M.C. Beaton - The Love from Hell

“We’d better eat something before he arrives,” said Agatha. “Bill will already have had something.”

“I’ll fix it,” said Roy. “I’m still nervous and I feel like doing something. Have you got eggs and cheese? I’ll make a cheese omelette.”

“I have both. I’ll leave you to it.”

While Roy worked in the kitchen, Agatha phoned Mrs. Bloxby and apologized for having run away from the fête.

“Did you catch up with Roy?”

“Yes,” said Agatha. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Well, thanks again for a splendid effort. We raised a great deal of money. I told Alf we owe it all to you.”

“And what did the vicar say?” asked Agatha, who knew Alf did not like her, but craved his good opinion.

“Oh, he agreed with me,” said Mrs. Bloxby, although what the vicar had actually said was, “God moves in mysterious ways.”

Agatha rang off. She poured herself a stiff gin and tonic and lit a cigarette. She had just finished both when Roy called her from the kitchen. As Agatha rose out of the deep armchair in which she had been sitting, she felt a slight stiff pain in her knee joints and her chest gave a distinct wheeze. She stood, alarmed. She took a deep breath, but the wheeze had gone. She remembered when she was in Wyckhadden that she had managed to give up cigarettes. It had felt good. Then she remembered Jimmy Jessop, the police inspector in Wyckhadden who had proposed marriage to her. She remembered him as safe and decent. She could have been Mrs. Jessop by now had Jimmy not found her in bed with Charles. Damn Charles. She would never, ever have gone to bed with him had not that fortune-teller told her that she would never have sex again. Now Jimmy was married. Was he happy? Maybe he was divorced.

“Agatha!” called Roy. “Your food’s on the table.”

She banished thoughts of what might have been from her mind and joined Roy in the kitchen.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Roy, “about what we could do tomorrow.”

“What?”

“You said this chap Sheppard lives in Blockley, which isn’t far from here. We could drop over there tomorrow – ”

“Are you mad? He’d be furious.”

“Ah, but if we told him we’re pretty sure it was Dewey, he might open up a bit.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Agatha thought of that sinister pain in her joints. “Tell you what,” she said. “I need exercise. If it’s a fine day, we could walk over.”

“All right. I could do with a bit of exercise myself.”

Bill arrived just after they had finished their meal. He listened carefully while Roy described his adventures with Dewey and made several notes. When Roy had finished, Agatha said, “You see, we wondered if you had been digging into Dewey’s past, if there was anything there.”

“Nothing sinister that we’ve been able to find,” said Bill. “He’s the son of fairly wealthy middle-class parents. The father died young and he was very close to his mother. When she died, he had just finished at university. With the money she left, he; bought that shop and started up in business. He really knows his stuff. He doesn’t seem to have any friends. When he married Melissa, they didn’t seem to socialize. I’ll dig a bit deeper. I’ll I pull him in and have another go at him.”

“Is there any news of James?” asked Agatha.

“Not a whisper. I would have told you if I had heard anything.”

♦

The following day dawned sunny and fresh. They set out to walk to Blockley, which meant climbing up the steep road out of Carsely, walking along the A-44 and then down the hill into Blockley. When they reached the village, Agatha felt that longing for a cigarette and fought it down. She had not yet lit up one that day.

“I don’t feel very brave,” she whispered to Roy as they walked up Greenway Road. “He’s a very belligerent man.”

“Maybe we should forget about the whole thing,” said Roy uneasily. “I hear there’s some good French cooking down at the Crown. We could walk about a bit and then have lunch.”

But his cowardice spurred Agatha on. “Don’t want to think we’ve walked all this way for nothing. If he’s mad at us, he can slam the door in our faces.”

Walking close together, they approached the door of the Sheppards’s cottage. Agatha rang the bell.

After a few moments, Megan Sheppard answered the door. She was wearing a brief pair of hot pants over a gingham blouse. Her hair was tied in two bunches with pink ribbons. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. She called over her shoulder, “Luke, it’s that woman from Carsely who’s been pestering you.”

Luke Sheppard loomed up behind her. “Get away from here,” he growled.

“We thought you would like to know,” said Agatha bravely, “that we’re pretty sure it was Melissa’s first husband, Dewey, who killed her.”

What was that odd look that had flashed in his eyes? wondered Roy. Relief?

The truculence left his face. He said mildly, “You’d better come in and tell us about it.”

They followed the Sheppards through the cottage and out into the garden. After they had all sat down round the garden table, Roy told them all about his visit to Dewey’s shop.

“You poor thing,” said Megan, looking into his eyes. “You must have been frightened to death.”

“I tell you,” said Roy, delighted to have such an appreciative audience, “I thought my last moment had come.”

“So have you told the police all this?” asked Luke.

“Yes,” said Agatha. “They are going to pull him in for further questioning. Did I ask you this before? Did you know Melissa was sectioned at one time?”

He looked genuinely surprised. “No. Was it drink?”

“Drugs.”

“When was this?”

“A long time ago, when her father was still alive. Did you ever know her sister?”

“No, Melissa didn’t have anything to do with her.”

“Do you know if she had a friend from the past, someone she might have met when she was in the psychiatric unit?”

“No, come to think of it, she didn’t have any real friends. I mean, she would strike up a friendship with someone but it would never last very long. People would go off her.”

“Just like you, dear,” said Megan, and stroked his hand. And yet Agatha noticed that one of Megan’s smooth tanned legs was pressed against Roy’s.

“Is there anything you can think of,” pursued Agatha, “any little thing that might help us find out who murdered Melissa?”

“What’s this?” The anger had returned to Luke Sheppard’s face. “You told us it was Dewey.”

“We’re sure it is. But still – ”

“I think you should get a life,” said Luke.

“Don’t be hard on her, dear,” cooed Megan. “Some of these old village women lead empty lives.”

Roy cackled with laughter and then put a hand over his mouth when he saw Agatha’s furious face. But Luke went on as if she had not spoken. “Where do you get off, nosing around, poking around into people’s lives? Get out of here.”

Agatha stood up, her face flaming. “Come on, Roy.”

They both marched out. The Sheppards stayed where they were.

“Insufferable man,” raged Agatha, “and she’s nothing more than a little bitch.”

“Clever, though,” said Roy. “Even if he hadn’t lost his temper, her crack at you would have made you leave.”

“I keep wondering where James fits into all this,” said Agatha. “Oh, why doesn’t he turn up? He should be getting treatment. He may be dead.”

She began to cry. Roy put an awkward arm around her shoulders. “The living can keep out of the road of the police, Aggie. The dead find it difficult. Cheer up. Let’s try the Crown for lunch.”

♦

After Agatha had taken Roy down to catch the London train that evening and returned to her cottage, she found herself thinking more and more about Jimmy Jessop, that police inspector in Wyckhadden she had so nearly married. Yes, at the time, she had hoped to make James furious and jealous. And if the wretched Charles hadn’t turned up at a moment when she was weak and shocked, she would never have had sex with him. She thought of Jimmy’s nice smile and the way his eyes used to light up when he saw her. Roy had gone, Charles showed no sign of coming back. She had a longing for masculine company.