The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [70]
“It was just an idea,” said Agatha wearily. She told the story of Phyllis and the recovered alcoholic.
“But why Felicity Felliet?”
“The Felliets were deeply humiliated by the loss of their ancestral home. I wondered, simply because of the Paris connection, if she had been in on the plot in any way. Have you got her?”
“We’re looking. She seems to have disappeared and her parents have not had any contact with her. But we find it hard to believe that you just plucked this idea out of thin air. Are you sure you weren’t in league with Laggat-Brown and that the relationship went sour?”
“No,” shouted Agatha. “And get me a cup of coffee before I fall asleep.”
The questioning went on for hours, and just when Agatha thought she really could not bear any more of it, they told her she could go home, but not to leave the country.
Agatha met Charles as he was leaving as well. “Do we need a police car?” asked Agatha.
“No, I gave them my car keys and told them to collect my car from the airport.”
“My car’s out at your place.”
“I’ll come over tonight with Gustav. He can drive yours and then I’ll take him back with me.”
Agatha let herself into her cottage. She checked the cats’ food bowls to make sure Doris had given them something, went straight up and fell face-down on the bed and into a deep sleep, only to be awakened four hours later with the sound of the doorbell ringing.
She debated whether to let it ring, but then decided it might be Mrs. Bloxby. She trudged wearily down the stairs and opened the door. Bill Wong stood there, holding a bunch of flowers.
“You look as if you’ve been through the wars,” said Bill.
“Flowers. How lovely. Come in, Bill. What on earth’s been happening?”
He followed her through to the kitchen. “It’s like this. I had a time of it explaining about how your mad ideas and intuitions had worked out in the past. Laggat-Brown cracked when they produced the rifle and timers.
“It seemed he made his money supplying timers for bombs to the Provisional IRA and other terrorist groups. Then he met Felicity Felliet and fell in love. He wanted out of the terrorist business and she wanted her home back. He really did mean to shoot his wife.
“Then Felicity heard that Charles had been round to see her parents, asking questions about her. She checked up old newspaper files on you, Agatha, and persuaded Laggat-Brown you were more dangerous than the police. He didn’t want to do the hit himself, but he had plenty of contacts and employed Mulligan to do it.
“He then decided to remarry his wife and after a convenient time arrange a death for her that would look like an accident. After the attempt to gas you failed, he became wary of getting anyone to try to kill you—for the moment, that was.
“Employing Luke, the drunk, was a spot of luck for him, or so he thought. It was Felicity who saw Luke one day and noticed the remarkable resemblance.”
“She’s beginning to sound like Lady Macbeth.”
“Yes,” said Bill, “she seems to have been a major player in the whole business. She worked for a while as Laggat-Brown’s secretary and then they both decided it would be better if she moved to Paris so that there would be less chance of anyone seeing them together.
“After he had finally got rid of his wife, he would inherit her money, marry Felicity and Felicity would get her old home back.”
“And what about Harrison Peterson?”
“It turns out Harrison Peterson was a bagman for the Provisional IRA, moving funds around the world, taking cash to the Colombian terrorists, that sort of thing. He wanted out of the game, too, and was going to talk to the police, after he had talked to Patrick. It was Laggat-Brown who had your phone bugged. He heard Patrick’s message and knew Harrison