M.C. Beaton - The Love from Hell

“What have you got for me?”

Agatha described John Dewey and then related the story of his marriage, ending up with asking, “Did he have an alibi?”

“There are witnesses to testify that he was working late in his shop the night Melissa was killed, and that Neighbourhood Watch woman saw him returning home around midnight. Of course, we can’t pin-point the exact time of death. He could easily have driven over to Carsely. We’ll keep an eye on him. Anything else?”

Agatha told him about the visit to the disco, about learning that Melissa at one time had been sectioned for a drug addiction and diagnosed as a psychopath. Then she said, “Of course, there is the other husband, Sheppard.”

“But Luke Sheppard and his wife spent that night at the Randolph in Oxford.”

“Still, that’s not far. He could have driven to Carsely, done the deed, and driven back. It takes about three quarters of an hour to get to Oxford. Half an hour if someone broke the speed limit.”

“We checked. The night staff didn’t see him leave.”

“It’s impossible,” groaned Agatha. “It could well be someone from way back in her past. She told my cleaner she was engaged on secret work for the government. Now I know that’s another of her lies, but what prompted that lie? Could she have been tied up with some MP or army man?”

“Like James?” suggested Bill, and then regretted saying it as a haunted look appeared in Agatha’s eyes.

“Is there no word of him, Bill?”

“Not a thing. We regularly check to see if he’s drawn any money, but there’s nothing. Look, why don’t you stay here and relax and then we’ll all have dinner.”

Agatha repressed a shudder. His mother was a dreadful cook and his parents would grumble about their presence all through the meal. She was always amazed that Bill could not see how awful they were, but he obviously adored his father and mother and could see no fault in them. “No, thanks,” she said. “We’d better get on.”

“Thanks anyway for your news. We may pull in Dewey for questioning again. If he could tie her up like that and threaten to take her eyes out, then he could easily have killed her.”

♦

“Where to now?” asked Charles. “Call it a day and go for dinner?”

“I’m tired. But we could just catch Luke Sheppard again before he closes his shop.”

“And what can we ask him we haven’t asked him already?”

“We could tell him about Dewey. I mean, ask if he’d ever met Dewey. Ask him whether Dewey ever called on Melissa.”

“All right,” said Charles amiably. “We’ll give it a try.”

Agatha looked at him with a sudden burst of affection. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Charles!”

His face took on a tight, closed look. Damn, though Agatha. Rule number one. Never tell a man you need him. In a moment or two, he’ll tell me he wants to go home and pack. But to her surprise, he drove steadily and said nothing until they drove into the main car-park at Mircester.

“I feel our Sheppard is a bad-tempered man,” said Charles. “Let’s hope he doesn’t exercise it on us.”

“You could buy something,” suggested Agatha. “That would put him in a good mood.”

“From that shop? You must be joking.”

“A thought, that’s all.” As they walked along the street where Sheppard’s shop was situated, they saw him outside, pulling down the shutters. They quickened their step and came up to him. “Oh, it’s you pair,” he said ungraciously.

“We wondered if you could spare us a minute,” said Agatha.

“Okay, but a minute is all I’ve got. Let’s go to the pub.”

Once inside, Agatha asked him what he wanted to drink, not wanting Charles to start on one of his tales about a missing wallet.

She carried the drinks over to the table. She had bought an orange juice for herself as well as Charles. She would offer to drive them home.

Agatha told Luke Sheppard about their meeting with John Dewey and then asked him, “Did Melissa ever talk about her previous marriage? Or did Dewey ever try to see her?”

“She said he was weird. She said he loved his dolls more than humans. But she didn’t volunteer much else except it was one marriage she was glad to get out of.”

Agatha was disappointed. “She didn’t say anything about being frightened of him?”

“No, I saw him once. Curiosity, you know. I went to that shop of his. Insignificant little chap, if you ask me. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. She didn’t have any trouble divorcing him.”

Charles said, “But he forced her into a divorce. Didn’t she tell you?”

He looked genuinely surprised. “No, she told me he had agreed to the divorce without a murmur.”

“Here’s what really happened,” said Agatha, and told him about Dewey’s dragging Melissa and threatening her.

He goggled at her. “She never said a word. But she was secretive. She had a lot of money of her own. But she never discussed it with me. She kept her bank-books and bank papers locked up. Mind you, that didn’t bother me much. I wanted rid of her after the honeymoon.”

“What happened on the honeymoon?” asked Agatha eagerly.

He glanced impatiently at his watch. “I’ll make it quick. It was like this. We went to Paris. It was August and there weren’t many French people around. All gone off on me annual holiday. She was a great know-all. Had memorized the guidebook. We trudged round everywhere – Notre Dame, Versailles, Sacre Coeur – you name it. I don’t speak French. She said she spoke it like a native. I said, ‘How come then the natives don’t understand a word you’re saying’? She’d dropped the act of hanging on my every word, being the perfect partner. She demanded attention the whole time and not only from me, from about every man who crossed her path. I often wondered how she would get on in a roomful of men with different personalities, trying to be all things to all of them. I’m telling you, by the time we got back, I detested that woman.”

“So how did you get her to agree to a divorce?”

He looked again at his watch. “I’ve really got to go.”

“Quickly,” said Agatha. “Did you ask for a divorce and did she agree to it just like that?”

“Yes, something like that.” He got to his feet. “See here, I’ve given you pair enough of my time. Don’t come round here again.”

“Where were you living when you were married?” asked Charles.

He half-turned. “Why?”

“Just wondered.”

“Oxford.”

“Where in Oxford?”

“Jericho. Pliny Road.”

He marched out of the pub.

“What did you make of that?” asked Charles.

“I think,” said Agatha, resting her chin on her hands, “that he threatened her just like Dewey.”

“I think you’re right. That’s why I asked for his old address.”

“Why?”

“Because we will go there tomorrow and ask the neighbours about Sheppard and Melissa. I wonder, why Oxford? It’s an hour-and-a-halfs drive at least from Oxford to Mircester.”

“We should have asked Melissa’s sister more questions.”

“We can still do that. I’ve got her card. She lives in Cambridge. The other university town.”

“Do we need to go all the way there? It’s quite a drive.”

“Maybe we’ll phone her. Let’s get out of here and have some dinner.”

“Come home and I’ll make us something.”

“Anyone who eats microwaved curry for breakfast is not to be trusted with dinner. Plenty of good restaurants in Mircester.”

♦

A wave of black depression hit Agatha as soon as she awoke the following morning. She had been dreaming about James, and in her dream they had been walking along a sunlit beach together and he had been holding her hand. Where was he? Was he alive? Did he ever think of her? Why was she going to all this trouble to clear his name?