The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [17]
“So there was a female, an accomplice?”
“Seems like it.” Mrs. Laggat-Brown twisted a handkerchief in her thin beringed fingers.
“I must ask you again about your husband,” said Agatha. “Is there any reason he would try to stop Cassandra’s engagement?”
“No, none at all. He couldn’t have known about the party. I tried to get in touch with him, but his firm said he had taken a leave of absence.”
“What is the name of his firm?”
“Chater’s, in Lombard Street, in the City.”
“Had he been there long?”
“Quite a number of years. But it can’t be Jeremy. He adores Cassandra.”
“When did you last hear from him?”
“It was on Cassandra’s birthday, last May. He sent her a beautiful diamond bracelet.”
“Did he never come to see her?”
‘“Not since the divorce.”
“Which was when?”
“Three years ago.”
“And you say it was an amicable divorce?”
“Oh, yes.”
She’s lying, thought Agatha suddenly. I don’t know why but I feel she’s lying.
Cassandra came bursting into the room. “Daddy’s here!” “What?”
“The police are talking to him. He’s been abroad. He was just telling me about it when the police came up and took him to that caravan thing of theirs.”
“He’ll be so angry with me,” whimpered Mrs. Laggat-Brown. • “Why?” asked Agatha.
“He’ll think I haven’t been looking after Cassandra properly.”
“Now, how can he say that?” asked Agatha. “You were unable to get him after you received the threatening letter, weren’t you?”
Mrs. Laggat-Brown looked down at her hands. The large rings on her fingers sent little prisms of light darting around the room. “No, I couldn’t get him.”
“This party must have been planned for a long time. Didn’t he reply to the invitation?”
“Cassandra, dear,” said her mother. “Could you get me a cup of coffee?”
She waited until her daughter had left the room and said, “I didn’t send him an invitation.” “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, he wanted the divorce, not me. I’m the one who has to take care of Cassandra. I didn’t want him swanning up at the last minute and taking over. Mrs. Raisin, I do want to employ your services. Send me any forms to sign. At the moment, I would like to rest. I will talk to you later.”
“Would you ask your husband to come and see me? Or call me when he’s free?”
“I’ll do that. Now, please leave me.”
As the entrance to the manor was blocked by police cars, Agatha had parked out on the road. As she made her way out of the gate, a reporter from the local paper hailed her. “Agatha, what have you got to tell us?”
Agatha gave them a succinct account of her bravery and how she had saved Cassandra’s life. She did not mention Emma. The photographer took Agatha’s photo while the reporter said, “Funny, we thought at first there was nothing in it. Someone doesn’t like you. Some woman phoned the paper last night to say you’d made an absolute fool of yourself. You’ve got an enemy.”
“Did she leave a name?”
“No, anonymous tip-off.”
“What kind of voice?”
“Posh.”
“Probably one of the guests,” murmured Emma.
Agatha had planned to go on as she had in the past, concentrating all her efforts on the attempted shooting of Cassandra. But small cases began to come into the detective agency and they had to be dealt with. Agatha was too good a business woman to run her detective agency into the red by dealing with only one case at a time.
There were requests to find missing teenagers, missing dogs and cats, or errant husbands and wives. At least Mr. Bennington was finally proved to be philandering and his grim wife took away the evidence with great satisfaction. To Agatha’s relief, she did not demur over paying for the electronic surveillance.
Bill Wong, calling at the office one day, listened to Agatha’scomplaints and suggested she employ a retired police detective as well. He recommended a Patrick Mullen and gave Agatha the man’s phone number.
“So,” said Agatha, “what type of rifle was used? You’ve been able to find that out from the spent casing?”
“It’s still in a queue at the forensics lab, Agatha. But we’ve interrogated the husband thoroughly.”
“Great! And? He was supposed