As the Pig Turns - By M.C. Beaton Page 0,21
for her work, along with Simon’s letter and wedding invitation, Agatha went out into the freezing cold. The time had come to ask Amy Richards why she had lied. Agatha realized she would need to tell the truth and confess she had never gone to Florida.
Amy answered the door. She wasn’t wearing her contact lenses, showing her eyes were brown. She looked as if she had been crying.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said bleakly.
Agatha shivered. ‘Let me in.’
She pushed past the slim figure of Amy and into the living room. Agatha removed her heavy coat and a shawl that made her feel she looked like Mother Machree, cursing all antifur activists under her breath. Mink were vermin. They should be clothing her back instead of marauding around the countryside, killing off the native species.
‘Amy, I haven’t been to Florida.’ Agatha sat down on a sofa, and Amy sat in an armchair facing her. Between them was a glass coffee table holding glossy magazines – OK!, Celebrity, Vogue and colour supplements from various Sunday papers.
‘Why?’ asked Amy in a croaky voice.
‘I’m sorry to say this, Amy, but I did not believe you. A police contact told me that you have confessed that you were lying, that you were never in Florida and it was Tom Richards who paid for you to go to LA for the transformation. I naturally began to wonder if you wanted me out of the way and why.’
‘I told the police the truth this time. I didn’t want them to think I was a gold digger. I mean, it takes an awful lot of money to look like this.’
Hadn’t Dolly Parton once said something like ‘It takes an awful lot of money to look this cheap,’ thought Agatha, for there was something rather tawdry about Amy that day. She was wearing high-heeled pink shoes, a tight pink sweater and pink pedal pushers.
‘So it was not your husband that suggested you have plastic surgery?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘But he suggested it to his previous wife. Is he a bully?’
‘Oh, no, my Bunchie’s the sweetest, dearest man.’
‘Okay. Let’s get back to Gary. You said he gave you a lot of money for the divorce. A cheque?’
‘No, it was cash.’
‘How much?’
‘I c-can’t remember.’
‘Amy!’
‘It was about ten thousand in an envelope. He said, “Take it and come with me to the lawyer’s, but don’t mention the money. Tell him you don’t want anything from me. Get it!” So I went along with it.’
‘But you surely had a lawyer of your own.’
‘There was one in the same building.’
‘Who are these lawyers?’
‘Crumley, Fatch and Blinder.’
‘And where are they?’
‘They’re out in the industrial estate. Lot thirty-one.’
‘That’s a damned odd place for lawyers’ offices. But you produced the divorce papers when you went to register your marriage to Tom Richards.’
‘That’s the oddest thing. I couldn’t find them anywhere. I asked Gary and he said he gave them to me and I must have lost them. My passport was still in my maiden name and Bunchie said that and my birth certificate would be enough.’
‘Didn’t you go to the lawyer and ask for a copy?’
‘Bunchie said there was no need to bother.’
‘When Gary gave you the ten thousand, where did he get it from? Did he have a safe?’
‘Nothing like that. He just produced an envelope. He said he wanted the house for himself.’
‘And where did Bunchie really meet you?’
‘At the supermarket. I knew the money wouldn’t last all that long these days. I got a room at the Y.’
‘Amy, think carefully. Gary did not earn much as a copper. How could he be getting extra money?’
‘I dunno. He kept telling me he was doing a lot of overtime.’ Amy waved her slim arm and a heavy silver bracelet with several objects dangling from it flashed in the electric light.
‘Here’s an odd thing. May I see your bracelet?’
‘Okay. I had a friend make it up for me. She’s ever so clever. She just uses all little odd bits of silver.’
Agatha studied the bracelet carefully, turning it in her fingers. ‘There’s a key here,’ she said. ‘An odd-shaped key. It looks like my bank deposit key.’
‘Well, I never.’
‘Where did Gary bank?’
‘I think it was at the Mircester and General.’
‘Did Gary make a will?’
‘Yes, I’ve got a copy of it somewhere. It’s one of those wills you do yourself. He left everything to me, but under my maiden name, Amy Tubb. He said he made it out just before we got married.’
‘And your passport is still in your maiden name?’
‘Yes,