M.C. Beaton: The Love from Hell

Megan was kicking out wildly and screaming and trying to twist around and claw Charles’s face. Agatha grabbed the gun. “Get rope or something,” shouted Charles.

Agatha stood blindly. Rope, rope, where on earth is rope? She ran into the kitchen. Nothing. She seized a large roll of cellophane and ran back with it. Megan’s screams were awful, mad, unearthly.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” panted Charles.

And then there came the wail of police sirens. Charles succeeded in throwing Megan onto the floor and sat astride her, holding her hands above her head.

Agatha rushed and opened the door and waved frantically to the arriving police cars.

Villagers were gathering at the end of the street. They would turn up now, thought Agatha.

Bill was in the first car. “She’s here?” he cried when he got out.

“Inside. Hurry,” said Agatha.

♦

Megan was handcuffed and taken off. Charles and Agatha followed in another police car to Mircester to make their statements. Agatha felt quite limp and also disgusted with herself. She had been so frightened when Megan pointed the pistol at her that she had wet herself. Why hadn’t she just told the police that, and begged to be allowed to change?

She had no sense of triumph, no gladness in being proved right. She felt old and messy.

Inspector Wilkes sent Bill to take their statements. As he went to switch on the recording machine, Agatha said, “Where’s Sheppard?”

“We took him in for questioning. We got him just as he was returning from Mircester. We found the motorbike, and in one of the saddlebags we found the vacuum cleaner. It was one of those small ones people use for cleaning cars. I hope it hadn’t been emptied. That’s the trouble with dealing with mad amateurs. If James had not disappeared, we would have been able to arrest her and Melissa might still be alive. Megan had the most amazing luck.”

“I wonder if Melissa ever intended to leave her any money,” said Agatha. “I wonder if James found out about Melissa and dumped her because she was dangerous. I wonder if she told Megan that in the hope that Megan would make life a misery for James.”

“Unless we find James Lacey, we’ll never know,” said Bill. “Now, let’s begin.”

They both made statements and Bill disappeared with them, leaving them alone. “I can’t bear this,” said Agatha to Charles. “When she pointed that pistol at me, I wet myself.”

“If they keep us here much longer,” said Charles, “you’ll soon be dry.”

“Doesn’t it disgust you?”

“No, ordinary human functions do not disgust me. Stick it out now. Can’t be much longer.”

But Bill returned with Wilkes, who said he would like to go over their statements again. Agatha was too weary to do other than repeat everything she had told Bill, but Charles was sure that Wilkes really wanted to know how they had managed to figure out it was Megan when the police had not.

It all seemed like a dream, thought Agatha, as she and Charles went through their investigations once more, step by step. At last the statements were approved. They signed and were told they were free to go.

Agatha regained some of her usual spirit. As they were leaving the room, she turned and said to Wilkes, “You might at least say thank you.”

“For what?” said Wilkes, shuffling the statement papers. “For solving your case for you.”

“We would have got there sooner or later,” began Wilkes pompously.

“Pah,” said Agatha Raisin and slammed the door behind her.

♦

Oh, the luxury of a warm soapy bath and dirty clothes spinning in the washing machine. Wrapped in their dressing-gowns, Agatha and Charles met in the sitting-room for a nightcap.

“That’s over at last,” sighed Agatha.

“Except for James,” said Charles. “Fancy a trip to France?”

“I feel too weary to even think about it,” said Agatha. “How could James behave so irresponsibly?”

“He didn’t know Melissa had been murdered.”

“He must have done. It was in the newspapers, along with his photograph.”

“He may not have looked at the newspapers. Say you find him, Aggie? What then?”

“I want to hear his side of the story,” said Agatha, but the fact was she wanted to give him a piece of her mind. The oh-so-perfect James, who had always been picking on her, had made one big major mistake for which he ought to be deeply ashamed for the rest of his life.

“I suppose we’ll have to hang around for a few days,” said Charles. “In case they want to speak to us again.”

“I suppose,” echoed Agatha sleepily. “I’m off to bed.”

“Alone?”

“Alone. I don’t care now if I never have sex again. I don’t want any more casual sex.”

“Who said it was casual?” remarked Charles, but Agatha had already left the room and did not hear him.

♦

Mrs. Bloxby was their first visitor the next morning. “It was Mrs. Allan who really put me on the track,” said Agatha, “and that remark you once made about women marrying the same sort over again. I thought, why shouldn’t a man marry the same kind as well?” She told her all about Mrs. Green’s having seen a child on the night Melissa had been killed. “Megan must have parked the motorbike outside the village,” said Agatha, “put the vacuum and the hammer in that rucksack and headed for Melissa’s.”

She went on and told her everything and how Megan had threatened to shoot them. “She must have known as little about guns as I do,” said Agatha. “I wouldn’t have noticed whether the safety catch on a gun was on or off. I wonder where she got it.”

“Well, now you can leave all those details to the police,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “Any news of James?”

Agatha shook her head. She flashed a warning look at Charles to stay quiet. She had a superstitious feeling that if she told Mrs. Bloxby about the possibility of James’s being in the monastery that he would turn out not to be there at all. It was such a slim chance.

After Mrs. Bloxby had gone, Charles said he would return home and join her again when she planned to set off for France. “Leave it a week,” said Agatha. “Everything will be properly wrapped up by then. I’m surprised the press haven’t been hammering at the door.”

“Oh, Wilkes will just have said a woman is helping them with their inquiries,” said Charles. “He’ll want to keep us out of it. Make it look like all his own work. Do you think we’re psychic, Agatha?”

“You called me Agatha. You’re improving. No. Why?”

“You must admit it was an amazing leap of deduction on the part of both of us.”

“I think it was because, for my part, I’d been thinking about nothing else for weeks. It’s a bit like a crossword. You stare at some clue and then decide you’ll never get the answer, and the next day you pick up the paper and glance at it and the answer I snaps into your brain.”

“Could be. I’m off then. See you in a week.”

“You really think there’s a chance of him being at that monastery?”

“A slim one, but yes, I do think it’s worth a try.”

♦

When Charles had gone, Agatha sat down, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands and thinking it was rather pleasant to be alone again, particularly now that she had nothing to be frightened of. Perhaps a lot of her discontent and frustration was because she would not accept middle age or the prospect of heading to old age. A life without men meant she could dress the way she wanted, be herself. No need to let herself go, exactly. She had a sudden sharp longing for a cigarette and tried to fight it down.

Then she could feel the comfort draining away. How quiet her cottage seemed! She had the cats, of course. She did not really need to do anything. After what she had been through, no one should be expected to do anything. But she rose and began to do some housework and then went out into the garden to pull up weeds. She was bending over a flower-bed when a sudden sharp longing for James engulfed her.