Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

FOUR

AGATHA felt quite excited as she made her way along the promenade to Partons Lane.

At the cottage, a surly-looking young man answered the door. "You got an appointment?" he demanded.

"No."

"Well, you'll need to come back. Two o'clock's the first free appointment."

"Put my name down," said Agatha. "Agatha Raisin."

"Right you are."

"You won't forget?"

"Naw."

So that's that for the moment, Agatha thought. She made her way to the pub where she had first met Jimmy. To her surprise and delight, he was sitting at a table with a half-finished glass of lager in front of him.

"Agatha!" He rose to his feet. "Sit down and I'll get you something. The usual?"

"Thanks, Jimmy."

Jimmy returned with her drink. "So how are things?" he asked.

"I've been jauntering around with the people from the hotel. We're going to the dance tonight. Have they found out when the murder was committed?"

"Can't ever be exact. She hadn't had any supper. Nothing in her stomach to indicate she'd eaten anything since lunch-time. The pathologist thinks it might have been between five and six o'clock, going by rigor mortis and all that sort of business."

"Oh, but that means it could have been done by one of them at the hotel. Surely the neighbours saw who went in and out."

"There's the problem. The cottages on either side and across the road are weekend cottages. And the only permanent resident four doors away is nearly blind."

"But someone carrying a cash box and emptying out the contents and throwing it over the sea-wall would surely be noticed."

"Not really. Have you been around Wyckhadden at six o'clock? It's the ideal time for a murder. All the shops and offices are closed and everyone indoors having their tea. Only the really posh still have dinner in the evening down here. The murderer could have transferred the money into coat pockets and then just have dropped the empty box over the wall. It was high tide and the sea would have been up."

"But the appointments book. Was anyone booked in for six?"

"She always took the last appointment at four-thirty. That was a Mrs. Derwent, who took her little boy along who's got trouble with asthma."

"What about the weapon? Surely that would have been dropped over the sea-wall with the box?"

"Maybe. But there's everything down there at low tide that could have been used--empty bottles, iron bars, bits of wood. The sea's rough and the pebbles would have scoured any evidence clean away."

"So are you looking for anyone?"

"We suspected Janine's husband, Cliff. But he has a cast-iron alibi. He was playing bowls from early afternoon to late evening at the bowling alley over at Hadderton. Masses of witnesses."

"Rats."

"As you say, rats. Don't worry about it, Agatha. At least you lot at the hotel seem to be in the clear."

"Why?"

"It's a young man's murder. I'm sure of that. That blow that killed her was done with one brutal bashing to the head."

"They're pretty spry, and Jennifer Stobbs, for example, is still a powerful woman."

"It's usually someone with a bit of form, and they're all respectable people who don't need the cash. It takes a lot of money to pay the Garden's prices, year in, year out. Your hair's grown back in. Very nice."

"I wonder if it was that lotion I got from Francie."

"I think it would probably have grown back in anyway. I'll need to go."

"We're all going to the pier dance tonight," said Agatha hopefully.

"If I find a spare minute, I'll drop in. But don't waste time worrying anymore about who did the murder. If you ask me, it could have been anyone. She had so many clients over the years and one of them could have seen her putting money away in that box and talked about it at home. Some youth hears about it and tells his pals. I've a nasty feeling this one isn't going to be solved."

Agatha walked back to Partons Lane. Again the young man answered the door. "Are you Cliff? Janine's husband?" asked Agatha.

"Yes." He led her into the living-room and said, "Wait there."

The white cat was lying on the hearth. It saw Agatha and bared its pointed teeth in a hiss. Agatha eyed it warily in case it flew at her again.

Janine came in. She had dyed blonde hair piled up on top of her head. She had hard pale blue eyes fringed with white lashes, a thin, long nose and that L-shaped jaw which used to be regarded as a thing of beauty in Hollywood actresses of the eighties.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, smiling. The smile was not reflected in her hard, assessing eyes. Agatha felt that every item she was wearing had been priced.

"Your mother--excuse me, my condolences on your sad loss--sold me some hair tonic. I wonder if you have any left."

"No, I'm sorry. I threw a lot of that stuff out. I don't deal so much in potions. I have seances, palm-reading, tarot, things like that. I could read your palm."

"How much?"

"Ten pounds."

Pretty steep, thought Agatha, but she was anxious to ingratiate herself with Janine.

"All right."

"Give me your hands."

Agatha held out her hands. "You have a strong character," said Janine. "Like getting your own way."

"I don't need a character assessment," said Agatha testily.

"You have suffered a bereavement recently, a violent bereavement." Agatha's husband's murder had been in all the papers. "There are now three men in your life. Each loves you in his own way, but you will never marry again. There has been a great deal of danger in your life up until now, but that is all gone. You will now lead a quiet life until you die. Nor will you have sex with anyone from now on."

"How can you tell all that?" Agatha was feeling angry.

"There is an affinity between us. You found my mother. There is a psychic bond between us. That is all."

What a rotten ten pounds worth, thought Agatha, and then was about to say something when she was hit by an idea.

"You said you do seances," she said.

"Yes, I call up the spirits of the dead."

"So who does your mother say murdered her?"

"It is too early. Any day now. She is getting established on the other side."

Can't be unpacking anyway, thought Agatha sourly.

"Look, there's six of us along at the Garden Hotel. Would you consider doing a seance for us if the others are agreeable?"

"Certainly."

"At the hotel?"

"No, I always do seances here."

I'll bet you do, thought Agatha. Too many tricks to carry along.

She said aloud, "I'll check with the others and let you know."

She paid over ten pounds. "How much do you charge for a seance?"

"Two hundred pounds."

"Blimey."

"It takes a lot out of me."

And a lot out of everyone else's pocket, thought Agatha as she stumped along the promenade some minutes later.

When she arrived at the hotel, she took a look in the lounge. Mary was on her own by the fire, knitting. Agatha decided to join her. Mary rarely said anything. Jennifer always acted as spokeswoman for both of them.

Taking off her coat, Agatha sat down opposite her. Mary gave her a brief smile and went on knitting. She must have been quite pretty once, in a weak, rabbity sort of way, thought Agatha.

"I went to see Janine," said Agatha.

"Francie's daughter? What was she like?"

"Read my palm at great expense and talked a lot of bollocks. Still, it might be a hoot if we all went along to one of her seances."

"Do you think those things are real?"

"I can't see how. But it might be fun. She charges two hundred pounds, would you believe? Still, split up amongst six of us, it isn't too bad."

"I wonder if she can tell about the living? I mean, if her spirits can tell about the living."

"I doubt if she can any more than I can bring myself to believe she talks to the dead. Why the living?"

"Just someone I was keen on a long time ago."

"A man?" asked Agatha, who often wondered whether Mary was in a relationship with Jennifer.

"Of course, a man. I often wonder where he is and what he is doing."

"Didn't it work out?" asked Agatha sympathetically, thinking of James Lacey.

"It all went wrong." Mary's large brown eyes filled with memories. "But for a while, we were so happy. I was on holiday with my parents here, in Wyckhadden, and it was at this very hotel that I met him."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-two," said Mary on a sigh. "A long time ago. We got friendly, we walked on the beach, we went to dances."

"Did you have an affair?"

Mary looked shocked. "Oh, nothing like that. I mean, one didn't... then."

"And so how did it end?"

"I gave him my address. I was living in Cirencester then with my parents. He lived in London. I waited but he didn't write. He hadn't given me a phone number, but I had his address. At last I couldn't bear it any longer. I went up to London, to the address he had given me. It was a rooming-house. The people there had never heard of him."

"Maybe he gave you a false name?"

"It was his real name, the one he gave me, because he had a car. He had just passed his driving test and was very proud of his new licence. It had his name on it, Joseph Brady. I described what he looked like and I even had a photo with me, but the people in the rooming-house said he had never lived there and one lady had been there for the past ten years! He had said he was an advertising copy-writer. When I got home, I phoned all the advertising agencies that were listed. I went off sick from work to do it. Nobody had heard of him. I couldn't get over him. I went back to Wyckhadden year after year, always hoping to see him.

"Was he on his own here at the hotel?" asked Agatha.

"Yes."

"You didn't notice the address of the driving licence?"

She shook her head.

"What about the hotel register?"

"I didn't like to ask."

Agatha rose to her feet. "I'll try to find out for you."

"How?"

"I'm sure they have all the old books locked away somewhere. What year was this?"

"It was in the summer of 1955, in July, around the tenth. But don't tell Jennifer."

Agatha sat down again. "Why?"

"I met up with Jennifer ten years afterwards. My parents were poorly and I came here on my own. I told her all about Joseph. She told me I was wasting my life. We became friends. She had, has, such energy. I was working as a secretary. She told me to take a computer programming course. She said it would get me good money."

"What did Jennifer do?"

"She was a maths teacher at a London school."

"Teachers aren't well paid," Agatha pointed out. "Why didn't she take a course herself?"

"Jennifer has a vocation for teaching."

"I see," commented Agatha drily.

"So I did very well but then my parents died, one after the other, and I had a bit of a breakdown. Jennifer moved in with me in the long summer vac and looked after me. Then she suggested I should sell my parents' house and take a flat with her in London. It seemed such an adventure. I got a programming job with a City firm."

"But you must have met other people, other men," said Agatha.

"At first, Jennifer gave a lot of parties but the people that came were mostly schoolteachers. I invited people from the office but they didn't seem to enjoy the parties and they stopped coming."

"Didn't you make friends with any of the women in the office?"

"Sometimes one of them would suggest we had a drink after work, but Jennifer usually waited for me after work and so..."

Jennifer's a leech, thought Agatha.

She stood up again. "I'll see what I can do with the records."

Agatha went into Mr. Martin's office and asked him if it would be possible to look up old records. He said all the old books were down in the cellars and she was welcome to try but he could not spare any of the staff to help her. He handed Agatha a large key and led her downstairs to the basement and then indicated a low door. "Down there," he said. "You'll find them all stacked on bookshelves at the back of all the junk."

Agatha unlocked the door and made her way down stone steps. The basement was full of old bits of furniture, dusty curtains, even oil lamps. She picked her way through the clutter to the piles of bound hotel registers, which were piled up on shelves in a far corner. To her relief, the date of each year was stamped on the outside.

She had to lift down piles of books to get at the one marked "1955." She sat down on a battered old sofa and opened it, searching until she found July.

She ran her fingers down the entries, glad it was such a small hotel so she did not have a multitude of names to look through. And then she found it, Joseph Brady. Agatha frowned. He had given his address as 92 Sheep Street, Hadderton. What on earth was someone with a car who lived in Hadderton and who could easily have motored over every day doing spending a holiday in an expensive place like the Garden Hotel?

She took a small notebook from her handbag and wrote down the address, put the book back, went upstairs and returned the key to the office and went into the lounge where Mary was still knitting.

"I've found it," said Agatha.

"You have? Just like that? And after all these years ..."

"The funny thing is he's given an address in Hadderton, and Hadderton's so close."

She held out the piece of paper. "I can't believe it," whispered Mary.

"We may as well lay your ghost. We'll go tomorrow."

"It might be a good idea if we didn't tell Jennifer," said Mary.

"Will that be difficult?"

"I don't think so. I'll say I'm going with you to look at a dress."

"Right you are. I'll ask the others what they think about the seance when we all meet up tonight."

Jennifer was scornful of the idea of a seance and said so, loudly. Daisy said she had decided that things like that were best left alone. But the colonel showed unexpected enthusiasm and said it "sounded like a bit of a lark." Harry said it would be interesting to see what fraudulent tricks Janine got up to. Daisy capitulated to please the colonel. And so it was decided that Agatha should arrange it for an evening in two days' time. She phoned Janine, who said she would expect them all at nine in the evening.

After dinner, they set out to walk to the dance. They were all unusually silent and Jennifer was openly sulking. She obviously did not like the idea of the seance, but did not want to be left out.

Although they all danced amiably enough that evening, there was an odd sort of constraint which Agatha could not understand. She kept looking towards the doorway of the ballroom, always hoping to see Jimmy arrive, but the evening wore on and there was no sign of him. At last, Daisy said she had a bit of a headache and would like to return to the hotel and the others agreed.

And what was all that about? wondered Agatha as she got ready for bed. Could it be that the idea of the seance frightened one of them and that inner fright had subconsciously communicated itself to the others? Could it be remotely possible that one of them had committed the murder?

And why hadn't Jimmy come? Maybe the love potion wore off after a while.

In the morning, Agatha and a guilty-looking Mary took a cab to Hadderton. "No trouble getting away?" asked Agatha.

"No, not this time, but she did somehow make me feel guilty."

"Worse than having a bullying husband."

"Oh, you mustn't say that, Agatha. Jennifer's the only true friend I've ever had."

They fell silent as the old cab rattled into Hadderton.

"Sheep Street," called the taxi driver.

"Ninety-two," called back Agatha as the cab slowed to a crawl. Sheep Street was lined with red brick houses. Some were smartened up with window-boxes and with the doors and window-sashes painted bright colours. But the others were distinctly seedy. And ninety-two was one of the seedy ones.

"Shouldn't we just leave it alone?" pleaded Mary as Agatha paid off the cab.

"May as well go through with it now we're here." Agatha marched determinedly up to the front door and knocked on it.

"He probably left here years ago," said Mary.

The door opened and a very old woman stood there, peering up at them. "We're looking for Joseph Brady," said Agatha.

"Come in." She shuffled off into the interior and they followed her. The living-room into which she led them was dark and furnished with battered old chairs and a sagging sofa.

"This is Mary Dulsey and I am Agatha Raisin," began Agatha. "Mary knew Joseph when he was much younger. She always wondered what became of him. Do you know him?"

"He's my son."

They both looked at the old woman. She eased herself into an armchair. Her hands were knobbly with arthritis and her face was seamed and wrinkled.

Mary seemed to have been struck dumb. "Where is he?" asked Agatha.

Mrs. Brady gave a wheezy little sigh. "Doing time."

"Why, what for?" asked Agatha, ignoring Mary's yelp of distress.

"Same old business. Stealing cars." She peered at Mary. "How did you know him?"

Mary found her voice, albeit a trembling voice. "It was years ago, in 1955. At Wyckhadden. At the Garden Hotel."

Mrs. Brady nodded. "That would be about the first time he got into trouble."

"With the police?" asked Agatha.

"Yes," she said wearily. "He was working as a car salesman for a firm in Hadderton. He'd just got his driving licence. He stole a car and he stole the money from the firm's office. He said afterwards that he had planned to go to a posh hotel and look for a rich girl." The old eyes looked sympathetically at Mary. "Was that you, dear?"

"I suppose so," said Mary miserably. "We weren't rich. My father was only a lawyer."

"That would be rich to Joseph. We never had much, see. Well, the police got him a couple of days after he came back. How he thought he'd get away with it, I don't know. He'd left the stolen car in a side street, as if someone else had pinched it. But he'd left his fingerprints all over the office at the car firm and the police found the rest of the money hidden in his room. He swore he'd never do anything like that again. He got a light sentence, but it was hard to get work with a criminal record. He left home one day shortly after that. Said he was going to Australia. Then, four years later, he wrote to me from prison. Cars again and a longer sentence. Then it was burglary. The latest was stealing cars and driving them over to some crooked dealer in Bulgaria."

"Have you a recent photograph?" asked Agatha.

Mrs. Brady rose painfully from her chair and lifted a cardboard box down from a shelf beside the fireplace. She rested it on a small table, and putting on a pair of spectacles, began to look through the photographs. She lifted one out and handed it to Mary. "That you, miss?"

Mary looked down at a picture of herself and Joseph on the prom at Wyckhadden. "Yes," she said in a choked voice. "One of those beach photographers took that picture. One for me, one for Joseph."

"Here's one taken before his last sentence." Mrs. Brady handed Mary a photograph. Agatha joined Mary and looked down at it. The Joseph in this picture was baring a set of false teeth at the camera. He was nearly bald and his weasely face bore little resemblance to the young man on the prom.

Agatha looked at Mary's shocked face. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Brady. We are really sorry to have troubled you."

"I'll see you to the door," she said. "Funny, there was always some girl or another over the years that he'd said he was going to marry, but the law always caught up with him first."

Out in the street, Mary walked a little way with Agatha and then broke down and cried and cried, saying over and over again in between sobs, "How could you have done this to me, Agatha?"

"But you wanted to find him," protested Agatha, but feeling guilty all the same. It would have been better to have left poor Mary with her dream intact. A cold wind whistled down Sheep Street. Wind chimes hung over a door tinkled their foreign exotic sound.

"Let's find a pub," said Agatha.

They turned the corner of Sheep Street and found a small pub. Agatha ordered brandies. Mary drank and sobbed and sobbed and drank. Agatha waited patiently. At last Mary dried her eyes and blew her nose.

"All these years," she said, "I've carried this bright dream of Joseph. One day he would come back if only I kept going to Wyckhadden. I put up with Jennifer because I had this dream. Now I have nothing."

"I wish I had left things alone," said Agatha. "But how were we to know he'd turn out to be a criminal?"

"It's not really your fault. I had to know," said Mary. "I'll have to tell Jennifer."

"Why?"

"She'll know something is up with me."

"Oh, well, tell her if you must," said Agatha, suddenly weary of the whole business. There was a cigarette machine in the corner of the pub. She looked at it longingly. But it was years and years since she had gone so long without a cigarette. Stick it out, Agatha!

Back at the hotel, Agatha found Jimmy waiting for her. He looked curiously at red-eyed Mary, who darted past him and up the stairs. "What's up with her?"

"Let's go for a walk and I'll tell you about it."

Once out on the promenade, he took Agatha's arm and said, "You smell of brandy. Starting early?"

"Consoling Mary." As they walked along, Agatha told him about Joseph.

"Poor woman," he said when Agatha had finished. "I could have found all that out for her."

"I never thought of asking you. Mary didn't think for a minute that he was a criminal."

Agatha then told him about the seance. "We've still got our eye on Janine's husband. You should be careful."

"I thought he had a cast-iron alibi."

"I'm always suspicious of people with cast-iron alibis."

"Why did you call to see me, Jimmy?"

"I wanted to ask you out for dinner tonight. There's this new Italian restaurant."

"I would love to."

"That's fine. I'll pick you up at eight. I'd better walk you back now. I've a lot of paperwork to do."

* * *

Tired after all the morning's emotion, Agatha planned to lie down that afternoon and then enjoy a leisurely time getting ready for her date. She was just about to pull her sweater over her head when there came a peremptory knocking at the door. She tugged down her sweater and went to open it. Jennifer stood there, her fists clenched and eyes blazing with anger. "I want a word with you, you interfering bitch!"

"Come in," said Agatha wearily.

Jennifer strode into the room. "You have destroyed Mary's happiness. She needed that dream."

Agatha looked at her in sudden dislike. "You destroyed Mary's dreams," she said furiously. "You've hung on to her like a leech for years. What chance did she ever have to make other friends with you around?"

"How dare you? Who nursed her back to health after her parents' death? Who steered her into a profitable occupation?"

"You did. So much easier than doing anything about your own life. You're not angry, Jennifer. You're frightened. As long as Mary had the dream of Joseph coming back, you were safe. Without her dream, she's going to look back on a wasted life."

Jennifer turned an ugly muddy colour. "Just keep out of her life or it'll be the worse for you."

She strode out and slammed the door. Agatha sat down, her legs shaking. Now there was surely someone who could have committed murder. She tried to have a nap that afternoon but could not sleep. She was torn between leaving Wyckhadden and escaping from what looked like an ugly situation with Jennifer and staying and finding out more about the murder. And then there was Jimmy. After Charles's fickle unfaithfulness and James Lacey's coldness, it was wonderful to have some man really keen on her. Perhaps they could get married.

Agatha phoned Mrs. Bloxby at the vicarage in Carsely. "How nice to hear from you," cried Mrs. Bloxby. "We're all wondering when you're coming back. Not getting too much involved in this nasty murder?"

Agatha settled down to tell her all about the murder, the residents at the hotel, her growing friendship with Jimmy, and the row with Jennifer.

"I wouldn't blame Jennifer too much," said Mrs. Bloxby when Agatha had finished. "I have met many women like Mary. If it hadn't been Jennifer, it would have been someone very like her. Or it could have been a bullying man. You will probably find that her parents were rather domineering. And this Jimmy of yours sounds hopeful."

"How's James?" asked Agatha abruptly.

"He seems very well." Mrs. Bloxby was not going to tell Agatha that James had been asking about her. Let Agatha progress with Jimmy.

"And my cats?"

"Doris Simpson is looking after them very well. We're all missing you."

"Just a few more days and then I'll probably be home."

When Agatha rang off, she suddenly remembered Janine's grim remark that she would never have sex again. "We'll see about that," thought Agatha as she shaved her legs, and then rubbed Lancome's Poeme body lotion into her skin.

The evening began as a success. Jimmy told stories about his job in Wyckhadden and Agatha replied with tales of Carsely and the residents, although she did not mention James.

He drove her back to the hotel and then turned and gathered her in his arms. "Oh, Agatha," he said huskily and kissed her. Agatha replied with a passion that surprised her. Damn that witch. She would prove her wrong. "Can't we go to your place for a nightcap?" she whispered.

"Right," he said in a choked voice. He drove up to the back part of the town and parked outside a trim bungalow. Like two people squaring up for a fight, they walked up the path side by side, the tension rising between them. It shouldn't be like this, thought Agatha. We should still be laughing and giggling.

He led her into the bungalow, neat, sparse and brightly lit. "The bathroom's there," he said. "I'll use the other one."

"Two bathrooms," said Agatha, striving for a light note. "How posh."

"I took in lodgers at one time. Now I can't be bothered."

Agatha went into the sparkling-clean bathroom with its Nile-green bath and loo. She undressed and ran a bath. She wished she had a night-gown or dressing-gown. She finally emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing more than a black lacy slip.

"Where are you?" she called.

"Here!"

She followed the sound of his voice and found herself in a bedroom. Jimmy was lying in a double bed, the duvet up to his chin, his face grim. Oh, well, here goes, thought Agatha. At least I'm about to prove Janine wrong.

She climbed into the bed beside him. The sheets were slippery and cold and his body was cold. She began to kiss him.

At last he turned away from her. "I'm sorry, Agatha. I can't. Not yet. I thought I could but I can't."

"I'll go, then," said Agatha in a small voice. He did not reply. She climbed out of bed and looked back from the doorway. He was scrunched up on his side, his eyes tight closed.

Agatha found her way back to the bathroom. She put on her clothes and went into the hall, where she had seen a phone and phone books. She looked up taxis in the Yellow Pages and phoned for a cab. They asked for the address. Fortunately for Agatha, it was stamped on one of the phone books because she did not have the slightest idea where she was.

As she waited for the cab, she wondered whether she should go in and console Jimmy. But she felt rejected, felt a failure. What a rotten day.

She heaved a sigh of relief when she heard the cab pulling up. As it cruised through the silent night-time streets of Wyckhadden, she felt small and grubby and unwanted. Stay for the seance and then go home, home to Carsely.

Agatha went down for breakfast the following morning. They all, with the exception of Jennifer and Mary, greeted her amiably enough. Mary's eyes looked puffy with weeping.

I'm too upset about myself to worry about her, thought Agatha, angry with herself for still feeling guilty about Mary. I'm the dream murderer, she said to herself. First Mary then Jimmy, and all in one day. Damn that Janine. That's what made me rush Jimmy.

She ate a light breakfast of poached eggs on toast. Again, as she sipped her coffee, she thought longingly of how good a cigarette would taste. There was no cigarette machine in the hotel--nothing so vulgar. But there was one on the pier which had, remarkably enough in these wicked days, not been vandalized.

A good walk would take her mind off things. She walked miles that day along the beach by the restless sea. Then she returned to the hotel to tell the manager that she would be checking out on Saturday, in two days' time, and to get her bill ready. The sudden relief that she had made a definite decision to go home brightened her up.

As she was getting ready to go out for the seance that evening, there was a knock at the door. Agatha looked round the room for something to use as a weapon, decided she was paranoid, and opened the door and backed away from it quickly when she saw Jennifer standing there.

"I came to apologize," said Jennifer gruffly. "You only did it to help Mary. She had to know."

"That's all right, then," said Agatha, relieved. "Looking forward to the seance this evening?"

"Not particularly. Though I wouldn't mind exposing her as a fraud."

"But I thought you believed in her mother's medicines!"

"There's a lot to be said for old country remedies. But when it comes to fortune-telling and seances, I've never believed in that tommy-rot."

"Neither do I," said Agatha, who had no intention of telling Jennifer she'd had her palm read. "But that's why I think it will be quite fun--I mean, to see what tricks she gets up to. Daisy believes in seances, I gather."

"She did for a bit, but then she decided that Francie was a charlatan."

"How did she come to that conclusion? I wonder. It was she who sent me to Francie in the first place."

"Oh, I think she believed in her potions. I'd better go and get ready. What are you wearing?"

"I don't feel like dressing up tonight," said Agatha. "The weather's turned awfully cold. I wish I still had my fur coat."

"A lot of people don't approve of the wearing of fur," said Jennifer. "It could happen again if you got another."

"You're right," said Agatha ruefully. "They'll soon be stoning us in restaurants for eating meat, and all the animals will be killed off and we'll be left with only token species in zoos."

"Samuel Butler said if you carried that sort of argument to its logical conclusion, we'll all end up eating cabbages which have been humanely put to death."

"Who's Samuel Butler? Someone in this nanny government we've got?"

"He was a Victorian philosopher."

"Oh," said Agatha uncomfortably. She hated having the vast gaps in her literary education exposed.

"I'll leave you to it." Jennifer held out her hand. "No hard feelings?"

"None at all." Agatha felt her hand seized in a crushing grip like a man's.

After Jennifer had left, and Agatha had just finished dressing, her phone rang. She ran to answer it. "Jimmy?" she said.

"No, it's Harry here," creaked the elderly voice. "We're all ready to leave. The colonel's booked two taxis. Too cold to walk."

"Be right down," said Agatha. She replaced the receiver. Jimmy might at least have called.

They set out in their taxis. Agatha wondered what had happened between Mary and Jennifer to heal the breach. Mary was looking quite cheerful and once more she and Jennifer seemed the best of friends. Well, thought Agatha, I suppose Mary's too old to change the habit of a lifetime.

Janine's husband ushered them in. They crowded in the small hall removing coats and hats. Then he guided them through to a back room. It was brightly lit and furnished only with a round table covered in a black velvet cloth.

They seated themselves round it. "This is jolly exciting," said the colonel. "If it looks like ectoplasm, it's probably our Agatha having a sneaky cigarette." They all laughed except Agatha who said, "I haven't had a cigarette in ages. I'm cured."

The room became filled with strange sounds. "What on earth is that?" asked Harry.

"Whales," said Daisy. "It's a tape of the noises whales make. You can buy one in these Mystique shops."

Mary gave a nervous laugh. "I never knew any whales."

"I saw some performing dolphins in Florida once," said the colonel. "Jolly clever beasts. Do you know ..."

He broke off because Janine had entered the room. She was dressed in a long white muslin gown, very plain, with long tight sleeves and a high neck. Agatha eyed her curiously. How could she hold this seance, agree to this seance, with her mother so recently dead? And yet, thought Agatha, peering at her closely, despite her heavy make-up, her eyes had the red, strained look of someone who had done a lot of weeping recently.

"Shall we begin?" she said, sitting down. "Please hold hands and keep holding hands. The circle must not be broken." The overhead lights were turned off. Now there was only a bluish light shining down on Janine and spotlights that lit up their joined hands around the table, but leaving their faces in darkness.

Agatha was between Daisy and the colonel.

There was a long silence. The whale sounds died away. Janine sat with her head back.

Then she closed her eyes and said in a crooning monotone. "Who is there?"

And then a man's voice said, "Hullo, Aggie?"

Agatha tensed.

"It's me, your husband Jimmy Raisin."

Agatha's skin crawled. Jimmy's accent had been a mixture of Cockney and Irish, just like this voice. Her mind raced. Of course his murder had been in all the papers and his background.

"I'm waiting for you, Aggie," he said. "It won't be long now."

"Can I ask him something?" said Agatha.

Janine sat with her eyes closed. So Agatha said, "Do you remember our holiday here in Wyckhadden, Jimmy? That's why I came back."

"And that's how I knew where to find you," said the cocky voice cheerfully.

Agatha relaxed. She and Jimmy had never been in Wyckhadden.

"That's funny," she said. "Because we were never..."

"Someone else wants to get in," intoned Janine.

There was a long silence. A gust of wind suddenly howled down the lane outside. Appropriate atmospherics, thought Agatha cynically, and yet she was aware of the tension building in the room, of the colonel holding her hand so tightly that she could feel her wedding ring digging into her finger. Silly and old-fashioned to keep wearing a wedding ring, she thought inconsequentially. She cleared her throat. Nothing was happening. The woman was a charlatan. It was time to leave.

And then a low moan escaped Janine's lips and she began to rock backwards and forwards. A thin line of grey smoke escaped from between her lips and hung in the bluish light above her head. Can't be cigarette smoke, thought Agatha. Wonder how she does that? But there was something eerie and unearthly in the moaning. Janine's eyes were tightly closed. Then a thin voice sounded from Janine's lips.

"Hello, daughter. I have now completed my journey to the other side."

"Mother. How are you?"

"Restless," wailed the voice. "My death is not yet avenged."

"It will be, mother. Who killed you?"

"I know who killed me."

There was a tense silence and then Mary screamed and leapt to her feet. "What is it?" asked the colonel. "What's up, my dear? Dammit, I've had enough of this nonsense." He walked over to the door and switched on the light.

"Someone kicked me hard," said Mary.

"You have broken the circle and broken the spell," said Janine furiously. "I cannot do anything more."

"You can't expect us to fork out two hundred pounds for this charade," said the colonel.

Janine's husband came into the room. "What's going on?"

"These people broke the circle just when I had got in touch with mother and now they're refusing to pay." Janine suddenly buried her head in her hands and began to cry.

Cliff suddenly looked menacing. "We'll see about that."

"Yes we will see about that," said the colonel wrathfully. "Either we all leave peacefully or I will call the police to escort us out of here."

"Let them go," said Janine, drying her eyes. "Let the bastards go." They made for the door. "I put a curse on you all," said Janine.

Daisy gave a terrified little squeak and pressed against the colonel.

"We may as well walk," said the colonel when they were all gathered outside. "What did you think of all that, Agatha? Did that sound like your husband?"

"It did a bit," said Agatha, "but he was murdered and the murder background was in all the papers. Besides, I'd never been in Wyckhadden before and neither had he."

Daisy shivered as they walked along the prom which was glittering with frost. "She cursed us."

"She only cursed us because she didn't get any money," said the colonel soothingly. "I think what we all need is a drink and a quiet game of Scrabble."

While they played Scrabble, Agatha began to wonder about that supposed conjuring up of Francie's spirit. Surely it meant that Janine suspected one of them. And had someone really kicked Mary? Or had Mary been frightened that she was about to be exposed But Mary was a dainty little thing. Agatha could not imagine her striking such a blow as to kill Francie. And yet a desperate woman could have struck that blow. But why was Francie's door unlocked? Had the murderer a key and then gone away, leaving the door unlocked? Jimmy had said nothing about the body having been moved. Therefore whoever had killed her, had killed her in her bedroom.

So her thoughts raced on and she got chided by the others for playing badly. None of this elderly lot could be guilty, thought Agatha. Just look how they all concentrated on the game.

At last they all went up to their respective rooms and were enclosed in the hotel's usual expensive night-time hush. When Agatha passed the reception desk on her road up, she noticed the night porter was asleep on a chair behind the desk. Anyone could come or go without his noticing, thought Agatha bitterly. He had probably been asleep when that wretched girl walked in and sabotaged my coat.

The morning dawned, clear and frosty with a pale sun shining down on a calm sea.

After breakfast the colonel, who seemed in good spirits, suggested they all take a stroll along the pier. "I want to show you a bit where the pier is becoming definitely unsafe," he said. "These old Victorian piers are part of Britain's heritage. Perhaps, if you all agree with me, we could get up a petition."

Well wrapped up, hatted and gloved and wearing warm coats, they all walked along the pier--like some geriatric school outing, thought Agatha.

The colonel stopped them half-way along. "Now I want you all to lean over and look down at the piles. They are covered in layers of seaweed but definitely rotted in some parts. The sea is very calm today, so you should all be able to get a good look at what I'm talking about."

They dutifully leaned over. Glassy rolling waves surged under the pier.

"What's that white thing in the water?" asked Jennifer.

"Where?" asked Mary.

"Just there." Jennifer pointed. Then she said huskily, "Oh, my God."

The white thing rolled over on a wave and the dead face of Janine stared up at them, her blonde hair floating out about her head, her muslin dress floating about her body.