The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [16]
He stood up and looked around while Jason waited impatiently outside. Bill took a pencil torch out of his pocket and began to shine it in the dark areas between the boxes. The thin beam of light picked out something shiny. Bill moved a box to one side and bent down again. An ejected cartridge shell.
He retreated out of the room. “No one has to be allowed in here until a forensic team arrives.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jason.
“Mrs. Raisin was right and if it hadn’t been for her prompt action, one of you would be dead.”
Agatha and Emma sat in the office the following morning, wondering what to do. “I suppose I’d better send her cheque back,” said Agatha, “or rather, since you cashed it, send her the money back.”
Miss Simms looked up from painting her long nails. “Me, I think you saw something, Mrs. Raisin.”
Emma was silently enjoying Agatha’s distress. Agatha was usually always so confident about everything.
“What you got to smile about?” demanded Miss Simms sharply.
“I’m sorry,” said Emma, flustered. “But if it wasn’t that this will affect the business when it gets in the local papers, it would have been very funny, the way Agatha shoved them in the pool.”
“It was too late for the local papers, thank God,” said Agatha.
“I’m afraid someone is going to tell them,” said Emma. “So many guests.”
The phone rang, making them all jump.
“Raisin Detective Agency,” fluted Miss Simms. Then she covered the receiver and hissed, “It’s her. Mrs. Laggat-Brown.”
“Tell her I’m dead,” groaned Agatha. “No, on second thoughts, I may as well get it over with.”
“Hello,” said Agatha and then listened hard as Mrs. Laggat-Brown’s voice quacked down the phone. “We’ll be right over,” said Agatha.
She put down the receiver and beamed in triumph. “I was right! Bill Wong, bless his cotton socks, went over there later and found gun oil and a spent cartridge. Come on, Emma, we’re back in business. While we’re out, Miss Simms, phone Douglas and Sammy and see if they’ve got anything on the Benington case.”
Emma followed Agatha out feeling guilty. She had phoned the local paper late last night. It was just, she had thought at the time, that it was all for Agatha’s good. She was so … well… rumbustious, she needed to be taken down a peg. She had given a false name. Emma comforted herself with the thought that the papers would call on Mrs. Laggat-Brown today and learn the truth.
There was a police mobile unit already set up in the grounds of the manor. Police were combing through the bushes. Agatha rang the bell and it was answered by Cassandra. “Mum’s in the drawing-room with the police,” she said. “You’d better go on in.”
Detective Inspector Wilkes, Bill Wong and a woman constable were all in the drawing-room facing Mrs. Laggat-Brown and Jason.
Wilkes looked up as Agatha entered and said, “Ah, Mrs. Raisin, we were coming to see you when we’d finished our interviews here. Wait over there.”
It appeared to be coming to the end of a long interview. Mrs. Laggat-Brown was protesting over and over again that she had no idea who should wish to stop the engagement. Cassandra did not have any jilted or jealous boyfriends and Jason had never known anyone dangerous or mad.
“Right,” said Wilkes finally. “Mrs. Raisin, if you could just step outside to the mobile unit, we’ll take your statement.”
When Agatha had finished telling the police the little she knew, she returned to the house followed by Emma.
“You really must help me,” pleaded Mrs. Laggat-Brown. “It’s all so terrifying.”
“Emma will sort out the details of our employment later,” said Agatha. “Now, whoever got into the house must have known about that box-room. And who gave the order to start the fireworks?”
“Joe Gilchrist from the village had set them up. He said he heard a voice like mine shouting, ‘Joe,