The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [73]
He did not hear the door behind him open a little and then close.
Felicity Felliet went back into the kitchen and sat down to wait. She had put a heavy drug into that wine. She was glad Jeremy had left the keys to Agatha’s cottage with her. The man he had hired to gas Agatha had got two sets cut, sending one to Jeremy for safekeeping in case the first attempt failed. And the silly bitch had forgotten to change her alarm code.
The cats were staring at her. Felicity opened the garden door and they ran out. She had tailed Agatha and had noticed her going into the village store. Wouldn’t be long now. “I’m doing this for you, Jeremy, you loser, and to get rid of that bitch who made me lose my home,” she muttered.
Agatha left the village stores carrying two cans of cat food. Her pampered cats preferred real food, but they would need to make do this one time with the commercial stuff. Agatha was tired after answering more and more questions. She suddenly decided to go and visit Mrs. Bloxby and tell her everything that had happened. The vicar’s wife listened in amazement to Agatha’s story.
“I always thought that intuition of yours was a gift from God, Mrs. Raisin.”
Agatha looked uncomfortable, as she always did when God was mentioned.
“Felicity Felliet is still out there.”
“I think you’ll be safe as long as the police keep a guard on you. Where can she run to?”
“Anywhere,” said Agatha gloomily. “I bet you that one has six passports.”
Emma had stopped to buy a hunting knife. Her brain felt amazingly clear and logical. But as she left the bicycle at the top of the road down into Carsely and began to walk, she could feel nagging little voices at the back of her brain. One of them belonged to her late husband. “You are a frump, Emma,” he was saying. “Haven’t you anything else to wear?”
She ignored the voices and walked doggedly on. She planned to stab Agatha with one of the tranquillizer syringes and then slowly cut her up. When she turned into Lilac Lane, she stopped short at the sight of the policeman, but he appeared to be asleep. She walked forwards and edged past him.
Emma was about to ring the bell, but she decided to try the door first. To her delight it opened. Agatha was at home.
She walked through to the kitchen.
A strange blonde young woman was sitting at the kitchen table.
Felicity looked at Emma and Emma looked at Felicity. Felicity had only seen grainy newspaper photographs of Agatha on the microfiche in the library. This woman with the hunting knife in her hand must be her prey.
Emma sprang towards her and Felicity shot her in the chest. After Emma had fallen, she coolly fired two bullets into Emma’s head.
PC Boyd awoke with a start. A voice on his radio was calling him. “Yes?” he asked.
“Be on the look-out. Emma Comfrey’s escaped.”
“When?”
“About an hour and a half ago.” “Roger.”
And then Boyd heard shots from inside the house. The door was standing open. He rushed in. He saw the woman who had given him the wine standing over a body on the floor. He flung himself on her as she fired and the shot went wild. He pinned her down and got the handcuffs on her.
Then he radioed for help.
As he went outside, his legs were shaking. He was in deep trouble. They would ask how both women had got past him and he would need to say he had been asleep. He pulled a photograph out of his pocket. The woman with the gun was Felicity Felliet and he hadn’t recognized her. But, wait a bit, she had that scarf over her head. I bet that wine was drugged, he thought. Please let it be drugged. Of course it was.
The police could not keep Agatha out of the papers after that. All those attempts on her life were headline news. Agatha’s first thought was to flee to some hotel and wait till the fuss died down, but then she thought publicity was just what the agency needed, and so she bragged about her prowess on television,