦

“Who next?” asked Roy.

“I don’t know,” said Agatha wearily. She suddenly just wanted to go home and forget there was the real world out there, where handsome men, however old, preferred pretty young girls.

“Buck up, Aggie. You can’t win them all.”

“It’s your fault. You should never have let him think we were having an affair.”

“If it makes you feel better to think that…Anyway, turn your mind to the problem at hand. Who have we got?”

“I think,” said Agatha reluctantly, “that the best person to see next is the horrible Phyllis. She hated Kylie. Kylie took her boyfriend away. She might let something slip.”

“Got her phone number?”

Agatha leaned over to the back seat and picked up a clipboard. “I’ve got all the phone numbers and addresses here.”

“So let’s phone her. Ask her to meet us. Where?”

“There’s a good pub round the corner from the car-park. Pub grub.”

“That’ll do. So phone her.”

“You do it. I can’t stand her and I need a little more time to psych myself up.”

Roy phoned Phyllis’s number. Agatha’s thoughts drifted back to John as she dimly heard Roy making arrangements for lunch. He seemed such an asexual man. Could he really be interested in Joanna? And had his ex-wife really been such a monster or was there something wrong with him?

She jerked away from her thoughts as Roy said, “Come on. Stop dreaming about what might have been. Let’s go and meet Phyllis.”

Although the pub was only a short walk from Phyllis’s flat, it was a good half-hour before she arrived. Agatha, on seeing her, judged that Phyllis must have taken the time to plaster on an extra layer of make-up. Her fleshy features were covered in a thick white foundation cream and blusher. Her eyelashes had so much mascara on them that they stuck out like wires and her lips, already large, had been made larger by a coat of scarlet lipstick.

When she had ordered her food and drink, Roy said, “I think you’re ever so brave.”

“Why’s that?” said Phyllis. She moistened her lips and wondered what her chances were of fascinating this television executive.

“I mean, you’re still working at Barrington’s. You must be wondering if you’ll be next.”

“Not me,” said Phyllis. “Let me give you the low-down on our little Kylie. She was a nasty little bitch, batting her eyes at anything in trousers. And screwing around with the boss.”

“How did you learn that?” asked Agatha. Phyllis looked mysterious. “Little bird,” she said.

“But who would kill her?” asked Roy.

Phyllis leaned forward until her bust was resting on the table. “Shershy loam,” she said.

“What?” Agatha looked at her, puzzled.

Phyllis gave a superior laugh. “It means ‘Look for the man.’”

“You mean, cherchez l’homme?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I? Anyway, with a tart like Kylie, there’s bound to have been more than one Mr. Barrington.”

“Anyone you can think of?”

“Naw, but the police’ll find him. She got what was coming to her.”

“You’re an intelligent girl and you’ve certainly given us something to think about,” said Roy.

Phyllis tried to bat her eyelashes at him, but the wiry upper set got stuck to the lower ones and so there was a silence until she had prised them apart.

“What about the evening Joanna was attacked?” asked Agatha. “Sharon said she went back for a scarf. Did she join you again? And did she have a scarf?”

“Didn’t notice.” Phyllis held up her empty glass. “Another of these? I mean, you’re on expenses anyway.”

Roy went to the bar to get more drinks.

“Nice bum,” said Phyllis, surveying Roy’s back.

Agatha reflected that as Roy was so skinny and his jacket hung down over his rear, Phyllis was not in a position to judge. Phyllis was possibly just aping what the women’s magazines told her to say. Did women really admire men’s bottoms? Or had it started as a sort of feminist remark to try to even the sexes?

Roy came back. “Thanks. Cheers,” said Phyllis. “Where was I? Oh, Joanna. That’s a dark horse. Little Miss Prim. She’s involved somehow. Must have been worried there was something on Kylie’s computer that might incriminate her. Here’s a thing!” Her eyes gleamed. “Harry McCoy, he told me that one evening he saw Barrington driving past him on Evesham High Street and he could have sworn that Joanna was in the car next to him.”

I hope that’s true and I wonder what John will make of it, thought Agatha. I’m a bit tired of Saint Joanna.

Their food arrived. Agatha stared at Phyllis in amazement. She had never seen anyone eat so quickly. One minute her large mouth was bent down over the plate, and it seemed as if the next minute the plate was empty. Like watching a vacuum cleaner sucking up food.