Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye (11 page)

‘Are you police?’

‘No. Private detective.’

Doris made as if to close the door. But Phil looked so unthreatening with his white hair ruffled by the breeze and Doris had a longing to gossip.

‘Come in,’ she said, ‘but I can’t really tell you anything.’

Phil followed her into the cottage parlour. ‘You have a nice home here,’ he said.

‘For how long?’ demanded Doris.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because we pay rent to the manor, see. When the whole place is sold, the new owner might turf us out. I’ll say one thing for Mrs Tamworthy, she never raised the rents. That’s
why we was all so upset when we heard she was planning to sell. It weren’t really nothing to do with the building plot.’

‘Dear me. It must all be very worrying for you,’ said Phil.

‘Sit down,’ said Doris. Phil sat down in an armchair beside the fireplace and Doris took the seat opposite him.

‘I find it surprising that Mrs Tamworthy didn’t raise the rents,’ commented Phil. ‘From what I’ve heard about her, she seems to have been a hard-nosed
businesswoman.’

‘She was that. But you know, sir, I don’t think she did it out o’ kindness. Kept reminding all of us how generous she was and there was always at the back of her voice and in
her eyes a sort of threat. We was all frightened to cross her. I think she liked her bit o’ power. But no one in the village would have harmed her. I mean getting rid of her would mean her
children taking over and there would be nothing to stop them raising the rents or selling the place.’

‘But she was going to sell anyway,’ Phil pointed out.

‘We kept hoping she’d come round. See, she liked upsetting people.’

‘To get to the murder,’ said Phil. ‘Did she always make that salad herself?’

‘Right proud of it, she were. There’s a big kitchen garden up at the manor and she’d go herself to get the vegetables. There’s a gurt big shed at the end where the picked
fruit and vegetables are stored.’

‘There is a gardener, of course?’

‘Yes, that’s Fred Instick. He’s getting on and the work’s hard. He kept asking for an under-gardener but she wouldn’t listen to him. Told him to get Jill, the
groom, to help. Jill did it sometimes because she was sorry for Fred but usually pointed out she had her hands full with the horses. He’ll be worried about his house, now. Don’t think
anyone now’ll want to keep on an old gardener.’

‘I’d like to meet him. Where is his cottage?’

‘It’s at the back of the stables.’

Said Phil, ‘You say Mrs Tamworthy was very proud of her salad and yet she did not serve it at dinner.’

‘No, sir, always at high tea. She said it were right good for her bowels.’

‘How did she get on with her children?’

‘They didn’t come round much. Just on her birthday and Christmas. ’Cept for Jimmy. He was round a lot.’

‘It’s a big house. Didn’t he live with her?’

‘No, poor sod lived above the shop. She charged him rent, too.’

Phil looked shocked. ‘I’m really not surprised someone has murdered her.’

Doris smiled for the first time. ‘Let me get you some tea, sir.’

Fran had agreed to be interviewed by Agatha. She sat in front of Agatha, nervously plucking at her skirt.

‘At first,’ said Fran, ‘we were really all against you trying to find out who murdered Mother. But then the police began to make each one of us feel guilty. Something’s
got to be done. Jimmy’s going ahead putting the shop up for sale. It’s too early. None of us is going to get a good price with the suspicion of murder hanging over our heads. Besides,
it’s just a little shop, no post office counter. The villagers go on grumbling about keeping the old ways but most of them shop at the supermarkets. The ones who go to Jimmy get their
groceries on tick and then he has the awful job of making sure they pay their bills.’

‘Was your mother – how can I put this – was she ever very maternal?’

‘Not that I can remember. Dad adored us. We had marvellous Christmases when we were small. It was only after he died that Mother – well –
turned.
I sometimes wonder if
she was jealous of us all.’

‘Was Jimmy always destined to be a shop-keeper?’

‘No, he was working in computers as a website developer, a firm in Mircester. The firm went bust just after Dad died. He was looking around for another job when Mother bulldozed him into
running the shop.’

‘The shop did not belong to the estate?’

‘No, she bought it for him and gave it to him as a Christmas present. You should have seen his face. I thought he was about to cry.’

‘And Bert?’

‘Well, Dad had taken him into the business and he was happy working with him.’

‘And you are divorced?’

‘Yes. He was snobbish but it was as if Mother went out of her way to look common when he was around. She wouldn’t help out with Annabelle’s education.’

‘Didn’t you get a good settlement from the divorce?’

Fran turned red. ‘I had an affair. I looked on it as a passing fling but my ex got a private detective on to it. He said if I didn’t just walk away from the marriage, he would bring
out my adultery in court. I should have stood my ground and fought for some money for Annabelle’s education, but I was so ashamed and Mother said, “Don’t worry about it.
I’ll give you an income.” It wasn’t enough.’

‘When your daughter grew up, did she come to resent her grandmother?’

‘Annabelle doesn’t resent anyone. A girlfriend with money suggested they open a dress shop in the King’s Road in Chelsea. It did and does very well.’

‘Annabelle isn’t married?’

‘My daughter is a lesbian.’

‘Oh. Do you own your own house?’

‘No. Mother bought it for me. Or rather, she bought it and took the rent out of my allowance. It’s a poky former council house in Mircester.’

‘And you all knew about your mother’s special salads?’

Fran shrugged. ‘Couldn’t not. As far as I can remember, she’s served up the beastly things.’

‘But you’ll be able to sell the house now?’

‘Yes, thank God. We’re all going to try and stay here at the manor until this dreadful murder is solved. It must be someone from the village.’

‘Why?’

‘Because none of us has the guts. She really ground us down.’

‘Is the kitchen door always open during the day?’

‘Yes, anyone could have come in that way. You know what these villages are like. Lots of inbreeding. I think it was done by someone mad.’

‘Where is Jimmy at the moment?’

‘He’s up at the shop, clearing out.’

‘Perhaps I might go up there for a word with him. And then perhaps Sadie might like to talk to me.’

‘I really don’t think my sister or Bert can tell you anything further.’

Agatha had to park a little way away from the shop. There was a crowd outside and the road was almost blocked by tractors and cars.

She walked forward and pushed her way to the front of the crowd. A rejuvenated Jimmy was shouting, ‘Everything must go. Fifty pee a box.’

He’s practically giving the stuff away, thought Agatha.

Groceries and vegetables from the shop had been piled into separate boxes. The boxes were disappearing rapidly as the villagers bought and bought, carrying stuff back to their cars and tractors
and returning for more.

Jimmy’s thin face was flushed and his eyes were shining. Hardly the grieving son, thought Agatha. She retreated to her car and decided to wait. It wouldn’t be long before everything
was gone.

One by one, the vehicles laden with groceries began to move off. Agatha’s stomach rumbled. She fished in the glove compartment of her car and found a Mars Bar, ate it, and lit a
cigarette.

When the last vehicle had gone, she climbed stiffly from her car, her treacherous hip sending pain shooting down her leg. She limped towards the shop and then heaved a sigh of relief as the pain
subsided.

‘Mr Tamworthy?’

Jimmy, who was closing the shop door, turned round. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

‘I wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.’

He hesitated and then said reluctantly, ‘You’d better come in, but I don’t think I can be of much help.’

He led the way into the shop. The wooden shelves were empty of groceries. A few newspapers and a cabbage stalk lay on the floor. Agatha followed Jimmy through the shop, into the back shop, and
up a wooden staircase. He opened a door at the top and ushered her in.

She found herself in a bleak little room. Jimmy sat down at a round table at the window. Agatha sat down opposite him. She looked around. There were no books or paintings. The table she was
sitting at was flanked by three hard upright chairs. A battered sofa and coffee table were placed in front of a television set. She wondered whether his bedroom might contain more signs of
individuality.

Jimmy’s face was a polite blank.

‘Can you think of anyone at all who might have wanted to kill your mother?’ began Agatha.

‘Mum irritated a lot of people but not enough to make anyone want to kill her.’

‘Did she have trouble with anyone apart from the villagers recently?’

He shook his head. Then he said, ‘Blentyn’s were annoying her a bit.’

‘Who are they?’

‘A building developer. He was anxious to start building on the bit of land where those ruined houses are. Mum kept telling him to wait. The boss, Joe Trump, he said that recession was
coming and if she didn’t hurry up, he’d be unable to sell the houses. He was quite threatening.’

‘Where can I find Blentyn’s?’

‘Out on the industrial estate at Mircester.’

‘You must have hated your mother for having stuck you in this shop,’ said Agatha.

‘She was my mother. You can’t hate your own mother.’

‘It happens,’ said Agatha. ‘What will you do now?’

His brown eyes gleamed. ‘I’ll travel. I’ll go to all the places I ever wanted to see.’

‘When is the funeral?’

‘We don’t know. The police said they would let us know when they are releasing the . . . the . . . body.’

His eyes filled with tears and he shouted, ‘I was enjoying myself. This was
my
day! Why did you have to come along and spoil everything?’

Suddenly nonplussed, Agatha rose to her feet and muttered, ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

She clattered down the wooden stairs and out through the shop. It had begun to rain. Long fingers of rain were trailing across the stubble of the fields.

Agatha cursed herself as she walked to the car. Why had she run away like that? A real detective would have persevered.

Toni looked down from the window of her flat that evening and shrank back as she saw her brother coming along the street with two of his mates. They were glancing up at the
buildings, searching for something. She had a sickening feeling they were looking for her.

She took another cautious look. She had phoned a friend, Maggie Spears, earlier and had asked her to come round. To her horror, she saw the three stop and start to talk to Maggie. Maggie said
something, tossed her head and walked on. Then, to Toni’s relief, Maggie walked straight past the entrance to the flats.

Five minutes later, Toni’s phone rang. It was Maggie. ‘That no-good brother of yours was asking where you were. I’ll come back when it’s safe. I told him you lived in
Beacon Street, you know, out on the Evesham Road.’

‘Thanks, Maggie,’ said Toni. ‘I’ll be glad to see you.’

Phil drove up to the manor, parked discreetly behind the stables as he saw a police car approaching and went in search of the gardener, Fred Instick.

He found Fred, a gnarled old man, sitting on the edge of a wall smoking his pipe, seemingly unmindful of the steady drizzle falling down from the leaden sky above.

‘I am a private detective,’ said Phil. ‘Is there anywhere we can talk out of the rain?’

Fred, by way of reply, walked off in the direction of a potting shed at a corner of the garden.

Phil took down the large golf umbrella he had been holding over his head and followed Fred inside.

Fred looked gloomily at his wet pipe, gave it a shake, put it down and drew out a packet of cigarettes.

Phil waited until he had lit a cigarette and then asked, ‘Do you know of anyone who would be likely to have murdered Mrs Tamworthy?’

Fred puffed slowly at his cigarette. His face was as dry and brown and cracked as a bed of earth in a drought. ‘Reckon I might ha’ done it,’ he said at last.

‘Why?’

‘Starvation pension, that’s why. Her said she’d pay me cash. “Don’t want to worry about taxes, Fred,” that’s what her did say. Now she’s gone and
them’ll sell up and what’ll I do? They’ll sell my cottage and I ain’t got a pension worth looking at cos there’s no official record of me being employed.’

Phil, who was in his seventies, looked sympathetically at the old gardener. Then he had an idea. Agatha paid him a generous salary and expenses.

‘Look here, it’s hard to try to get information about what goes on in the manor. We’d gladly pay you for anything you can find out.’

‘You mean like snooping?’

‘Hard word, but that’s what detective work is all about.’

‘I could do with the money. I’ve had a right hard time of it with the police grilling me and demanding to know if I supplied hemlock by accident along with the other
vegetables.’

‘Here’s my card,’ said Phil. ‘Any little thing you can think of. Keep your ears open. You’re sure you don’t have any idea who did the murder?’

‘I think it were her youngest, Jimmy. The others lived away from the manor but he were right up the road. Some mother that old woman was.’

‘Right, let me know if you think of anything else.’

As Phil left the potting shed, the rain had increased to a steady downpour. He got into his car and drove round to the front of the manor. The police car was still there, but no sign of
Agatha’s car. He decided to go back to the office and write up his notes.

Fred made his way up to the manor house with a basket of vegetables. He went in by the kitchen door and laid the basket on the table. He could hear them all talking in the
drawing room. He felt sour and bitter. There they all were, having inherited a fortune while he was facing the remainder of his days in poverty.