Pushing Up Daisies (6 page)

“So did you really kill your father?” asked Agatha.

“No, but Andrea would like to think so. The pair of you look quite shocked. Don't listen to her, or you'll never find who really bumped my father off.”

“Why would Andrea want you to be the murderer?”

“Because all the inheritance would then go to her, wicked me not being able to profit from crime.”

“I would like to talk to the housekeeper you sacked,” said Agatha.

“Hoping that a disgruntled ex-employee will dish the dirt? As I told you, her name is Mrs. Bull, and she lives in Ivy cottage. It's right on the green. You can't miss it.”

“Is there any chance of speaking to your sister again?” asked Gerald.

“Not a hope in hell. Run along and detect elsewhere.”

Mrs. Bull looked like a gargoyle. Her ears stuck out a right angles, and she had a large nose and a curved-up mouth. Her eyes were green, the colour of sea-washed glass and just as opaque. She was very tall and thin. Agatha made the introductions.

“You'd best come in,” she said. “I can tell you a thing or two about that lot.”

She led the way into a dark parlour. Ivy Cottage lived up to its name. Ivy blocked most of the light from the windows. The room was cluttered with china ornaments, framed photographs, magazines and bunches of dried flowers. Mrs. Bull waved her hand to a horsehair sofa, indicating they should sit down. She switched on a fake log fire in the grate and then sat primly on the edge of a heavy Jacobean-type chair.

“Why were you sacked?” asked Agatha.

“I spoke to one of them reporters, and Mr. Damian sacked me.”

“Aren't you frightened that he might take this cottage away from you if you talk to us?” asked Gerald.

“Can't. It's mine. The old man gave it to me. ‘For services rendered,' he said.” She let out a cackle of laughter. “First time I heard a bit o' leg over called that.”

“You mean…” began Agatha.

“Screwed me rotten when he was drunk.”

“Didn't Mr. Bull have something to say about that?”

“Ain't no Mr. Bull. I calls myself Mrs.”

“But he had a mistress. What did Jenny have to say about that?”

“Wily bird that one. Didn't care. Said it gave her a night off.”

“So have you any idea who murdered Lord Bellington?” asked Gerald.

“'Twas that ex-wife o' his. I'll tell you why. I caught her down in the cellars one evening with a syringe in her hand.”

Agatha said, “But she is a recovering alcoholic and was probably into drugs. Maybe she was just down there to get a fix. But wait a minute. I gather she didn't come back to the hall until after Bellington died and Damian invited her.”

“That's what I mean,” said Mrs. Bull triumphantly. “Her had no cause to be there.”

“And what did Lord Bellington say when you told him?”

“Didn't.”

Agatha's bearlike eyes bored into her. “She paid you to keep quiet.”

“Well, I didn't think her was up to anything nasty-like, and the money came in handy.”

“So when was this?” asked Agatha.

“A week before he popped his clogs.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“I thought I'd get into trouble.”

“So why are you telling us?” asked Gerald.

“Someone called on the phone just afore you got here and said I'd better keep my mouth shut.”

“A man or a woman?” asked Agatha.

“Couldn't say. Metallic sort of voice.”

“But why didn't you tell the police about Lady Bellington and the syringe?” asked Gerald.

“Told you, didn't I? Don't have nothing to do with the police.”

A phone rang shrilly from the back premises. “Better answer that,” said Mrs. Bull. “Back in a mo.”

“We'll have to tell the police,” whispered Gerald.

“I think she's a fantasist. Why should Bellington want to bed someone who looks like an extra in a horror movie?”

“He was drunk and she was available,” said Gerald. “Shhh, she's coming back.”

“You'd better leave,” said Mrs. Bull. “Right now!”

“Who was on the phone?” asked Agatha.

“Friend in the village. Now, get out o' here.”

“Agatha,” said Gerald when they were clear of the village, “we really have to tell the police about her. They can check her phone. She was threatened. That last phone call really frightened her.”

“I'll see if Bill Wong is at home,” said Agatha reluctantly. “The last person I want to see is Wilkes. I think that wretched man likes dragging me in for questioning.”

They managed to prise the information out of Mrs. Wong that her son was on duty until four o'clock in the afternoon. “We'll wait in the car park outside police headquarters and catch him when he leaves,” said Agatha.

“I don't see why we are bothering with a mere detective sergeant,” said Gerald.

“Because he's clever and he'll listen properly.”

Bill came out of headquarters accompanied by Alice Peterson. They were laughing and chatting until Bill saw Agatha approaching and his face fell.

“I've discovered something important,” said Agatha. “You've got to listen.”

“All right,” said Bill reluctantly. “Out with it.” Gerald came to join them.

Bill listened intently as Agatha told him about what Mrs. Bull had said. When she had finished, Bill said, “You'll need to come in with me and make a statement, and then we'll get onto it right away.”

“Do I have to see Wilkes?” asked Agatha.

“No, it's his day off. I'll take your statements, and then we'll go and see her.”

After they had given their statements and were heading back to Carsely, Agatha said sulkily, “It looks as if we might have solved that murder and the police will take all the credit and Damian will be furious if the killer turns out to be his own mother.”

“We've still got Peta's murder to solve,” Gerald pointed out.

“And no one is paying us for that.” She drove down into the village and turned into Lilac Lane. “There's smoke coming from James's chimney. He must be home.”

“And there's Toni waiting on your doorstep,” said Gerald, smoothing back his hair.

“Probably wants some girl talk, so you'd better be off,” said Agatha. She was aware that Toni had, in the past, betrayed a liking for much older men. She parked outside her cottage. Gerald nipped out and said something to Toni, who shook her blond head.

“What was that about?” asked Agatha, after Gerald had left.

“Wanted to take me out for dinner,” said Toni.

“Old lecher,” grumbled Agatha. “What brings you?”

“A quiet Sunday so I thought I'd take a run over to Carsely and see how you are getting on.”

“Come in and I'll tell you all about it.”

Agatha had just finished talking when the doorbell rang. It was Simon Black. “Thought I'd drop in,” he said.

“Meaning you are in pursuit of Toni. Give up, Simon.”

“Well, if that's your attitude.… Actually, I'm not. Boring old day.”

“Oh, come in. She's in the kitchen.” The doorbell rang again. “Now, who is it?” demanded Agatha.

This time it was her former employee, Roy Silver, and behind him stood James Lacey. “This is getting to be a party,” said Agatha.

When they were all seated in the kitchen, she told her adventures over again. “Have the press been round?” asked Roy eagerly.

“No, Roy, so you've had a wasted visit. Is that the reason you came?”

“I need your help,” said Roy. His pasty face had a new crop of pimples which always happened when he was upset. “Pedman is threatening to sack me.” Pedman was Roy's public-relations boss.

“Why?”

“I punched a reporter on the nose.”

“Which one?”

“Bert Cunningham.”

The top reporter on the
Sketch
? How come?”

“I've been handling that pop group, Drop Dead Gorgeous. The lead singer, Jez Honor, has been charged with raping a fourteen-year-old.”

“Pedman should have stopped representing them.”

“Well, they didn't, and I got stuck with the damage limitation. I was keeping the press at bay and Cunningham called me a fairy so I punched him on the nose.”

“But you are a…” Agatha bit her lip. “Have you got what he said on tape?”

“Yes, I taped what was supposed to be a press conference. He's suing me, Aggie, and Pedman is furious.”

“Oh, talk among yourselves, you lot, while I deal with this,” said Agatha.

She returned to the kitchen after half an hour, saying wearily, “Well, that's fixed. You aren't being sued, and you're to go to work tomorrow as usual.”

Roy began to sob with relief. He said when he could, “How did you manage it?”

“I got Cunningham at home and said if he didn't drop it, I would have him damned as a homophobe. I phoned Pedman and told him Cunningham was dropping the action and he should tell that pop group that as it was all at the moment sub judice, Pedman could not represent them until after the court case. You are to take over Comfy Baby nappies.”

“Oh, God! Mary Dobbs was doing that. Why am I landed arranging photo shoots with squalling brats and mothers from hell?”

“Because she handed in her notice, that's why. Be grateful.”

“I am. Honest. Thanks, Agatha.”

“Where's James?”

“Gone home,” said Toni.

Agatha slumped down onto a chair at the kitchen table. “Simon. Fix me a gin and tonic and get something for yourself and Toni.”

Toni watched Agatha taking out a packet of cigarettes. “Still smoking,” she commented.

“So bloody what?” demanded Agatha harshly. “This is my first cigarette today.”

She lit up, inhaled and immediately felt dizzy. Agatha made a promise to herself that she would never go without fags for a long time because the first one always had a bad effect.

After all, she had tried to give up so many times, and what a waste of space that had turned out to be.

The doorbell shrilled, making her jump. “That'll probably be James,” she said.

She patted her hair in the hall mirror. Even though one had lost interest in one's ex, it doesn't do to give them the pleasure of looking frazzled. But her heart sank as she opened the door to be confronted by not only Bill, but Inspector Wilkes as well.

“This is a serious business,” said Wilkes ponderously.

“Oh, stop glooming at me on the doorstep and come in,” said Agatha.

“Mr. Devere will be joining us,” said Wilkes.

In the kitchen, Agatha said, “Toni, this is going to take some time. Why don't you and Simon go to the pub?”

After they had left, Wilkes produced Agatha and Gerald's statements. At that moment, Gerald walked into the kitchen. “Toni let me in,” he said. “What's happening?”

“Just about to find out,” said Agatha.

“Mrs. Bull has disappeared,” said Wilkes.

“Are you sure?” said Gerald. “She may have gone to a friend's house.”

“Her door was unlocked. All her things are there including her handbag. We interviewed Lady Bellington. She insists the woman was talking rubbish. The week before Lord Bellington's murder, she was in a rehab in Oxford. No record of her leaving the building. Plenty of witnesses to swear she was there the whole time.”

“Mrs. Bull got a phone call when we were there,” said Agatha. “When she came back, she looked frightened. You will see from our reports that she had already been threatened.”

“We're checking her phone line,” said Bill.

Roy interrupted them. “I've got to go. Bye, Aggie.”

“Don't call me … Oh, what's the use?” Agatha turned to Wilkes. “I can't think of anything else other than what I said in my statement.”

“Right,” said Wilkes. “A word with you in private, Mr. Devere.”

When Gerald had left with Wilkes, Agatha said, “What's he up to, Bill?”

“He was grumbling about a detective like Devere working with you. Perhaps he is frightened you will solve the murders.”

They then sat in silence until Wilkes eventually returned with Gerald and said they were leaving. After they had gone, Agatha asked, “Well, Gerald, what was that all about?”

“He said he had had a word with the superintendent, and the police would like to employ me on this case in an advisory capacity. So I won't be working for you.”

“You signed a contract,” said Agatha. “I've a good mind to keep you to it. No, on second thoughts, just get lost!”

Toni and Simon, instead of going to the pub, had made their way to the allotments to see if they could find out anything. When they arrived, allotment holders were gathered on the road outside. A full moon lit up the angry faces. Harry Perry was shouting that one of them had stolen his prize marrow. “I blame you, Bunty Daventry,” he was yelling. “You was always jealous of my fame.”

“It's only a poxy marrow,” sneered Josephine Merriweather.

“If you were a man,” raged Harry, “I'd beat the living daylights out of you.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” Josephine advanced on him, waving her fists.

“Calm down all of you,” said one of the older members, Fred Palmer. “Fighting ain't getting us anywhere. Have you called the police, Harry?”

“'Course I did, and they won't do anything. I wanted a house-to-house search.”

“Aren't we forgetting about Peta's murder?” asked Bunty.

“I'm not forgetting,” said Harry. “But she wasn't much use as a gardener anyway. The theft of my marrow is more important.”

Toni and Simon walked away from the angry voices. “Allotments seem to bring out the worst in people,” said Simon. “You'd think they'd all be rejoicing now that their precious plots aren't to be destroyed. Why don't we go to the pub?”