Free (15/30) The Deadly Dance by M. C. Beaton Page A

rang.
    “Jeremy Laggat-Brown,” said the voice at the other end. “Remember me?”
    “Of course.”
    “Have you had dinner yet?” “No, not yet.”
    “How about coming out to have a bite to eat with me?” “That would be nice,” said Agatha cautiously. “Will your wife be there?”
    “Catherine’s got a Women’s Institute meeting tonight.” “Well, in that case .. .”
    “Pick you up at eight? Where are you?” Agatha had put her home phone number along with the office number on her card but not her home address. She gave him directions. Then, when she replaced the receiver and looked at the clock, she let out a squawk. It was half past seven.
    She fled up the stairs and began to tear clothes out of her wardrobe and place them on the bed. Then she decided she was wasting valuable time wondering what to wear when she should be making up her face.
    Agatha at last descended the stairs just as the doorbell rang wearing a black sheath dress and very high heels and carrying a cashmere stole.
    She opened the door and noticed with a sinking heart that Jeremy was dressed in jeans and an open-necked shirt.
    “You look grand,” he said.
    “Maybe too grand. Should I change into something casual?”
    “No, you’re fine as you are.”
    Remember, Agatha cautioned herself, as she eased herself into his Mercedes, he may not be married but he’s living with his ex-wife and she thinks they’re getting together again.
    He took her to a newly opened French restaurant in Broadway. “Shall I order for us?” he asked.
    “Please,” said Agatha on her best behaviour, although she privately thought he might at least have suggested she look at the menu.
    When he had placed the order, he smiled at her with those deep blue eyes. James has blue eyes, thought Agatha, a sharp memory of her husband invading her brain. “Tell me about yourself and how you got into the detective business,” he asked.
    He was a good listener and Agatha loved to talk about herself and her adventures and so it was lucky for him that she did not really notice much what she was eating, although she did register that the confit de canard seemed to consist of rubbery pieces of near-raw duck in a sort of watery jam.
    Over brandy and coffee, Agatha suddenly realized just how much she had been monopolizing the evening’s conversation.
    “You haven’t told me a bit about yourself,” she said guiltily. “How did you get into the import/export business?”
    Was it her imagination, or did those eyes go hard for a moment? Then he smiled. “You have been doing your work. I got fed up stockbroking. I originally trained as an electronics engineer. I knew several of the top firms and so it was easy to start importing and exporting electronics. But surely this is all very boring. Have you found Harrison Peterson?”
    “One of my staff, a retired police detective, is out looking for him. I suppose he must be the guilty party. Did you know him?”
    “Only slightly when I was a stockbroker myself. I don’t know that I approve of Cassandra’s engagement to Jason. There’s bad blood in that family.”
    “Do you think that Jason might have been in with his father in a plot to kill Cassandra?”
    “Why should he?”
    “They’ve made joint wills, Cassandra and Jason. And you know that Cassandra won the lottery. I hope that’s not the case because the pair of them are together in Bermuda.”
    “Seems silly. Makes Jason or his father the obvious suspect. Jason is devoted to his father by all accounts.”
    “Where’s the mother? Whoever tried to shoot Cassandra had a female accomplice.”
    “Jason never forgave her for divorcing his father. I don’t know where she’s living.^
    Agatha sighed. “You see? So many questions I forgot to ask. The police have probably found her.”
    Jeremy called for the bill and Agatha excused herself and went to the ladies’ room. As she repaired her make-up, she began to fret. Will he ask me out again? Why on earth did I talk