Mrs Pargeter 03; Mrs Pargeter’s Package

∨ Mrs Pargeter’s Package ∧

Fifteen

“Hello. Mason de Vere Detective Agency.”

The voice, as ever, sounded as if it had just received information from an unimpeachable source that Armageddon had arrived.

“Truffler, it’s Mrs Pargeter.”

“You don’t know how good it is to hear from you.” The gloom in Truffler Mason’s voice deepened. Not only was the world about to end; he’d also discovered that hell did exist and, what’s more, it was compulsory.

Mrs Pargeter, who knew his manner of old, took the words at face value. “Very sweet of you to say so. It’s good to hear you too, Truffler.”

“Everything all right out there?” Anxiety joined the terminal depression in his voice. “I hope Larry Lambeth made contact. I told him to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m calling from Larry’s now. Thank you very much for setting that up.”

“Least I could do. When I think how your late husband looked after – no, nurtured, that’s the word – when I think how your late husband nurtured me in my career… well, whatever I do for you’s going to be too little.”

“Thank you very much,” said Mrs Pargeter at the end of this funeral oration. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“And you’re having a good time? Everything all right, is it?”

“Oh yes, everything fine,” she replied automatically. Then, remembering, continued, “Well, except for the fact that my friend’s been murdered.”

“What!”

“My friend, Joyce Dover, who I came on this package with, was murdered last night. It was made to look like suicide, but there’s no doubt it was murder.”

“I’ll come out there straight away,” said Truffler with mournful determination.

“No, there’s no need. I’m not in any danger.” Mrs Pargeter did not give herself time to question the truth of that assertion. “You can be much more use to me in England. Listen, I want some investigation done into Joyce’s background.”

“Fine. Give me the details.”

“Are you sure you’ve got time? There aren’t other cases you should be getting on with?” A clattering and thumping was heard from the other end of the phone. “Are you all right, Truffler? What was that noise?”

“Just me clearing my desk, Mrs Pargeter. From now on, your investigation is the only thing I’m working on.”

“But, Truffler, you shouldn’t –”

“I know my priorities, thank you. Come on, tell me what you want found out.”

“All right. Well, really it’s anything about Joyce Dover’s background. And her husband’s background, which, I’ve a feeling, is just as important. His name was Chris. He died a few months back, end of March I think it was. Anything you can get on either of them – particularly anything which might give them some kind of link with Corfu.”

“OK. And what about his death?”

“What do you mean?”

“Want me to check that everything was kosher there? I mean, maybe there was something funny went on with him snuffing it. Murders do tend to breed murders,” Truffler Mason concluded lugubriously.

“Yes, you’re right. That’s a very good thought. As I recall, Chris died of a heart attack… or was it a brain tumour?”

“Heart attacks can be engineered easily enough.” Truffler Mason sounded as if he was speaking from gloomy experience.

“True. Yes, so anything you can find out on his death too. I don’t know how long it’ll take you, but –”

“Give me Joyce Dover’s address and I’ll call you tomorrow night. About nine. Where shall I get you – Larry’s?”

“Erm, I’m not sure. Might be better at the hotel.”

“Which hotel’s that?”

“Hotel Nausica. Agios Nikitas. I’m afraid I haven’t got the number on me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

“Sorry to put you to the trouble.”

“Mrs Pargeter, compared to some of the things I’ve had to find out in my time, dealing with International Directory Enquiries is a doddle.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I’ll give you Joyce’s address. And she has a daughter called Conchita. I’ll give you hers too.” He took down the information. “Truffler, I really am grateful to you.”

“It’s nothing. Like I say, after the way your husband looked after me, anything you need, lady, you only have to say.”

“Oh.” Once again the reminder of the late Mr Pargeter’s solicitude brought a moistness to his widow’s eye. “Well, bless you. And everything’s going well for you, Truffler, is it?”

“Absolutely fine,” said Truffler Mason, in the voice of a man over whose head the hangman has just placed a bag.