As the Pig Turns - By M.C. Beaton Page 0,17

interested in her private life, Agatha.’

Agatha thought dismally of Simon in Afghanistan and blushed. Bill surveyed her in amazement. He could not remember ever having seen Agatha blush before.

By the end of another week, Agatha was tired of her surveillance of both Richards and Amy and driving in disguise to wait for long hours at a time outside their respective houses. Tom Richards spent most of his evenings and nights with Amy and only about two with his children.

It was therefore with relief that she hailed Bill Wong, who was waiting for her at the end of what seemed to Agatha like a very long week of waiting.

‘Come in,’ said Agatha, ‘and tell me, please, that I can get rid of this disguise. The wig’s so heavy, and these pads in my cheeks make me feel like a chipmunk.’

‘They also make you sound drunk,’ said Bill, following her into the kitchen. ‘Make me a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.’

Agatha plugged in the percolator after tearing off her wig and clawing the pads out of her cheeks. ‘I can’t wait,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Start talking.’

‘Tom Richards was divorced amicably from his wife a year ago. He married Amy six months later. She begged for a makeover, face-lift, the works, so he sent her to Los Angeles. She was never in Florida. Asked why she had made up this fairy tale about this Art Mackenzie, it turns out she’s a bit of a fantasist, and it was all in a plot she had seen in some soap opera over there. Asked why she had lied, she said that if she had said that she had asked poor Bunchie to pay up so much money for her cosmetic surgery, it would make her look grasping and vain. Thanks.’

He took a mug of coffee from Agatha. ‘Richards supports her story, and yes, he did pay for everything.’

Agatha sat down beside him and nursed a cup of coffee. One cat, Hodge, climbed on Bill’s lap, and the other, Boswell, tried to lie across his head. He gently lifted both of them on to the floor.

‘Something’s wrong here,’ said Agatha. ‘You didn’t tell her that I had spilled the beans?’

‘No, we told her we had been checking up on her marital status, that the FBI in Florida had no records of an Art Mackenzie, and she came out with the truth.’

‘There’s something wrong here.’ Agatha lit a cigarette. ‘It’s like this. The one thing I believe that Amy told me is that Beech abused her. She said her father had beaten her. She said she liked masterful men. I wonder if the face-lift was really her idea, or was Richards being controlling and manipulating. I wonder whether he tried to get his ex to get a face-lift. Then the money from the divorce from Beech. She said he paid her a generous amount. I wonder if he paid her in cash. I’d like to speak to the former Mrs Richards.’

‘It’s a bit far-fetched, Agatha. I mean, he may not look like much, but he’s very, very rich. Rich men can usually get themselves arm candy easily enough.’

‘Pig! Pig!’ said Agatha.

‘Are you insulting . . . ?’

‘No, no. The pig whatsit.’

‘Oh, Pygmalion.’

‘That’s the chap.’

‘No, you’re getting a bit carried away. He seems to dote on her.’

‘But she showed me a photo of herself before the face-lift. She wasn’t even pretty.’

‘I’d backpedal for a bit,’ said Bill. ‘Don’t want you blundering around in the middle of a police investigation.’

Agatha bristled. ‘She’s paying me to find out who killed Gary, and I need the money. That’s a point. Money. Beech evidently paid her generously to give him a divorce. Now where does a mere plod get the money to be generous to anyone?’

‘We’re looking into that. His bank balance only contained a few hundred pounds, but Detective Constable Alice Peterson pointed out when we visited Gary’s home that it held some expensive antiques. We traced the antiques dealer. Yes, Gary bought several expensive pieces of furniture and paid cash. So he was up to something on the side.’

‘Maybe he targeted people the whole time and charged them with this and that and then took bribes.’

‘No, I don’t think so. He delighted in getting people into court.’

Bill had just left when Toni arrived. ‘I want a word with you, Mrs Raisin,’ she said.

‘Come in,’ said Agatha. ‘What’s up?’

Toni marched straight through to the kitchen and slammed a wedding invitation down on the table.