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

so much?
    “Oh, grow up, Agatha!” she snarled at her reflection in the mirror. “He may not be married but he’s as good as.”
    She went out. He rose to his feet. “I’ve enjoyed the evening immensely. We must do this again.”
    After a short pause in which Agatha had just been about to demand, “When?” and thought better of it, she said instead, “I should enjoy that very much.”
    He drove her home. She invited him in for a drink, but he replied that he should be getting home. Agatha went into her cottage feeling rather flat.
    She checked her phone for messages and found there was one. It was from Patrick Mullen. “I’ve tracked Harrison Peterson. He’s staying at a small pub that lets rooms called The Hereford in Evesham. We’re meeting him tomorrow at ten. He says he’s got a lot to tell us. I tried to get him to talk this evening. I didn’t see him. He talked through the door. Should I go to the police with this?”
    Agatha quickly phoned Patrick. “Don’t go to the police,” she ordered. “This is our coup. I’ll see you in the office at nine.”
    Her evening with Jeremy was quickly forgotten. Agatha could barely sleep that night for excitement.
    In the office the following morning, Agatha was only momentarily diverted by Emma’s appearance. Emma’s hair was now dyed blonde and she was skilfully made up. She was wearing a black trouser-suit of expensive cut. Agatha briefly reflected that Emma now looked like one of those well-preserved, ginny, big-toothed women one occasionally saw at game fairs. Agatha forgot that Emma had claimed to be ill.
    “So, Patrick,” she said, “how on earth did you get on to him?”
    “I saw this Mrs. Blandford, a widow who lives in Herris Cum Magna. She knew him slightly. She gave him a cup of tea. She said he was sore at being left out of the engagement party. I said that was because his son didn’t know where he was and she said that Harrison had told her that his son had been in touch with him but had said that Mrs. Laggat-Brown had refused to invite Harrison.”
    “The old cow. She never told me that.”
    “I asked where Harrison was now and she got all shifty and said if she’d known that, she’d have told the police. I picked up that she’d a soft spot for Harrison. At last she said he’d said something about having a room in a pub in Evesham. I checked out the pubs that let rooms—very few of them—armed with a description and traced him to The Hereford.”
    “Well done,” said Agatha. “Let’s get along there.”
    As they drove towards Evesham, Patrick said uneasily, “Eve got a bad feeling about this. I feel we should have turned the whole thing over to the police.”
    “Patrick, Mrs. Laggat-Brown is paying heavily for my services. If the police get to him first, she may give them all the credit and cut back on my fee and I’m just beginning to show a profit.”
    “I know, I know. Just got a bad feeling in my water.”
    The Hereford was situated near Evesham railway station. Patrick parked in the car-park. “The pub’11 still be closed,” said Agatha.
    “It’s all right. You get to his room up a side staircase.”
    “No security,” commented Agatha as Patrick opened the side door. “Anyone could walk in.”
    “Well, they’re hardly expecting burglars in a dingy pub in Evesham. His room is number two.”
    They mounted the uncarpeted staircase which smelt of stale beer. Patrick knocked on the door. “Harrison? It’s me. Patrick Mullen. Open up.”
    There was no reply.
    “Damn,” said Patrick. “Maybe he’s flown. I should have told the police last night, Agatha.” “Try the door,” urged Agatha.
    He turned the handle and the door swung open. It was a small dark room furnished only with a wardrobe, a wash-basin, a table and chair and narrow bed.
    And on that bed lay a man, face-down.

FIVE

    “WAIT!” ordered Patrick as Agatha would have rushed forwards. He drew out two pairs of thin plastic gloves. “Put these