The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [71]
“And no one has any idea of where Felicity is at the moment?”
“No, but I don’t think she’d dare try anything. I don’t think she cared a rap for Laggat-Brown. I think she was simply using him to get her home back. Her poor parents are devastated. Don’t worry. We’re looking for her and Interpol are looking for her and Special Branch are trying to track her down. The only sad thing is that you’ll get no credit for solving this case.” “Why not?”
“Well, to quote Fother, ’I’m damned if the papers are going to know that some dotty female from a provincial detective agency cracked a case that the Special Branch could not.’“
“I could phone them myself,” said Agatha.
“Not before the trial, you can’t.”
“I suppose not. I’ll phone Patrick and tell him I’m taking the day off tomorrow. All I want to do is sleep and then get my face and hair done.”
“You’ll be glad to know that an officer is going to be on duty outside your door tonight and the handsome Darren Boyd takes over from him tomorrow.”
After he had left, Agatha luxuriated in a long hot bath. Then, putting on a dressing-gown, she went back downstairs and put a packet of spaghetti bolognaise into the microwave for her dinner. When she had finished eating, she rose and let the cats out into the garden for a little. Then she let them in again and locked up and went back to bed.
But sleep was a long time coming. Somewhere out there in the world was Felicity Felliet and Agatha was sure she would be hell-bent on revenge.
Charles called early next morning with Gustav to return her car and said he would be back that evening and that there must be something restorative in police coffee, for his cold had completely disappeared.
Agatha spent the day getting a complete facial and followed tt up by getting her hair tinted brown.
Then she returned to find Charles parked outside, waiting for her. Charles was always amazed that Agatha’s foul diet of microwaved meals left her with thick glossy hair and perfect skin.
“Forgot my key. I see handsome Boyd’s outside, sitting at a tittle table of goodies.”
“The village women spoil him. What now?”
“Maybe we’d better go and see George; least we can do.”
George Felliet was furious with them. Charles had to listen co a passionate tirade about snakes in the grass and false friends. Waiting until George had exhausted himself, Charles said mildly, ’You have to face up to the fact that she’s guilty.”
George suddenly collapsed into a chair. “She hated leaving the manor,” he said. “Even as a little girl, she couldn’t understand that the money was running out. Kept demanding expensive things—clothes, the latest in computers, that sort of thing. But I never thought she would go this far.”
“And you haven’t heard from her?”
“Not a word.”
Crystal Felliet came into the house and glared at them. “Get out!” she shouted.
“But Crystal…” Charles began.
“OUT!” she screamed.
Agatha and Charles left hurriedly. In the car, Agatha said, “Do you think they’d hide their daughter if she went to them?”
“Hard to say. I think that’s an unmarked police car across the road.”
“Are you staying the night?”
“I’d like to, but I’ve got farm business to attend to. YouTl be all right with the police guard on the door.”
In the psychiatric prison the next morning, Emma Comfrey continued to wander about talking to herself. Emma’s brain had cleared up a few days before, but she continued to act mad because she did not want to be judged fit to stand trial.
In the past few days she had managed to keep up the pretence of insanity during interviews with various psychiatrists. But that afternoon, she was presented with a new psychiatrist, a woman with small eyes and glossy brown hair. She reminded Emma forcibly of Agatha Raisin—Agatha Raisin, whom Emma blamed for all her troubles.
Emma dribbled and smiled vacantly while all the time her mind was racing. Convinced she could not break through the wall of Emma’s insanity, the psychiatrist left, and was replaced