Free There Goes The Bride by M.C. Beaton Page B

had seen advertised as ‘a genuine Greek fisherman’s hat’ on his head and a white Aran sweater over a tattersall shirt with a silk cravat tucked into the neckline. Although surely aware of them standing in front of him, he continued to write something on a pad.
    Agatha waited a few minutes and then said crossly, ‘Okay, you’ve impressed us with the fact that you are a busy man. We’ve got it. We’re suitably impressed. We want to ask you a few questions.’
    He looked up, feigning tolerant amusement, and tipped his chair back. He had a craggy face with deep pouches under his eyes. ‘Want a boat?’
    ‘No,’ said Agatha. ‘Or rather, a particular boat. Sean Fitzpatrick’s.’
    ‘What’s he been up to now? Seduced your daughter?’
    ‘We are private detectives. I am Agatha Raisin and this is Toni Gilmour. We have been hired by Mrs Bross-Tilkington to investigate the murder of her daughter. Now, where do we find him?’
    ‘Walk along to your left when you leave here. It’s a cruiser called Helena. ’
    And I wonder who Helena was or is,’ said Agatha when they left the office.
    ‘There it is,’ cried Toni, pointing. ‘That’s one really powerful boat. Must have cost a fortune.’
    ‘Mr Fitzpatrick!’ called Agatha.
    There was no movement from the boat.
    ‘Aren’t we supposed to shout “ahoy”?’ asked Toni.
    ‘Can’t do that. I’d feel like a prat. Mr Fitzpatrick! ’
    ‘The wind’s carrying your voice away,’ said Toni. ‘Why don’t I nip on board? He might be asleep or something.’
    Agatha wanted to say that she was quite capable of nipping on board herself but her hip gave that awful twinge – the twinge that kept crying out for a hip-replacement operation.
    ‘Go ahead,’ she said gruffly.
    She watched enviously as Toni leapt on to the deck. Toni called loudly but the only thing that met her ears was the hum of the traffic from the town above the river and the screech of seagulls overhead.
    Toni looked across at Agatha, who made impatient well-go-ahead signs. Toni tried the door of the cabin and found it unlocked. She made her way down the companionway past the head, past a table in an alcove with a marine chart spread on it and then into the cabin. It was empty. Toni was about to retreat when she realized a cruiser this size must have a bedroom.
    She opened a door at the end of the cabin. Lying on the bed was the prone figure of a man, fully dressed. A hole, like a third eye, was in the middle of his forehead. The exit wound had soaked the pillow in blood.
    Toni slowly backed away, her face white. Then she turned and ran up on deck, calling wildly to Agatha, ‘Call the police. Murder!’
    A combination of the wind and a mocking seagull’s cry drowned out Toni’s words, but Agatha saw the girl’s white face and picked her way gingerly along a narrow gangplank which Toni had ignored.
    ‘He’s dead. Shot. Get the police,’ panted Toni. Agatha took out her mobile and began to dial.
    ‘What are you ladies doing on Sean’s boat?’ a voice called.
    Toni heard the voice but not the words. She looked across at the jetty and saw Sylvan Dubois. She started to call to him, but he jumped on the deck. ‘It’s Sean Fitzpatrick, I think,’ said Toni. ‘He’s dead. Shot.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ asked Sylvan, making his way to the companionway
    ‘Don’t go down there!’ shouted Toni. ‘It’s a crime scene.’
    ‘I need to make sure he is dead. Did you touch the body?’
    Toni gave a shudder. ‘No.’
    ‘I’ll just check.’
    Agatha rang off and asked angrily, ‘Where’s he gone?’
    ‘To look at the body.’
    ‘I’d better go and see what he’s up to,’ said Agatha.
    ‘The police have arrived,’ said Toni, waving frantically as two squad cars came racing along.
    Sylvan reappeared and helped them back on to the jetty. ‘You shouldn’t have gone in there,’ raged Agatha. ‘It’s a crime scene.’
    ‘I know that now,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But I had to make