“Surprises are all very well, guys,” Agatha said, holding a black sequinned evening gown against herself while standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, “but a surprise trip at short notice gives a girl no chance to decide what to pack, does it?”
She turned to face them and Boswell and Hodge stared at her from the bed, their eyes wide, tails flicking. “You don’t care, do you? You just want to be fed.” Agatha draped the dress over the stool by her dressing table and made her way downstairs to the kitchen, the cats trotting at her heels. She fed her feline companions before turning her attention to her own evening meal, pouring herself a glass of red to help her consider the options. She had an individual steak-and-kidney pie in the fridge and, somewhere in the freezer, a box of microwaveable oven chips. She’d nuke the pie as well. The pastry would go floppy, but she didn’t care. There was more to think about than dainty cooking.
Sitting at the kitchen table, she sipped wine and opened the pad normally used to make shopping lists. Who would want Mary dead? Keep an open mind, she told herself. Don’t rule anything out. Let’s start with those closest to home.
Darell and Linda. Perhaps the most unlikely suspects. They really have nothing to gain from Mary’s death. Maybe a business associate might have an axe to grind or profit to make with Mary out of the way? Patrick might have come up with something on that front.
Charles. Probably still the main focus of the police investigation, but certainly not guilty of murdering Mary. Chief Inspector Wilkes, however, might be working on the assumption that Charles paid someone to do the deed—a professional hit man. Can you still say “hit man” nowadays, or is that too gender-specific? Should it be “hit person?” Ridiculous. In any case, a pro would surely have kept it clean and would never have risked being discovered setting up the bizarre suicide-in-riding-gear scenario. Nevertheless, Charles is still a police suspect.
Gustav. He would do anything for Charles. Yet Charles would never sanction Mary’s murder. He would always have wanted to find another way to deal with the Brown-Field problem. Gustav would know that. Despite the fact that the Brown-Fields might force him out of Barfield House, Gustav wouldn’t risk doing something as awful as committing murder if he thought it would turn Charles against him. It would be interesting, however, to find out a bit more about his mysterious background. He’s still a police suspect at the very least. We need to check if he has an alibi.
Mrs. Tassy. There’s no way she had anything to do with Mary’s murder, however much she loathed the Brown-Fields. The whole idea is simply beneath her dignity, and she’s not strong enough to have done it anyway. Impossible. Only Wilkes would ever be stupid enough to consider her as a suspect or that she might be acting in league with Gustav.
Me. Well, I know I didn’t do it. Wilkes might think differently, but I don’t need to waste any time investigating myself.
The microwave pinged. She took the chips out and put the pie in. She shook the chips out of their box onto a plate and tried one. Too hot. She sucked in some air to cool her mouth and took a sip of wine, returning to her list. What about the horse-riding lot? she asked herself. Toni, Patrick or Simon may have been able to come up with someone from the party list, but in the meantime, we have:
Tamara Montgomery. She was blackmailed by Mary and had her business trashed by Mary and her father. Plenty of motive. She didn’t seem like a murderer, but that means nothing. Her alibi has to be verified. “Things,” Agatha said out loud, mimicking John Cornish’s accent, “ain’t always what they seem.” The Colonel’s computer masquerading as a ledger certainly wasn’t, which brings me on to …
Claudette Duvivier. We know nothing about her. That’s something I need to sort out before I meet her on Friday. She knows who I am. I need to know all I can about her, too.
Deborah Lexington. Again, I know nothing about her, but we should know more by tomorrow. I will have to pay her a visit.
Mrs. Chadwick. Might she have been involved? She is linked to Mary through Darell and the horse brooch, but does she have a motive for murder? Could Mary have been blackmailing her too?
The truth is, Agatha decided, everywhere we turn, another suspect crops up.
The microwave pinged again and she scooped the collapsed pie onto the plate with her chips. It was not an appetising sight, but she was too hungry to care. She reached into a cupboard for some ketchup to brighten up the meal, then heard the front door opening.
“Coo-ee!” came the voice of Roy Silver. He struggled up the hall and stood in the kitchen doorway laden with carrier bags. “Can we pop down to the Red Lion, darling? My treat. I’m famished and I couldn’t possibly even consider showing you all these fabulous things without something to eat and a decent drink.”
“I’ll get my coat,” said Agatha, scraping the pie and chips into the bin.
The Raisin Investigations staff were in the office the following morning bright and early. They all assembled round Agatha’s desk and she explained that Roy would not be joining them as he was on special assignment at the stables. She then handed Toni the page from her notebook.
“The list of suspects is growing,” she informed everyone. “Read this out, please, Toni, so we can recap.”
“Eggs, tissues, milk, cat food…”
“The bottom bit!” groaned Agatha, rolling her eyes.
Toni giggled and went through the list of names. Patrick Mulligan chipped in.
“I’ve got quite a lot of background on Mary from various police contacts,” he said. “She has been cautioned a couple of times following disturbances at show-jumping events. A retired mate of mine has been working in security at some of the events and he says she has a bad reputation for getting into fights with other competitors, but charges have always been dropped.
“One of those fights was with Deborah Lexington. She lives with her brother in a house near a village called Duns Tew. Their parents died in a hotel fire in Turkey several years ago.
“Deborah says she caught Mary trying to feed something to her horse. At these events, you don’t go anywhere near anyone else’s horses without express permission or in the company of the owner. Deborah claimed that Mary was trying to nobble her horse—to drug or poison it. She grabbed hold of her and dragged her away. There was a lot of screaming and shouting and a bit of a cat fight before Mary shoved Deborah.”
“I’ve been on the receiving end of one of those shoves,” said Agatha. “She packed a lot of power into them.”
“Deborah staggered back, tripped and hit her head on a Land Rover tow bar. She was badly hurt—ended up in a coma. When she finally woke, she was partly paralysed. At one point, doctors expected that she would recover fully, but she never has.”
“Why didn’t Mary go to jail for that?” asked Simon.
“There were no actual witnesses,” Patrick explained. “Some people heard a commotion, but it was all over very quickly. Deborah’s brother was the one who found her. When she came round, it was Deborah’s word against Mary’s. Mary said Deborah must have fallen and that she was fine when she left her. No trace of any poison or drugs was ever found in the horse.”
“Wow,” gasped Toni. “If anybody had a motive to murder Mary, it was Deborah Lexington.”
“But she’s not physically capable of doing it,” said Agatha. “Still, we should pay her a visit. Have you been keeping an eye on Mrs. Chadwick, Simon, and did you find out any more about the horse brooch?”
“The house that Mrs. Chadwick and Darell use in Oxford has been empty all week,” said Simon. “Neither of them has been near the place. According to Mr. Chadwick, his wife has gone abroad and isn’t expected back until the beginning of next week.
“As far as the brooch is concerned, I spoke to a jewellery designer here in Mircester. He put me on to a London jeweller, who identified the brooch as one of her creations. She said that she made one for a particular client—wouldn’t say who—as a special birthday present for her daughter. A few weeks later the girl’s father commissioned an exact copy. Said his wife liked his daughter’s brooch so much that she wanted one as well. Those are the only two in existence.”
“I’m betting Mrs. Chadwick spotted Mary’s brooch,” said Agatha, “and demanded that Darell get her one as well.”
“She must mean a lot to him,” said Simon. “Best estimate I could get for the cost of the brooch is five to ten thousand pounds.”
“That’s peanuts to Darell,” said Patrick. “The Brown-Field business empire is worth countless millions. They started out manufacturing ladies” … um … sanitary products, but they have diversified with all sorts of investments in property and the leisure industry.
“Darell is a keen golfer. He plays in Spain and is a member of at least two golf clubs in the UK. Just like his daughter, he likes to win and doesn’t always play fair. He was kicked out of one club for cheating but was back again a couple of weeks later. When they told him he wasn’t welcome, he simply said, ‘I think you’ll find I am.’ One of his companies had bought the club. Basically, he owned the place.
“Rumour has it that his golfing cronies include some senior police officers. That may be part of the reason why no charges against Mary ever stuck. He is also known for having ways of getting to people, either through straightforward bribes or by using strong-arm tactics—scaring people off with hired help.”
“Good work, guys,” said Agatha. She knew she could be a difficult boss, but she also believed in giving credit where it was due. “I need you two to stay on top of our other cases, but try to track down some of those riders who were on the receiving end of Mary’s foul temper at competitions. They may not have pressed charges, but we need to know who they were and whether they could have been involved in her murder.”
“I think the police are already doing that,” said Patrick.
“I suppose they had to be one step ahead of us somewhere,” said Agatha. “Follow up nonetheless. We don’t want to miss anything. As a priority, I need some background on a Frenchwoman named Claudette Duvivier. She appears to be a regular on the show-jumping circuit. I’m meeting her tomorrow and want to know a bit about her. Toni, you and I will pay a visit to Deborah Lexington today. All right, let’s get to it.”
Later that morning, Agatha and Toni set off for Duns Tew, with Toni driving. They headed for Chipping Norton, then took the road towards Banbury before turning right onto a series of minor roads that grew ever narrower the farther they ventured. The low hedgerows and regular copses of trees marked the boundaries of fields that spread as far as the eye could see. Scatterings of sheep, dazzling white in the sunshine, were the only signs of life save for the sparse clusters of farm buildings. The old mellow stone buildings stood quietly, in perfect harmony with the scenery, but on crossing a bridge over a stream, Toni spotted two low, angular, overgrown concrete structures, one either side of the road.
“Those are funny little sheds,” she said.
“Not sheds,” said Agatha. “Charles has a few of those on his estate. They’re pillboxes—gun emplacements left over from the Second World War. You know what a history buff he is. He says there were almost thirty thousand of them all over the country to help fight the Nazis had they invaded. Most of them have been bulldozed by now, but he won’t let anyone touch his.”
“I think we must be nearly there,” said Toni, and the road swept into a hamlet that Agatha deemed a pleasant mix of old and more modern stone houses. They passed the White Horse Inn before finding a side road that led them to what was clearly a fairly new, late-twentieth-century house with a large front garden. The five-bar wooden gates in front of the driveway stood closed, with a red Ford hatchback parked on the drive. They left their car by the narrow pavement and walked through a smaller garden gate set in the white picket fence. By the time they reached the front door, a young man was standing waiting for them.
“Can I help you?” he asked, with a welcoming smile.
“We’re looking for Deborah Lexington,” Agatha explained. “We’d like to talk to her.”
“I’m not sure you can right now,” he said. “Come in and I’ll see if she’s up to having visitors.”
He waved them into the hall. Agatha judged him to be in his late twenties, and by the way his white T-shirt clung to his frame, he was in very good shape. Tall, lean and well muscled. She spotted Toni checking him out as well.
“I’m Jacob,” he said, giving each of them a firm handshake. “Jake—Debbie’s brother. Let me check if she’s awake.”
He disappeared into a room on the left, closing the door behind him. Agatha looked around. The decor was painfully bland and modern. The walls and ceiling were painted white and the floor was covered with a beige carpet. A white wooden staircase wound its way from the far end of the hall to the upper floor. Toni quickly walked forward and squinted up the stairs, then through to the rooms at the rear of the house. She ran a hand across some mail sitting on a wooden table by the foot of the stairs. Opposite the room into which Jake had gone was what would have been a family lounge, but through the open door Agatha could see that it was laid out with gym equipment, weights and a couple of large computer screens. Window blinds reduced the late-morning sunshine to bars of light on the floor.
“My den.” Jake had returned. “I’m a website designer and I like to work out. Makes sense to have it all in the same room. Debbie is ready for you now.”
Agatha and Toni were shown into a room that would once have been a dining room but was now more of a hospital suite. A large steel bed dominated the white room, and a pale, thin woman lay between crisp white sheets, propped up with pillows. On her left, two monitors blinked discreetly, the wires that snaked from them towards the bed no doubt attached to the patient somewhere beneath her pink silk pyjama top. To her right, a vase of fresh flowers stood on a side table, along with a TV remote control, a paperback novel, a glass of water and a bottle of perfume.
“Help me up a little more, Jake,” she said, and the young man stepped forward. She draped her left arm around his shoulders, and he eased her forward, pressing a button at the side of the bed to raise it behind her back.
“I’m Deborah Lexington.” She held out her left hand to Agatha. “The other one’s not much use any more.”
Agatha shook her hand. The skin felt warm and she noticed small beads of sweat on Deborah’s brow.
“I’m Agatha Raisin, and this—”
“Yes, I know who you both are,” said Deborah, “and I’ve heard what you’re up to. I may be stuck in this bed but my friends keep me up to date with what’s going on in the real world.”
“Then you know why we want to talk to you,” said Agatha. Jacob offered her and Toni two seats by the bed. Toni produced a notepad and pen.
“You want to talk about darling Mary Darlinda,” Deborah sneered. “The most hateful human being ever to walk the face of the earth—may she rot in hell.”
Toni looked up from her pad.
“Do I shock you?” Deborah asked, tilting her head meekly in mock innocence.
“Not at all,” said Agatha. “I think I understand why—”
“Understand?” roared Deborah. “How can you possibly understand? How can you even begin to understand what it’s like to wake up one morning and find that you’ve lost the use of your legs and your right arm? You can’t possibly understand how it feels to be trapped in this bloody bed with only that,” she pointed to the television screen hanging on the wall opposite, “and a crummy phone to keep you in touch with life outside—with what all your friends are getting up to!”
She fanned herself with her left hand and waved Jacob towards the perfume bottle.
“I’m sorry,” said Agatha. “You’re right. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through.”
“Calms me down,” said Deborah, squirting perfume into the air around her. “Used to stop me smelling of horses; now it stops me smelling of me. And you’re wrong.”
“I’m wrong? How?”
“You CAN begin to imagine. At least you can imagine how it began.” Deborah laughed. “I heard she sent you flying just like she did me. Gave you a bit of a champagne shower.”
“You are very well informed.”
“Hell, no—everybody’s been talking about that night. Friends of mine came to see me before the infamous masked ball. One of them showed me her invitation. Said she wouldn’t go, of course, after what Mary did to me … but she went anyway. She saw the whole thing between you and Mary. The Battle of Barfield House, they’re calling it.”
“It wasn’t much of a battle really,” said Agatha, “but it did help to get me arrested for murder.”
“Obviously you didn’t do it,” Deborah smirked, “even though I bet you would have liked to after she snatched your lovely Sir Charles away from you.”
“I had no reason at all to like Mary, but—”
“But you didn’t kill her because you were halfway down the drive having a heart-to-heart with Sir Charles. You were seen. You had about as much chance of strangling the bitch that night as I did.”
“If it wasn’t you and it wasn’t Agatha, then who was it?” Toni interjected. She had put down her pad and had started tinkering with her phone. Agatha scowled at her.
“How should I know?” said Deborah. “You’re the detectives. Get out there and detect! Let me know if you find who did it and I’ll give him a medal. Now go. I’m feeling tired.”
Jacob ushered them out to the hall. Toni took a step into his den.
“Is this where you spend all your time?” she asked. “Do you ever go out … socialising?”
“I work mainly from home,” he said. “I go out to meetings from time to time, and to do a little shopping, but having everything here means that I’m on hand when Debbie needs me.”
“Can she be left on her own?” said Toni.
“A nurse comes in. I’m able to go out then.”
“With your muscles,” she smiled, running a finger over a dumb-bell, “I’d have thought you could manage far heavier weights than this.”
“Bit of a pectoral strain,” Jacob explained, gently rubbing his chest. “I’m taking it easy.”
“You need to be careful,” she said, looking round the room. “This is a lovely house.”
“Not as big as the house we were brought up in, but it suits us. We moved here when our parents died. Then there was Debbie’s accident…”
“That must have been awful for you.”
“Toni,” hissed Agatha, growing increasingly impatient with Toni’s flirting. “It’s time we were going.”
Toni wound down the car windows as Agatha fastened her seat belt. The sun had made the inside of the vehicle unbearably hot.
“Phew!” she said, starting the engine. “It’s like a furnace in here. They say there’s a change in the weather coming next week. It won’t be so hot.”
“Thank you for the weather forecast,” said Agatha, “but it’s not only hot in here. It was getting pretty steamy in there too. What on earth were you playing at? ‘Do you ever go out?’ and ‘You could manage far heavier weights.’ We’re supposed to be working, finding things out, not fishing for dates.”
“I was finding things out.” Toni giggled. “Come on, it’s nearly lunchtime—let me buy you a long, cool drink!”
It took only moments for them to retrace their route back to Duns Tew, where Toni pulled into the car park behind the White Horse. At the rear of the inn, wooden tables bathed in the sunshine, but while a cold drink in the garden was an attractive option, when they went inside, the cool flagstones on the floor were irresistible. Agatha kicked off her shoes and let her feet enjoy the chill of the stones.
“Food here looks great,” said Toni, picking up a menu.
“Just a gin and tonic for me,” said Agatha, sucking in her stomach. “I’m still a little full from yet another meal at the Red Lion last night. You’d best have a lemonade—designated driver.”
She took a look around while Toni ordered their drinks. The bar area was quiet, but the White Horse had the look of a place that never stayed quiet for long. The heavy wooden beams sported traditional horse brasses but the exposed stone walls were hung with quirky modern artwork, creating an atmosphere in the seventeenth-century inn that made Agatha want to settle in for the duration. In the past, on one of those days she sometimes spent drifting through the Cotswold countryside with Charles, they probably would have stayed all afternoon. They probably would have booked a room for the night. Those days, however, were definitely in the past. She took a seat at a small table and planted her feet on the cool floor. Toni delivered the drinks.
“So if you weren’t trying to snare young Jake,” said Agatha, “what were you up to in there?”
“The house has the look of a place that is pretty much empty,” said Toni. “It felt odd. The kitchen and what looked like a garden room at the back of the house were unfurnished.”
“Maybe not so odd,” said Agatha. “Deborah must practically live in that room. Jake has the rest of the house. Too many bedrooms, too much space for a young guy. Why should he care about furnishing it all?”
“It looked like it had been furnished, though. There were furniture marks on the carpet in his den, and if he and Deborah came from a bigger house after the death of their parents, you would expect them to bring lots of furniture with them. I think the house has been cleared.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take a look at this.” Toni handed Agatha her smartphone. “The mail on the table at the bottom of the stairs looked like it came from lawyers and estate agents. Then I found this online.”
On Toni’s phone screen was a photograph of the house they had just left. The picture was on an estate agent’s website. Agatha scrolled through other pictures of the house. Deborah’s room had been photographed without her bed or monitors. Jacob’s den had neither gym equipment nor computer screens. The other rooms were equally bare. The house looked unoccupied.
“Looks like it’s ready for a buyer to move straight in,” said Agatha.
“Ideal for a quick sale,” agreed Toni, “and it has been sold. Look at the price.”
Agatha was surprised by the seven-figure sale price. She was well aware of the high property values in this part of the country, but that was a huge sum for a house like the Lexingtons.”
“That will put a lot of cash in their pockets,” she said. “Certainly enough to hire someone to take revenge on Mary.”
“It’s still a weird and risky kind of contract killing,” Toni said, “and we don’t know what their financial situation is. We don’t know how much Deborah’s medical care may be costing them.”
“Then we must find out.” Agatha sipped her drink. “Or rather you must. I need to see Charles this afternoon and update him. Come on, let’s find a shady spot to finish these drinks in the garden.”
Toni dropped Agatha at home before heading into the office. Agatha phoned Barfield House to check that Charles was home. Gustav answered.
“What do you want?” he grunted.
“Really, Gustav,” Agatha scolded him. “You could try to be a bit nicer to me. We are still on the same side, after all.”
“The way things are,” said Gustav, “I can trust no one. Sides mean nothing.”
“Is Charles at home this afternoon? I want to come and see him.”
“I believe so. I will warn him.”
“Thank you, Gustav. Every phone call with you fills me with joy … as soon as I hang up.”
There was a click. He’d beaten her to it.
Agatha took a quick shower, reapplied her make-up and picked out a sky-blue crêpe dress with a delicate yellow flower pattern, a low V neck and cinched sleeves. A thin belt at the waist made it ideal for her figure. It was summery, but she was seeing Charles, not just any ordinary client, and if Toni the weather girl was right, then the fine weather was due to end and summer could fast be fading into the distant future again. This dress deserved to be worn in the sunshine, and now was the time to do it.
She was halfway down the garden path, heading for her car, when she heard James calling to her. He was standing in the doorway of his cottage, a book in one hand and a teacup in the other, as always.
“Aggie, are you off out, darling?” he said. “That’s a splendid dress.”
“Thank you, James. In a bit of a hurry. Off to see Charles.”
“Oh, right … Er, wondered if you fancied dinner tonight. I’ll cook.”
“Something light maybe,” said Agatha, feeling the belt quite tight around her middle. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”
“A salade Niçoise, then!” Charles grinned. “I have just the wine to go with it.”
“Oh, but I have Roy staying.”
“Well, I suppose … Roy is welcome too, naturally.”
“Lovely. Talk later.”
James sauntered back into his living room and sat down with his book. He found himself staring at the pages without reading. Romantic notions had never come easily to him. He had always been solidly pragmatic rather than wildly sentimental, and that little episode on the doorstep had ably demonstrated the wisdom of his ways. Somehow his attempt to conjure up a romantic dinner for two had resulted in a friendly dinner for three. Still, Roy wasn’t such a bad chap, and Aggie had looked very attractive in that blue dress. She was, of course, wearing it to meet another man, Charles, who, now that his wife was out of the way, was presumably back on the market again.
He snapped his book shut. If there was a challenge to be faced, he wasn’t about to shy away from it. Sir Charles Fraith could not dodge in and out of Agatha’s life as he pleased. Whatever mess she was trying to extricate reckless, unreliable Charles from, he had to make it clear that she would always have steadfast, dependable James to fall back on. So … dinner for three, then.
On arriving at Barfield House, Agatha decided to avoid the frustration of another encounter with Gustav. Rather than ring the doorbell, she walked round to the terrace at the side of the house. At this time of day, she knew precisely where Charles would be.
The French doors to the library stood open to encourage any breeze that might choose to drift in from the lawn. Agatha paused in the doorway.
“Charles, there’s some strange woman on the terrace.” The reedy descant of Mrs. Tassy shredded the atmosphere like a dagger drawn down a window pane. Agatha sighed and shook her head. Mrs. Tassy knew exactly who she was. Referring to her as “some strange woman” was the old lady’s way of making it known that she disapproved of Agatha arriving in an unorthodox manner, unannounced. Mrs. Tassy sat tall in a wing-backed chair, her crown of silver hair framing her grey face. Her high-necked, long-sleeved black dress reached almost to her ankles, conceding nothing to the spring heatwave. She tutted at Agatha and returned to the book she was reading.
Charles looked up from the paperwork on his desk. Silhouetted in the doorway, with the sun behind her, the pleasing outline of Agatha’s body was visible through the fabric of her dress. He smiled.
“I take it the Brown-Fields are absent,” said Agatha, nodding towards Mrs. Tassy, “if the undead have resurfaced?”
“At their London flat,” said Charles. “Come in and grab a seat, Aggie. I’ll get us a drink.” He rang a small handbell on his desk and called towards the open library door. “GUSTAV!”
Gustav duly appeared and glowered at Agatha.
“Oh … you are here,” he grumbled.
“Oh…” Agatha mimicked him, examining her arms as if to check, then giving him a shrug, “so I am.”
Charles asked Gustav to bring them gin and tonics. “And a sherry for the wraith,” added the old lady.
“Aunt, Agatha and I need to talk about her investigation,” said Charles.
“Go ahead,” said Mrs. Tassy. “I have been persecuted and ostracised in this house for months. I refuse to be banished from this room. I am reading a book, and this is the library, where one reads books.”
Agatha started to bring Charles up to date. She decided to keep the relationship between Darell and Mrs. Chadwick under wraps for the moment, but explained about Tamara and then mentioned Deborah Lexington. Gustav appeared with their drinks.
“Will that be all?” he asked. “Or are other guests likely to materialise?”
“That will be all, Gustav,” said Charles, then turned back to Agatha. “Lexington … I’m sure my father had friends by that name.”
“Would that be the Idbury Lexingtons?” came the voice of Mrs. Tassy. “They used to visit when you were away at school, Charles, or up at Cambridge. The girl, Deborah, was a teenager by then, the boy slightly younger—Jason, I believe…”
“Jacob,” said Agatha.
“Yes, yes, that’s what I said—Jacob. It was rather nice seeing children playing on the lawn. They were full of vigour, full of life. They used to lead poor Gustav a merry dance. Played all sorts of tricks on him. They stopped coming after the parents died in a dreadful fire at a hotel in Greece…”
“Turkey,” said Agatha.
“Yes, yes, of course,” said the old lady tetchily. “She does like to contradict, does she not, Charles?”
“It’s Agatha’s job to get things like that right,” Charles laughed.
Agatha explained about Deborah’s altercation with Mary.
“You knew nothing about that?” she asked.
“Didn’t know Mary then,” Charles explained, “and you know that I’ve never taken any interest in the horsey crowd.”
“It’s strange that the Lexingtons used to visit all those years ago,” said Agatha.
“Lots of people used to visit,” said Charles. “It’s just a coincidence.”
“In a murder investigation, we can’t afford to write things off as coincidence. Coincidences are highly suspicious.”
“You consider Deborah Lexington a suspect?”
“A fairly unlikely suspect, given her circumstances,” Agatha admitted. “We’re still looking at her and Tamara and … Well, there won’t be any shortage of suspects. I’m meeting another person of interest tomorrow. A Frenchwoman, Claudette Duvivier.”
“How is her English?” asked Charles, sounding keen to get involved. “I could translate, if you like.”
“It’s best if you’re not involved,” Agatha said, “and we are apparently off to Bordeaux.”
“Is that going to be at my expense?”
“No, Charles, I have been invited. It appears to be a freebie.”
“Careful. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”
“You of all people should know that’s not true!” Agatha laughed. “I’ve lost count of the free lunches and dinners that you and your elusive wallet have wangled. Whoops!” she added, glancing at her watch. “Is that the time? I should be going.”
“Let me walk you to your car,” offered Charles.
They strolled together in the sunshine, pausing for a moment to take in the view over the lawn to the mature parkland beyond. At the car, Charles slipped his arm around Agatha’s shoulder.
“Thank you for everything you’re doing,” he said. “I would be lost without you.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her face away and the kiss landed on her ear.
“Steady, tiger,” she said gently. “Let’s keep this a professional relationship. Otherwise one or both of us could yet end up in jail.”
She stepped into the car and headed for home.