A Spoonful of Poison (22 page)

Inside, she was relieved to find that she was to be questioned by Bill and Wilkes. She had dreaded being interviewed by the bullying Collins.

When the interview was over, Bill said, “Do you want us to call your mother?”

“No, it’s all right,” said Toni. “She’s living in Southampton now. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll find Agatha waiting for you.”

Still suffering from shock, Toni went out into reception to find Agatha sitting there. She eyed her uneasily. What if Agatha was a lesbian and that was the reason for all her generosity?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” demanded Agatha. “Have I got a smut on my nose?”

“Trixie said you were a lesbian,” Ton blurted out.

Agatha began to laugh. When she had finished laughing, she said, “Sometimes I wish I were. It would make life a lot easier. Men! I phoned Charles for support and he answered his phone for once and said he couldn’t make it because he had some female staying with him. Now, tell me what went on.”

Toni sat down next to her and wearily described again what had happened.

“Well, if the forensics turn up trumps, they’ve got her for two counts of attempted murder,” said Agatha, “so that’s good enough to be going on with. I’ve still to make an official statement, so I’ll be here for a while. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ve told the others to do the same. Forensics will be working in the office for most of the day.”

Toni emerged and blinked as a battery of flashes went off in her face. The chief constable, George Robinson, was addressing the press. He put an arm around Toni’s slim shoulders. “All I can tell you,” he said, “is that this brave private detective tackled someone who was attempting to murder her. I will make a further statement later.”

Agatha heard the commotion and opened the door. “This way, Toni!” the photographers were shouting.

I’m the boss, thought Agatha jealously. It should be
my
press conference.

But as she was about to push forward, Wilkes tapped
her on the shoulder. “We’re ready for you now, Mrs. Raisin.”

Agatha sat gloomily over the newspapers the next morning, reflecting sourly that Toni photographed like a dream with the sunlight glinting on her fair hair and her wide blue eyes and slim figure.

She switched on the television. There was a late bulletin to say that Trixie Chance, wife of the vicar of Saint Odo The Severe, had been charged with two counts of manslaughter and two counts of attempted murder and with possession of an illegal substance.

Agatha began to resent Toni. That girl kept getting all the glory. She wondered whether it might be an idea to set Toni up in her own agency. Then let’s see how she fared without the genius of Agatha Raisin to help her. Her own agency was doing well. She could certainly afford to fund Toni until the girl got on her feet, and if she didn’t, she could write it off as a tax loss.

Fired up with this new idea, Agatha phoned Toni and told her to make herself free for a business lunch at one o’clock in the George, a pub opposite police headquarters

Toni expected Agatha to be sour over the press coverage and was relieved to see a beaming Agatha waiting for her in the restaurant. Agatha had not been in the office that morning.

“Sit down,” said Agatha. “We’ll order our food and drinks first. The steak and kidney pudding here is very good and I feel like some comfort food.”

“I’m sorry about taking the limelight in the press coverage,” said Toni.

Agatha waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all good for the agency. I have a plan for you.”

“Like what?” asked Toni nervously.

“Wait till we get our food. What are you drinking?”

“Mineral water will do fine,” said Toni, “and the steak and kidney pudding.”

When Agatha returned from the bar after placing their order, Toni said, “Why did she do it?”

“Who? What?”

“Trixie. I mean, she had a respectable life. Why did she put acid in the jam?”

“Because she’s mad.”

“Even mad people have a reason.”

Agatha took out her phone and called Patrick. “Patrick,” she said, “did any of your police contacts give you any reason why Trixie did what she did?”

Toni could hear the tinny sound of Patrick’s reply but not the words.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Agatha. “See you later.”

She turned to Toni. “You’re not going to believe this. Evidently Trixie said she did it because she was bored and wanted to liven the village up a bit.”

“Awful woman,” said Toni with a shudder. “Mind you, if she hadn’t come after us, she might just have got away with it.”

Their food arrived. Toni waited impatiently until Agatha had taken a few mouthfuls of food and then asked, “What’s this idea?”

“I’m going to set you up in your own detective agency,” said Agatha.

“But I don’t know how to run a business!”

“You’ll learn. You’re bright. Employ a secretary and two young people like yourself. No old detectives. We’ll call it the Spring Detective Agency. You know—spring—youth.”

“What about the Gilmour Detective Agency?”

“No, I don’t think so. Start thinking about who you would recruit and I’ll look around for premises.”

Toni knew in that moment that Agatha resented the press coverage she had got. She reflected that it’s a sad business to find out the rock you’ve been leaning on for support has a great crack down the middle.

“Think about it,” said Agatha, feeling obscurely ashamed of herself. “If you don’t want to do it, don’t bother.”

Toni was pretty sure that she would turn down Agatha’s offer. But something was to happen which changed her mind.

T
ONI WAS SITTING
that evening with her friend Sharon when the phone rang. It was Harry.

“I just wondered how you were getting on,” he said.

“I’m fine,” said Toni, and then, in a rush, she went on, “I’m not really. Agatha wants to set me up in my own detective agency and I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know anything about running a business.”

“I wonder why she’s doing that,” said Harry. “I tell you what, I’ll take a year off from university and help you set up. I’m bored with Cambridge and I miss the detective work.”

“No ties?” asked Toni anxiously.

“No, no. Strictly business. It would be exciting.”

Toni felt a wave of relief. “If you’re free, drop round and we’ll talk about it.”

“Be with you in minutes.”

“Who was that?” asked Sharon.

“Harry.”

“Not the fellow who wants you to read them Frenchies and go to crap opera?”

“Yes, but he says it’s strictly business and I do need the help. He’s coming round.”

“Great. I’m dying to see what this wannabe professor looks like.”

Harry arrived so quickly that Toni wondered if he had been lurking at the corner of her street.

Sharon eyed him with surprise. Harry, who had once worn a nose stud and shaved his head, now had a crop of wavy brown hair above a square handsome face. He was dressed smart-casual. Toni introduced them.

“Let’s get started,” said Harry. “Is Agatha hiring the staff for you?”

“No, she wants me to hire young people.”

“Does she want you to fail?” asked Harry. “I mean, a retired copper like Patrick is a boon.”

“Why would she want me to fail?”

“Well, not fail. I’ve seen you on television. You have been taking the limelight away from her.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” said Toni.

“Oh, go for it. What about a name?”

“She wants me to call it Spring, as in youth.”

“We can’t have that. What about Gilmour Detective Agency?”

“I suggested that and she turned it down.”

“She
is
jealous. Let me think.”

“Why not just call it The Detective Agency?” said Sharon.

“Oh, I like that,” said Harry. “She’ll go for it because it sounds modest at first. When we get set up, we’ll put the
The
in italics. Now, we need a secretary.”

“I could do that,” said Sharon. “I’m good on computers.”

“You’ve got the job,” said Toni quickly because Harry was looking doubtfully at the appearance Sharon made that evening. She had dyed her masses of hair blonde with aubergine streaks, and her plump figure was encased in tight jeans torn at the knee and a pink sequinned crop top showing a bulge of fake-tanned midriff.

“What about Betty Talent?” asked Sharon. “You know, Miss Iron Knickers, the school swot. Ever so clever she was.”

“She’s probably at university,” said Toni.

“No, she went abroad for a gap year and got some sort of tropical bug. She’s been recovering. I’ve got her number.”

“Why? You were always jeering at her,” said Toni.

“When I heard she was ill, I felt sorry for her,” said Sharon. “I was sure nobody would go to see her, so I took her a box of chocolates. She’s pretty nice when you get to know her.”

“Everyone, including me, will need to be on trial,” said Harry. “You’d better warn her. She may not want the job.”

“I’ll phone her.” Sharon retreated to a corner of the room.

“Look,” said Toni. “Agatha’s paying for all this, so she’ll probably want a say in what we call the agency.”

“I’ll fund it,” said Harry. “An uncle of mine died recently and left me a lot of money. You make it pay and I’ll get my money back.”

Charles, who had turned up unexpectedly, was sitting at the moment with Agatha in the village pub, the Red Lion, listening as Agatha tried to justify setting Toni up in her own detective agency.

He waited until she had finished and then said carefully, “You’re hoping it’ll keep her out of the limelight.”

“How dare you! I’m not petty.”

“Just jealous.”

“Well, if this is going to be the general reaction,” said Agatha huffily, “I’ll cancel the whole idea.” Agatha reflected that the only person these days who seemed to be pleased with her was old Mrs. Brother, whom she had phoned earlier to give her a full report of the arrest of Trixie. Her phone rang. “Yes, Toni,” Charles heard her say and then watched with amusement the growing dismay on Agatha’s face. Then he heard her say, “And you’re going to do the whole thing yourself? Find premises? If I’m going to pay for this, I should at least have a say … What? Harry is going to fund it? My Harry?
Harry Beam? Oh, well, if that’s the way you feel. Good luck.”

She rang off and stared at the table, looking moodily at the cigarette burns and remembering the glory days when she could light a cigarette.

“So Harry Beam is going to run the show?” asked Charles.

“Yes, it’s a good idea,” said Agatha, struggling to be fair. “I’m sure they’ll make a go of it.”

“You know, Aggie, if she’d been a failure, you’d have hated yourself. Let it go. What ever happened to that drug pusher, Zak somebody?”

“The police got him.”

“I heard he got out on bail.”

“Oh, God. He said he would break my legs.”

Betty Talent seemed a quiet, dowdy girl. She had no-colour hair scraped back from a small neat face. She was very thin. Her one beauty was her eyes, which were very large and brown flecked with green. She was wearing a long jacket over a straight skirt, a white blouse buttoned up to the neck, and flat shoes.

But when it came to costing what they would need to set up the business, Betty turned out to be a genius. As she crunched the numbers, her eyes began to glow with enthusiasm.

“This is great,” said Harry. “When we get some
money in, we’ll start to buy surveillance equipment. I think we should start off with just us—that’s Toni Gilmour as boss, me, Harry Beam, Sharon … ?”

“Gold.”

“Sharon Gold and Betty Talent.”

“I’ve got a bottle of champagne a local newspaper gave me,” said Toni. “Let’s drink a toast to
The
Detective Agency.”

When she came back with the bottle and glasses, Betty said, “You said you would fund this, Harry. Will you have to get the money from your father?”

“No, an uncle of mine died and left me a lot. No worries.”

On the Saturday morning Agatha received a visit from Mrs. Bloxby. “I wondered if you would like to come with me to Comfrey Magna,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “I feel poor Mr. Chance could do with some consolation.”

“He’ll hate me,” said Agatha. “I’m the one who got his wife banged up.”

“I think it would help if you could explain to him what actually happened. If he still believes his wife innocent, he could be in great pain.”

Curiosity got the better of Agatha. “Right, I’ll go.”

There was a faint mist curling around the boles of the trees and coloured leaves sailed lazily down onto the road. As she drove the now-familiar road to Comfrey
Magna, Agatha wondered what to wear for James’s engagement party. Then she thought of hair extensions. Trixie had looked good with them. But not blonde, thought Agatha. I tried blonde once and it didn’t work. I wonder what his fiancee looks like. Please, God, let her look like a bag.

Agatha parked in front of the church. As they walked across the graveyard, she remembered the first time she had seen George. What a terrible mistake it had been to fall for good looks. “I’m sorry I wasn’t much help to you in finding out about Mrs. Chance’s background,” said Mrs. Bloxby, “but I did try.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” said Agatha. “I wonder if George is still around.”

“No. That bit of news I did hear. He married Miss Corrie and they have gone to Cornwall on their honeymoon.”

“Good luck to her.” Agatha rang the bell.

To her surprise, the door was answered by Phyllis Tolling. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “What do you want?”

“We have called to see Mr. Chance.”

“It’s hardly a good time. The poor man is still in shock.”

Then Agatha heard Arthur’s voice raised in song.

A smile crossed Phyllis’s face. “Come in,” she said.

Arthur was in the living room, surrounded by packing cases. “Hullo!” he hailed them. “Just packing away Trixie’s things. I don’t think she’ll be needing them for a long time. Tea?”