Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon - M. C. Beaton [30]
“Stop making personal remarks. I’ve an idea. Why don’t we try to see Burt Haviland tomorrow?”
“Who he? Remind me.”
“Jessica’s boyfriend. I’m clutching at straws but he may just want to help us.”
“I thought Patrick and the others were following that case.”
“Yes, but he might know someone at the factory who had it in for Smedley.”
Agatha and Charles carried the mobile air conditioner up to Agatha’s bedroom that night. “I’ll leave my door open and you’ll get the benefit, too,” said Agatha.
Agatha undressed and got into bed. She fell asleep immediately and was awakened in the middle of the night by a crack of thunder. She fell asleep again and dreamed of Robert Smedley pursuing her across the icy wastes of the Antarctic. In her dream, she slipped and fell and awoke with a cry. Rain was lashing down outside and the room was like an icebox. Rain was drumming on the thatch and falling onto the garden in a series of waterfalls. She switched off the air conditioner, climbed back into bed and pulled the duvet over her head.
When she awoke again, it was to find the house was still cold. “Sodding British weather,” muttered Agatha, turning on the central heating. “I should never have bought that air conditioner.”
They set out to interview Burt Haviland after Agatha had called Patrick and found Burt was at home, having taken several days leave. The rain had become a thin drizzle and the day was cold.
“It’s at times like this,” said Agatha, “that I wish I’d never started a detective agency. I want to go somewhere warm and lie on the beach.”
“I thought you’d have had enough of heat.”
“Heat on the beach is different from heat inland.”
They drove on in silence until they reached Burt’s address. “Here we go again,” sighed Agatha.
Burt Haviland was a very handsome man with thick black curly hair and a light tan. He must be paid well, thought Agatha, who had noticed the expensive motorbike outside and now saw that his living room contained a huge flat-screen television and a fancy computer.
Agatha explained that they were looking into the murder of Robert Smedley and asked him if he knew anyone at the factory who might have disliked him.
“Everyone hated him,” said Burt. “But he paid good wages.”
“Why did they hate him?”
“He was a bully. He liked finding out about people, finding their vulnerable spot, and pressing it.”
“And yet they all stayed on?”
“All that I know of. I’ve only been with them two years. Oh, I think Eddie Gibbs left.”
“Why?”
“His wife has muscular dystrophy and she’s in a wheelchair. Smedley said to him with a sort of fake jollity, ‘Must be hard on you not getting your leg over.’ Eddie smacked him on the mouth.”
“When was this?”
“About two months ago.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Joyce’11 know,” said Charles. “I took a note of her number.”
Agatha’s mobile phone rang. It was Patrick. “You’d better get back here fast, Agatha. Harry’s found something important.”
“We’ve got to go,” said Agatha. She turned in the doorway. “Is your name Burt Haviland? I mean, is that really your name?”
He turned red. “I changed it a few years ago.”
“From what?”
“Bert Smellie. I got sick of people making jokes about my name and my girlfriend at the time picked a new name for me out of a romance she was reading.”
Outside, Agatha said, “We’ve got to get back to the office, fast. Harry’s found something.”
“You mean the one you told me was a troglodyte with studs?”
“Yes, but he’s bright.”
Agatha burst into her office with Charles at her heels. “What is it?” she demanded. “What have you found?”
Harry went over to the computer. “I’ll show you. I was down at the cyber café to send an email and this schoolboy was staring at something on one of the screens. I glanced over his shoulder and this is what I saw.”
He clicked on to the Internet and typed in “hotsugarbabes. com.” A picture flashed up on the screen and Agatha bit back