Dishing the Dirt

*

“Won’t she be working?” asked Roy as they made their way back to the pub.

“She works in the kitchen,” said Agatha. “They don’t serve meals after ten o’clock and it’s now ten past. We should be able to have a word with her.”

They went round to the kitchen door at the back of the pub. The door was standing open so they just walked in. Kitchen staff were clearing up, washing dishes and wiping down surfaces. Rose Fletcher was sitting at a table with a glass of beer in front of her.

“I want to ask you about Jill Davent,” Agatha shouted above the kitchen noise.

“Outside with you,” ordered Rose. “I’ll talk to you outside.”





Chapter Ten

Rose was a buxom woman with strong arms. She had dark brown curly hair and large brown eyes. “So?” she demanded.

“You were a client of Jill Davent, weren’t you?” said Agatha.

“Yes.”

“Is there anything you can tell me?” asked Agatha.

“Like what?”

“Did she try to blackmail you?”

“No,” said Rose, “but she threatened to take me to court. I wouldn’t pay her. I had a frozen shoulder. John told her about it. The next thing is she’s round at the kitchen door saying she can cure it. So I made an appointment and went along. She fiddled about with a sort of massage. It took about five minutes or so. Then she demanded sixty pounds. My shoulder was as bad as ever so I told her to get lost.

“She said, ‘I’ll see you in the Small Claims Court.’

“I said, ‘Why don’t you do that? All your qualifications will be gone into.’ She started screaming that it was dangerous to cross her. I walked away. I found an acupuncturist in Shipston-on-Stour and he was brilliant. I told everyone who would listen that she was a phony.”

“When did this happen?” asked Agatha.

“The night before she was murdered.”

“Did you see anyone else around?”

“Victoria Bannister. I bumped into her as I left. She was standing by the garden gate. I didn’t think anything of it because Victoria was always spying on people.”

“Did she say anything?” asked Agatha.

“No, she scurried off. Poor Victoria. Who would want to kill her?”

“She must have known something, or the murderer might have thought she knew something,” said Agatha. “If you hear anything, Rose, let me know.”

*

As they walked back to Agatha’s cottage, Roy’s mobile rang. He answered it and listened carefully. Agatha heard him say, “Yes, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

When he rang off, Roy did a little dance. “I’ve got it! I’m to be in Paris tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” said Agatha, but feeling suddenly low. Another week-end on her own. At her cottage, Roy said happily, “Good thing I left my travel bag in the car. Airport, here I come.”

And not one word of thanks, thought Agatha as he sped off.

As she let herself into her cottage, the phone was ringing. She snatched it up. “Hi, Agatha,” said Mark. “I might have found out something. All right if I call round?”

“Of course,” said Agatha and ran up the stairs to her bathroom to remove the old make-up and put on a fresh layer.

Welcome to the maintenance years, thought Agatha, remembering the days of her youth when her legs felt like steel and her bras were usually limp disgraceful things because her breasts didn’t need any support. Now it was all pelvic floor exercises, nonsurgical face-lifts, excruciating visits to the dentist to get the roots of her teeth cleaned, massage at Richard Rasdall’s in Stow and all the other bits of hard work to keep age at bay.

She suddenly wondered why she was going to all this trouble for a man she was not interested in, and changed into flat sandals and a blue cotton shift dress.

The bell rang as she was descending the stairs. When she opened the door, she was startled to realise she had forgotten that Mark was handsome.