(15/30) The Deadly Dance (14 page)

Emma left the tent feeling shaken. A little voice of common sense was telling her it was all rubbish, but yet, Madame Zora had known about her past life and had described Agatha Raisin.

She decided to leave the fete. The day was unseasonably hot, and her feet and legs hurt.

The fantasy of “removing” Agatha slowly began to become a reality in her obsessed brain.

But she very nearly decided to forget about the whole thing when Agatha, returned from London, called on her that evening.

“I took the opportunity to visit my solicitor in London, Emma,” said Agatha. “In case anything happens to me in the near future, I have decided to leave the detective agency to you.”

“Oh, Agatha, how kind!”

“I know you’re getting on in years, and if nothing happens to me in, say, the next five, I will cancel the codicil. You’ve done very good work for me, Emma.”

And then she added, “I’d better get home and pack a bag. I’m off to Paris with Charles in the morning.”

When she had gone, Emma sat with her hands tightly clenched.
She
should be the one going off to Paris with Charles. Agatha out of the way would mean the detective agency would be hers. Charles obviously liked detecting. They could solve cases together. But how to get rid of Agatha Raisin? It would need to look like an accident. Emma’s head felt hot and feverish.

Agatha and Charles flew to Paris on an early plane and took a taxi from Charles de Gaulle Airport to the couturiers in the Rue Saint-Honore. They handed over their cards and sat on gilt chairs in the salon and waited for Felicity.

At last a middle-aged woman entered the salon, holding their cards by the tips of her fingers.

“I am so sorry,” she said, “Mees Felicity is not here.”

“Where is she?” demanded Agatha, looking at the trim-figured Frenchwoman standing over her and wondering if there was such a thing as a bad figure in Paris.

“Mees Felicity is on the vacances.”

“When is she due back?”

“Pardon?”

Charles said in impeccable French, “Where has Felicity gone on holiday and when do you expect her to return?”

She replied in rapid French while Agatha waited impatiently.

Again Charles spoke and rose to go. “What was that all about?” demanded Agatha.

“She’s gone on holiday to somewhere in the south of France but she’s expected back tomorrow. She’s only been working with them a few months. Worked as a secretary before and they needed someone here with a knowledge of computers.”

“Rats,” said Agatha. “If we change our flights, we’ll lose the money on the return trip.”

“We could always get one of those el cheapo flights or Euro-star. Seems a shame to go back now we’re here. And we may as well double-check Laggat-Brown’s alibi.”

“Oh, all right,” said Agatha. “What hotel was he staying in? I’ve forgotten.”

“The Hotel Duval on the Boulevard Saint-Michel. May as well check in for the night. Won’t be too busy this time of year.”

“I’ll phone Emma and Miss Simms,” said Agatha, “and tell her we’ll be here another day.”

Emma felt she couldn’t bear it. She had to take some sort of action. She remembered that she had a container of rat poison she had brought from her old home. You weren’t supposed to poison rats or mice any more because of some European Union regulation. You were supposed to trap them and then hit them on the head with a hammer or something. First she had to get into Agatha’s house.

Agatha had told Emma to tell Doris to look after the cats for another day. Emma called on Doris Simpson and said, “I thought as I live next door, it would be easier for me to look after the cats and save you coming and going.”

“That would be great,” said Doris. “Ell come along with you and show you how to work the burglar alarm.”

In possession of Agatha’s keys, Emma said goodbye to Doris and went down to the shed at the bottom of her garden and took down the box of rat poison. She did not allow herself to stop and think about the enormity of what she was doing.

She went to Agatha’s cottage and let herself in. She went through to the kitchen where Agatha’s two cats, Hodge and Boswell, stared up at her. She shooed them out into the garden.

Emma took down a jar of instant coffee, tipped half of the granules of rat poison into it, being careful to wear gloves, and then screwed the lid back on.

She felt suddenly calm. She found tins of cat food and filled two bowls. After half an hour, she let the cats back in and then went back to her own cottage, forgetting to set the burglar alarm or to lock the back door. The deed was done.

The receptionist at the Hotel Duval said he remembered Mr. Laggat-Brown very well, particularly since the hotel had been closely questioned by the police. Mr. Laggat-Brown was a most charming man. He spoke French like a native. He gathered that the police had checked the airlines and that Mr. Laggat-Brown was known to have travelled back to England when he said he did.Agatha asked if he knew where Mr. Laggat-Brown had gone after he had checked into the hotel. He had been out for two hours.

The receptionist said that Mr. Laggat-Brown had said something about going to a reunion.

Unfortunately, they had only one room. Madame and Monsieur would have to share. Madame said angrily that they would look for another hotel. She did not want to find herself renewing her amorous relations with Charles and doubted her own strength of will if she found herself in bed with him. Charles told her to stop behaving like an outraged virgin. He spoke in rapid French and then said, “Aggie, stop wittering. It’s got twin beds.”

After they had unpacked, they had lunch in a nearby restaurant. After lunch, Charles said that he felt tired after the dawn start and suggested going back to the hotel for a siesta.

Agatha did not think she would sleep and was startled to find it was early evening when she woke up.

They both went out for a long walk along the Seine as night descended on one of the world’s most beautiful cities. The terraces of the restaurants were filling up with people stopping for a coffee or an aperitif after work.

“Look how slim everyone is,” marvelled Agatha, “and they all walk as if they’ve got books on their heads. They must teach them deportment in French schools.”

“The women look fabulous,” said Charles and Agatha experienced a pang of jealousy. “Let’s find a restaurant.”

“There’s quite a reasonable one at Maubert -Mutualite,” said Agatha. “They have snacks and things. We had quite a big lunch.”

The restaurant was crowded but they managed to find a table at the back. They ordered croques monsieurs and a decanter of the house wine.

Agatha became uneasily aware that someone was staring at her and looked across the restaurant. With a sinking heart, she recognized Phyllis Hepper, a public relations officer she had known in her London days. Phyllis was a famous lush.

To Agatha’s horror, Phyllis rose and came over to their table. “It’s Agatha, isn’t it?” she said.

“Phyllis,” said Agatha, relieved the woman appeared to be sober. “What are you doing in Paris?”

“I got married to a Frenchman.”

“This is Charles Fraith, Charles, Phyllis. Phyllis and I knew each other when I was working in London.”

Phyllis laughed. “I’m surprised you recognized me. I must have been drunk the whole time.”

“Well. ..”

“It doesn’t matter. I was a terrible drunk,” said Phyllis to Charles. “But I joined AA. I go to meetings, or reunions Al-cooliques Anonymes, as they call them here in Paris.”

“Your French must be very good.”

“Not yet. I go to the English-speaking ones at the Quai D’Orsay. Quite a lot of French people go as well. There was this terrible raggy old drunk came in, but he got it and now you wouldn’t recognize him. He looks so well and handsome. You must come and visit me. Here’s my card.”

Agatha said they were leaving the next day, but if she was ever back in Paris she would look Phyllis up.

After she had left, Charles said, “I thought it was supposed to be Alcoholics
Anonymous”

“She must be very new in the programme. I met people like her in London. Just in, they wanted to tell the world.”

They finished their decanter of wine and Charles ordered another, saying it would help them sleep. They chatted idly about previous cases and then Charles asked suddenly, “What about Emma?”

“What about her?”

“I think she’s stalking me.”

“Oh, Charles. Such male vanity.”

“No, really. I was up on the platform at the fete and I looked across and I’d swear it was her. I asked Gustav and he said he’d told her fortune.”

“What was Gustav doing telling her fortune?”

“The woman who was supposed to tell them fell ill and I made Gustav dress up and do it. He turned out to be a wow. People like being frightened and he told them such dire things.”

“What did he tell Emma?”

“He said he felt sorry for her, so he’d given her the usual rubbish about meeting a tall, dark stranger.”

“I’ll have a word with Emma. Do you know I’ve put a codicil in my will, giving her the detective agency?”

“Oh, Aggie. Did you tell her?”

“Yes.”

“Cancel it.”

“I’ll have a talk to her about trailing around after you. But what did you expect? You took her to lunch a couple of times. Maybe she’s lonely.”

“You obviously don’t think much of my charms.”

Agatha looked at him. Even in an open-necked blue shirt and blue chinos, he looked neat and impeccably barbered.

“Eat your food,” she said.

Emma clutched her hair. What if Charles drank the coffee? And Doris would tell the police that she had given her the keys, so she would be first suspect. How stupid and crazy she had been. There was a ring at the doorbell. When she opened the door, Doris Simpson was standing there.

“I’d better take the keys back,” she said. “My Bert, he points out that Agatha is paying me for looking after them cats and it’s cheating on her to have you do it.”

“I don’t mind,” pleaded Emma.

“I must have the keys,” insisted Doris. “Where are they?” Really, thought the cleaner, Mrs. Comfrey looks as if she’s about to faint.

“Oh, there they are,” said Doris, seeing the keys on a small table inside the door. She pushed past the trembling Emma and picked up the keys.

“I think it would be best,” said Doris, who was about the only woman in the village who called Agatha by her first name, “if you didn’t tell Agatha about me giving you the keys. I need all the money I can get these days and I wouldn’t want her to go thinking I had cheated her.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” said Emma passionately. “Not a word.”

When Doris had gone, Emma sat down and hugged her thin figure. Then she rose and went down to the shed in the garden and collected the rat poison and buried it under the compost heap.

She decided she would wait and wait until she saw them return and follow them in. She would knock over that jar of coffee, sweep it up and take the contents away. Miss Simms would know when they were due back because Agatha kept in touch with her.

“Aren’t you coming to bed with me?” asked Charles.

“No,” said Agatha. “And I wish you wouldn’t parade around the room naked. It’s disconcerting.”

Charles climbed into his bed with a sigh. “You’re getting old, Aggie.”

“No, I’m not,” said Agatha furiously. “You’re amoral, that’s what you are.”

“I’m the same as I’ve always been. Good night.”

Agatha lay awake for some time. She had slept with Charles before—and enjoyed it. But their intimacy never seemed to affect Charles, and Agatha, in the past, had been left feeling that she had been used, that sex with her was like a drink or a cigarette to Charles.

But soon the amount of wine she had drunk lulled her off to sleep and down into uneasy dreams.

The man could not believe his luck. He had climbed over the fence into Agatha’s garden and crept up to the kitchen door. The kitchen door was slightly open. Emma had forgotten to close it when she let the cats back in.

He eased in and began to search the house. No one here, he thought. Well, a job’s a job. I’ll wait here until she gets back. Two pairs of eyes gleamed at him in the darkness. “Damn cats,” he muttered. But he was fond of cats, so he shooed them out into the garden and closed the door.

Where on earth was the woman? His informant had told him she would be back this evening. Still, it was only midnight. Better to wait.

In the moonlight streaming in through the window, he saw a jar of instant coffee beside the kettle. May as well have some of that, he thought, and keep myself awake.

Emma awoke at dawn, sitting fully dressed in an armchair. She could not remember having fallen asleep. She suddenly wondered if she had shut the back door of Agatha’s cottage after she had let the cats in. She went out of her cottage and looked nervously around, but no one was about. She went up the side path of Agatha’s cottage and round to the garden door and slumped in disappointment. Then she saw the cats in the garden.

But I’m sure I let them in, thought Emma. Putting on her gloves, she tried the door and to her relief it opened. She switched on the light. Then she let out a stifled scream. The kitchen smelt of vomit and a man was lying on the kitchen floor. There was a revolver on the table. She grabbed the jar of coffee and retreated to the door. She sped to her own cottage. She had an identical jar of instant coffee in her kitchen. She wiped it down with a cloth to get rid of fingerprints and hurried back to Agatha’s with it and placed it on the counter. Then she took out a cloth and wiped away her footprints as she backed out of the door. Wait, Emma! screamed a voice in her brain. How did he get in? Doris will say she gave you the keys, surely, and you will be accused of letting some man into the cottage. He couldn’t be anyone Agatha knew. Not wearing a black mask and with a revolver on the table. She picked up a rock from the rockery and smashed a pane of glass on the door. Why hadn’t the burglar alarm gone off? I can’t have set it, thought Emma. I’ll reset it. That means I’ll have to let myself out through the front of the house.

A cold determination had set in. She opened a cupboard under the stairs and found a hand vacuum cleaner that Agatha used for her car. She carefully vacuumed after herself to the front door and set the alarm, praying it wouldn’t go off. It shouldn’t go off because the glass was already broken. Then she remembered he must have drunk out of a cup. Should she leave it? Yes, she must. She couldn’t bear to go back. The path round the side of the house was gravel, so she was sure she hadn’t left any incriminating footprints when she arrived. She didn’t have the keys but the locks clicked shut automatically. She took the vacuum with her.