Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon - M. C. Beaton [56]
“Sit down. What can I do for you?”
Agatha told him about Mr. Burden hearing a woman’s footsteps. “So,” she finished, “we’re looking for a woman and the two women we have are Mabel and Joyce.”
“And Trixie and Fairy. And whoever else Burt Haviland might have been having an affair with,” said Phil.
“You don’t want it to be Mabel, do you?” asked Charles.
Phil looked flustered. “My feelings don’t enter into this, but my common sense does. It is my reasoned opinion that Mabel Smedley would not hurt a fly.”
“I think it might be possible,” said Agatha. “Look, Phil, the reason we called is to urge you to keep an open mind. When you’re in her house, keep looking around discreetly.”
“And what am I supposed to be looking for?” asked Phil bitterly. “A recipe for angel cakes?”
“Phil, please,” urged Charles. “Just do your job.”
“Of course I will keep an eye out for anything suspicious,” said Phil. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have some work in the darkroom to do.”
“I think he’s smitten with her,” said Agatha as they walked to her cottage through the rain. “Snakes and bastards!” The nasty weather was making her edgy, but she hoped it would continue to rain on Saturday. It might take a bit of the gloss off the crush she was sure Phil had on Mabel.
But the English weather made one of its mercurial changes by Friday evening and Saturday dawned sunny, warm and cloudless.
Phil set out for Mabel’s home, trying to put what Agatha had said to the back of his mind because he did not want his day to be spoiled. He felt a sharp pang of disappointment when he saw the “For Sale” sign.
Mabel answered the door to him wearing a flowery dress with a Peter Pan collar and a drooping hemline. Phil thought she looked every inch the lady she obviously was.
“I didn’t know you were selling up,” said Phil. “Not leaving the area, I hope?”
“No, I plan to find somewhere nearby but much smaller.”
“Where would you like to go today?” asked Phil.
“There’s a nice glade with a stream running through it on Lord Pendlebury’s estate.”
Lord Pendlebury was a local landowner well known for his dislike of ramblers and other trespassers.
“I’m afraid we won’t be allowed anywhere on that estate,” said Phil.
“It’s all right. I phoned him and asked for his permission.” Phil was impressed.
She had a picnic basket ready, which he loaded into the boot of his car. There was a bit of the old-fashioned village snob about Phil and he privately thought that anyone who was a friend of Lord Pendlebury’s must be all right.
With Mabel directing him, they drove back to Carsely and then up the hill leading out of the village.
They left the car outside a gate at the back of the estate and Phil, carrying rugs and picnic basket, followed Mabel through the trees.
She stopped in a little grassy glade. A silver stream wound its way through the glade and the sun filtered down through the green leaves above.
Phil spread the rugs on the grass while Mabel opened the hamper. She had prepared a simple lunch of cold chicken and salad, with a bottle of white wine and slabs of rich fruitcake and a thermos of coffee to follow.
They talked about books they had read and places they had seen. Philip had never felt so at ease with a woman in his whole life.
Then suddenly she asked him how Agatha was getting on solving the murder cases.
“Not very far,” said Phil. “But she seems to think all the murders are tied up in some way and that they were done by a woman.”
“More coffee?”
“Please.”
“Why a woman?”
Phil told her about Mr. Burden hearing footsteps that sounded like a woman wearing heels.
Mabel smiled. “That lets me out. I never wear heels.”
“Oh, Mabel,” said Phil with a rush of affection. “No one could possibly suspect a lady like you.”
“Shall we be getting back?” asked Mabel. “Where has the afternoon gone?”
Phil fretted as he drove her home, wondering how to prolong the day, trying to find the courage to ask her out for dinner.
At her house, she invited him in. “Would you like a drink?” she asked. “I know you’re driving, but one won’t harm you.