Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon - M. C. Beaton [34]
She wheeled herself back and they followed her into a sunny living room.
“Sit down,” she said. Agatha and Charles sat down together on a sofa covered in cheerful chintz.
“I thought Smedley was a despicable man,” she said. “He made several very crude remarks to Eddie about my condition. But his wife is a saint.”
“You know Mrs. Smedley?” asked Agatha.
“I owe her a lot. She never said a word against her husband but she turned up here one day. Eddie had put his back out trying to get me to bed. She organized carers to come in the morning and get me up, give me a sponge bath and get me dressed, and to come in the evening to put me to bed. She organized Meals on Wheels to give me lunch and dinner, which means that Eddie has only got to pick up something for himself on the road home. That beast, Smedley, would not give Eddie a reference, but she wrote one out on the firm’s paper and signed it on behalf of her husband.”
“And where is he working now?”
“Over at Baxford Engineering on the Harley Industrial Estate. It’s a good job and he’s happy there. I know, he goes to Peg’s Pantry at lunchtime, one till two. You can’t miss it. It’s the only restaurant on the estate. I don’t know why we should help you with this because I’m glad he’s dead.”
“We won’t bother you any further,” said Charles.
“Is there any news about that poor girl who was also murdered, Jessica?”
“We’re also working on that,” said Agatha.
They drove to the industrial estate and waited until lunchtime before going into Peg’s Pantry. “We should have asked for a photograph,” mourned Agatha. “We don’t even know what he looks like.”
“I do,” said Charles triumphantly. “When you were yakking on, I studied a photograph of him on the side table next to me.”
“Good for you.”
“Why are you looking suddenly uneasy?”
Agatha had in fact been wondering how to get rid of Charles on Saturday evening. But she said, “I was thinking about poor Mrs. Gibbs. I mean, people say if you’re feeling down, find someone worse off than yourself. But all it makes me feel is that life can be terribly unfair. I think the sort of people who feel grateful at the expense of someone else’s misfortune are the types in the old days who would have enjoyed a good hanging.”
“Here he comes,” said Charles.
A little man with small features and wispy hair had just entered the restaurant. He was wearing a checked shirt, an old tweed jacket, and jeans with knife-edge creases in them.
Charles rose and approached him. Agatha saw them talking and then Charles led Eddie over to their table.
He introduced Agatha and then said, “The least we can do is buy you lunch. What would you like?”
“I’ll have sausage, egg, beans and chips and coffee.”
Charles waved to the waitress and ordered the same for all of them.
“So why do you want to ask me about rotten Robert?”
“We believe you had reason to dislike him,” said Agatha. “No, we don’t mean you murdered him. We mean, can you think of anyone in the firm who might have done it?”
Eddie shook his head. “A lot of us disliked him. Me, I hated him. But I can’t think of anyone who would poison his coffee. Most of the men who disliked him would be more inclined to lash out with their fists. Poison is more a woman’s thing, isn’t it?”
“Only in fiction. Here’s our food.”
There was a silence while Eddie and Charles ate. Agatha pushed hers round on her plate. Normally she loved greasy food, but she didn’t want to get spots before Saturday.
“So,” said Eddie, “I don’t think I can be of any help. Mind you, his wife’s another thing. That woman’s a saint.”
“Your wife told us all she had done for you,” said Agatha.
“Marvellous, she was. Did all the catering for the office party. Kind to everyone. Always a nice word.”
“Fond of her husband?”
“Oh, yes. Devoted to the old bastard.”
“Did you know,” said Charles, “that Robert Smedley was having an affair with his secretary?”
“What, Joyce? I mean, why? What did she get out of it?”
“Her rent paid and probably a few presents. Besides, evidently Smedley told her he was going to get a divorce and marry