Dishing the Dirt

He grinned. “This is so sudden.” He planted a kiss on her nose. “I’ll be careful.”


Charles slipped on his shoes and went out into the lane. The air was damp and close and there was no moon. He ran lightly to the end of the lane. There was a streetlight at the corner. But it appeared the whole of Carsely had gone to sleep. Charles returned slowly to Agatha’s cottage. He was worried about her. He had known Agatha to cope with murder and mayhem before and she always came bouncing back from every fright as good as new. But these murders were getting to her. She should get away on holiday and forget about the whole thing.

A pattering in the leaves of the lilac tree at the gate made him look up. Rain was beginning to fall.

“Anything?” demanded Agatha as he walked in.

“Nothing. Go to bed. You should go away somewhere, Aggie, and forget about the whole business. You’re becoming a nervous wreck.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I nail this bastard,” said Agatha.

“Well, go to bed and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

*

The grey, drizzly morning had a calming effect on Agatha. Horrors somehow seemed worse in bright sunlight. Charles was already up and on his way out. “Maybe see you later,” he said.

Agatha had sometimes thought she might tell him she was turning the spare room into an office because she did not like the cavalier way he came and went in her life, but, she reminded herself, he had saved her life.

She decided to forget about the murders for the time being and concentrate on the work in hand. It was a busy week and the staff all worked hard. Agatha realised with delight that she would finally be able to give everyone a bonus and that news, delivered to her staff on Friday evening, was greeted with a great cheer. Agatha often worked on Saturdays with one other member of her staff, but decided that this time, as part of the celebration, they should all have the week-end off.

Agatha was sure Charles would have disappeared again. She did not want to be alone and planned to leave her cottage and walk up to the pub. But as she arrived, she saw Roy Silver’s car parked outside her door. She often viewed her former employee as an irritation. He was asleep at the wheel. She rapped on the window and he came awake with a start.

When he got out of the car, Agatha noticed that, for Roy, he was more soberly dressed than usual, wearing a business suit, but with a white shirt open at the neck, revealing enough gold chains to make an Indian woman’s dowry.

“You’ve got to help me,” he said as soon as he was out of the car.

“Come inside and tell me all about it,” said Agatha. She wondered for a moment if Mark would phone and reminded herself she was not really interested in him.

The rain had stopped but the garden was still soaked. They sat in the living room. Roy asked for a vodka and tonic and Agatha helped herself to a gin and tonic.

“Now,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I was to handle the Leman account, you know, the Paris perfume people. Big promotion for their new perfume, Passion. Pedman gave it to that conniving bitch Maisie Byles.” Pedman was Roy’s boss.

“The wonderful world of public relations,” said Agatha. “I’m glad to be out of it. Who the hell is Maisie Byles?”

“She only joined a month ago. Came from our rivals, JIG Publicity. Smarmed all over Mr. Pedman from day one.”

“What does she look like?”

“Rabbity. Protruding eyes and big teeth.”

“So how has she managed to charm Pedman?”

She found out the date of his little son’s birthday and brought in a present. She offered to babysit when his babysitter let him down.”

“JIG Publicity is a big powerful firm,” said Agatha. “Why did she leave?”

“Don’t know. She sneers at me.”

“I’ve got a contact at JIG,” said Agatha. “I’ll see if I’ve got his home number.”

She went to her desk, pulled out a drawer and lifted out a bulging address book.