The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [50]
“I'll give you a shopping list,” said Agatha, “because we'll need stuff for breakfast as well.”
When Terry was on the phone, Charles drew Agatha aside and whispered, “Say we're going to share a bedroom.”
“Honestly, Charles, at such a time!”
“Pillow talk. We need to talk and we can't do it with him listening.”
“Okay.”
After they had eaten and watched several programmes on television, Charles said he and Agatha were going to bed.
Terry said he thought it would be better if he slept on the sofa, “just to be on the safe side.” He added the caution, “Don't go using your mobiles and telling anyone at all where you are.”
Once Agatha and Charles were in bed, he snuggled up to her. “Get off!” whispered Agatha fiercely.
“We've got to talk,” he whispered. “Let's start with Emma. Let's just suppose she tried to poison you. She'd be clever enough to get rid of the stuff. Where would she put it? Where would you put it?”
“Same idea as you … in the woods somewhere.”
“She'd be frightened of anyone seeing her, maybe meeting a gamekeeper. The woods around are criss-crossed with paths for ramblers and people walking their dogs. Think again.”
“There's something at the back of my mind,” said Agatha slowly. “I know. It was one day in the office. Emma said there was some rubbish in the shed at the bottom of the garden she wanted rid of. A broken chair, a table with one leg missing, that sort of thing. Miss Simms said, 'Why don't you take the lot out to the council tip on the old Worcester Road,' and gave her directions. As soon as we get out of here, let's go and have a look.”
“I wonder how long they mean to keep us here?” said Charles.
“God knows. It's going to be like being in prison. There must be some connection between the hit man and the killing of Peterson.”
“Wait a bit,” said Charles. “Wasn't there something you said about Laggat-Brown changing his name from Ryan? Ryan's an Irish name.”
“It can't be him,” said Agatha impatiently. “He's a charming and civilized man. Besides, he can't have had anything to do with the attempted shooting. His own daughter, too! And we've double-checked his alibi.”
“You've got a soft spot for him, Aggie.”
“Well, he took me out for dinner and he paid the bill, which is more than you ever do.”
They grumbled and discussed the case and grumbled again until they both fell asleep.
Terry, who had pressed his ear against their bedroom door, quietly retreated and picked up the phone. He suggested the forensic team should check the council tip on the old Worcester Road.
Emma had moved into a hotel in Moreton-in-Marsh for the night. She tossed and turned, wondering whether she was safe or not.
She felt that she should check the council tip in the morning and try to find out when the containers were taken away. Until she knew that, she felt she could not rest.
The morning dawned cold and misty. The only colour in the bleached countryside was the red of the autumn leaves. She drove steadily and carefully, although her hands on the steering wheel were damp with nerves.
She turned off the old Worcester Road and headed for the tip. She was just about to turn in at the entrance when up ahead, through the swirling morning mist, she saw the white-coated figures of a forensic team.
Emma reversed slowly, and once out on the road, put her foot down on the accelerator and sped to the hotel.
She hurried to her room and packed up the few belongings she had taken for her overnight stay. She paid her bill and estimated she had a very short time before they found the coffee jar and the rat poison. She had not left fingerprints but knew that the very fact they were searching the tip meant they thought she was guilty.
Emma got in her car, wondering whether to risk going home and collecting some more things, but then decided against it. She had arrangements to draw money on a bank in Moreton, but if she wanted to clean out her account she would need to go to the head bank in London. An hour and a half to London. She might just make it.
There was an agonizing wait at the bank while they