think so. I mean, Zak was besotted with her.’
Agatha’s mind flashed back to the couple on Robinson Crusoe Island. She had forgotten that Zak and Kylie had reminded her of them. But she herself had witnessed how distressed Zak was.
‘What about Harry McCoy?’
‘Not him either. I really don’t know. Her death involved drugs. Maybe she heard something she shouldn’t.’
John said, ‘Well, keep your eyes and ears open. You could be of great help to us.’ Again that smile.
Agatha and John rose. ‘Before you leave,’ said Joanna to John, ‘you must sign your books.’
Agatha fidgeted impatiently while John signed four books. ‘Thank you,’ said Joanna and John kissed her on the cheek.
When they were both outside in the street again, Agatha muttered, ‘So, Humbert Humbert, where now?’
He swung round. ‘What did you say?’ he demanded.
‘I was wondering about lunch,’ said Agatha quickly.
‘We’ll get a snack somewhere. What about a pub?’
‘There’s a quiet pub up in the High Street. The food won’t be very exciting but it’s never busy and we can talk there.’
Once inside The Grapes, they ordered beer and sandwiches. The sandwiches were dry and curling at the edges. ‘I can see why this place is quiet,’ said John. ‘Let’s see how far we’ve got. Phyllis, maybe with the help of Harry McCoy, somehow lured her out of her home in her wedding gown and bumped her off. “Show us the wedding dress,” that kind of thing.’
‘Don’t like it,’ said Agatha, giving up on the sandwiches and reflecting that the ongoing battle of the middle-aged bulge was at least getting some help.
‘So now we come to Barrington. He was frightened of his wife finding out. Kylie liked money, or so we gather. I wonder what this Barrington looks like. I mean, for a young girl like that to have an affair with a middle-aged man can only mean money was the attraction.’
‘Exactly,’ said Agatha forcefully, thinking of Joanna.
‘So just suppose she was blackmailing him.’
‘I wonder. I wonder if the police have looked at her bank account.’
‘There’s no reason for them to do so. They’d need to know about Barrington and I bet they don’t.’
‘We could go and see Freda Stokes,’ said Agatha. ‘But what reason do we give for asking to see her daughter’s bank statements?’
‘We could just ask to see them. She might just take it as part of the investigations. Where does she live?’
‘Near Joanna. Up and round the corner by the tax office.’
‘So let’s go. Are you going to eat your sandwiches?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Then let’s see how we get on with Freda Stokes.’
Freda lived in a red brick terraced house. ‘This is quite near where Sharon Heath lives as well,’ said Agatha.
Freda Stokes answered the door. She stared at them for a minute and then smiled at Agatha. ‘It is you. My! I wouldn’t have thought a wig and glasses would make such a difference. Come in. I should be at work but I’m having a break.’
The small downstairs living-room into which she led them had been turned into a sort of shrine for her dead daughter. There were framed photographs of Kylie everywhere – on the table, on the walls. Kylie at school. Kylie as May Queen. Kylie as a toddler being held in the arms of a small man.
‘Is that your husband?’ asked Agatha, pointing to the man in the photograph.
‘Yes, that’s Bill. Cancer took him off when she was young.’
Agatha thought guiltily of the packet of cigarettes nestling in the depths of her handbag and once more silently vowed to give up smoking.
‘Can I offer you anything? Tea?’
‘Maybe in a minute,’ said Agatha. ‘We wondered if we could have a look at Kylie’s bank statements.’
‘Why?’
‘Just part of our investigations,’ said John.
‘And who are you?’
‘Sorry,’ said Agatha, and introduced John.
‘I’ll go and get them but I still don’t see why you want them.’
As they said nothing in reply to this,
Agatha’s mind flashed back to the couple on Robinson Crusoe Island. She had forgotten that Zak and Kylie had reminded her of them. But she herself had witnessed how distressed Zak was.
‘What about Harry McCoy?’
‘Not him either. I really don’t know. Her death involved drugs. Maybe she heard something she shouldn’t.’
John said, ‘Well, keep your eyes and ears open. You could be of great help to us.’ Again that smile.
Agatha and John rose. ‘Before you leave,’ said Joanna to John, ‘you must sign your books.’
Agatha fidgeted impatiently while John signed four books. ‘Thank you,’ said Joanna and John kissed her on the cheek.
When they were both outside in the street again, Agatha muttered, ‘So, Humbert Humbert, where now?’
He swung round. ‘What did you say?’ he demanded.
‘I was wondering about lunch,’ said Agatha quickly.
‘We’ll get a snack somewhere. What about a pub?’
‘There’s a quiet pub up in the High Street. The food won’t be very exciting but it’s never busy and we can talk there.’
Once inside The Grapes, they ordered beer and sandwiches. The sandwiches were dry and curling at the edges. ‘I can see why this place is quiet,’ said John. ‘Let’s see how far we’ve got. Phyllis, maybe with the help of Harry McCoy, somehow lured her out of her home in her wedding gown and bumped her off. “Show us the wedding dress,” that kind of thing.’
‘Don’t like it,’ said Agatha, giving up on the sandwiches and reflecting that the ongoing battle of the middle-aged bulge was at least getting some help.
‘So now we come to Barrington. He was frightened of his wife finding out. Kylie liked money, or so we gather. I wonder what this Barrington looks like. I mean, for a young girl like that to have an affair with a middle-aged man can only mean money was the attraction.’
‘Exactly,’ said Agatha forcefully, thinking of Joanna.
‘So just suppose she was blackmailing him.’
‘I wonder. I wonder if the police have looked at her bank account.’
‘There’s no reason for them to do so. They’d need to know about Barrington and I bet they don’t.’
‘We could go and see Freda Stokes,’ said Agatha. ‘But what reason do we give for asking to see her daughter’s bank statements?’
‘We could just ask to see them. She might just take it as part of the investigations. Where does she live?’
‘Near Joanna. Up and round the corner by the tax office.’
‘So let’s go. Are you going to eat your sandwiches?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Then let’s see how we get on with Freda Stokes.’
Freda lived in a red brick terraced house. ‘This is quite near where Sharon Heath lives as well,’ said Agatha.
Freda Stokes answered the door. She stared at them for a minute and then smiled at Agatha. ‘It is you. My! I wouldn’t have thought a wig and glasses would make such a difference. Come in. I should be at work but I’m having a break.’
The small downstairs living-room into which she led them had been turned into a sort of shrine for her dead daughter. There were framed photographs of Kylie everywhere – on the table, on the walls. Kylie at school. Kylie as May Queen. Kylie as a toddler being held in the arms of a small man.
‘Is that your husband?’ asked Agatha, pointing to the man in the photograph.
‘Yes, that’s Bill. Cancer took him off when she was young.’
Agatha thought guiltily of the packet of cigarettes nestling in the depths of her handbag and once more silently vowed to give up smoking.
‘Can I offer you anything? Tea?’
‘Maybe in a minute,’ said Agatha. ‘We wondered if we could have a look at Kylie’s bank statements.’
‘Why?’
‘Just part of our investigations,’ said John.
‘And who are you?’
‘Sorry,’ said Agatha, and introduced John.
‘I’ll go and get them but I still don’t see why you want them.’
As they said nothing in reply to this,
Similar Books
