The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [12]
“I am Mrs. Laggat-Brown,” she said, sitting down and facing Agatha across the desk. “I met your friend, Sir Charles Fraith, at a fund-raising event and he told me it would be sensible to apply to you for help.”
Agatha had sent Charles a brochure about the new agency. He had not phoned and she had assumed that he was out of the country. She was used to him dropping in and out of her life. They had been lovers—briefly—in the past, but their relationship never seemed to affect him. They had met years ago when Charles had been in danger of being arrested for murder. After that, he had worked with her on some of her cases. He was ten years younger than Agatha and she was very aware of the age difference.
“How can I help you?” asked Agatha.
“You are not quite what I expected,” said Mrs. Laggat-Brown in a high, fluting voice.
“What did you expect?”
Mrs. Laggat-Brown had expected someone of “our class,” but there was a gleam in Agatha’s eyes that stopped her from even implying such a thing.
“Never mind. The situation is this. I live in the manor-house in Herris Cum Magna. Do you know the village?”
“It’s off the Stow-Burford Road, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Now, listen carefully. I am giving a dinner dance tomorrow for my daughter’s twenty-first birthday. My daughter’s engagement is to be announced. But my daughter, Cassandra, has received a death threat. She has been told in a letter that if she marries Jason Peterson, she will die. The police have been informed and say they will send two officers to the event.”
The door opened and Emma walked in. Agatha introduced them to each other. Mrs. Laggat-Brown surveyed Emma with a flicker of relief in her eyes.
“Sit down, Emma,” said Agatha.
Emma sat down. “Miss Simms is shopping. She will be here presently.” Emma opened her large handbag and drew out a notebook and pen.
Agatha told Emma what Mrs. Laggat-Brown had just said and then asked, “Can you give us some background on your daughter and this Jason Peterson?”
“Certainly.”
It appeared that Jason was a stockbroker from a respectable family. Cassandra had led a sheltered life: Cheltenham Ladies College, followed by a finishing school in Switzerland and then a cordon bleu cookery course in Paris.
The police had the threatening letter.
“Now what I want you to do,” said Mrs. Laggat-Brown, “is to come along and mingle with the guests and look for anyone suspicious. I assume you will be dressed as guests.”
“Of course.” Agatha gave her a frosty look. “Now to our fee.”
“I have the cheque here. Sir Charles said I must pay you in advance.”
Agatha was about to protest that Sir Charles did not run the agency, but one look at the generous sum on the cheque shut her up. Charles must have quoted the first extravagant price he could think of.
She questioned Mrs. Laggat-Brown further as Emma’s pen flew across the pages of her notebook.
According to Mrs. Laggat-Brown, there seemed to be no obvious reason for anyone to want to end the engagement.
Was there a Mr. Laggat-Brown? Not now. They were divorced three years ago, an amicable divorce.
What did Mr. Laggat-Brown do? “He is a stockbroker,” said Mrs. Laggat-Brown. “Just like dear Jason.”
“Will he be at the party?” asked Agatha.
“He would be if I could find him. His firm said he went on an extended holiday but did not leave an address.”
Miss Simms arrived later, carrying shopping bags from various thrift stores. Emma spent the rest of the day instructing her in the files and a new price list she had drawn up.
Agatha was in high excitement at the prospect of what she thought of as a “real” case.
Anxious to tell Mrs. Bloxby about it, no sooner had she arrived home than she fed her cats