As the Pig Turns - By M.C. Beaton Page 0,52

to the back of the industrial site. He switched off the headlights and parked just inside.

The site had once been a camp for Polish refugees during the Second World War. Old people remembered when the Poles had their own shops and even a cinema. Most of the businesses were now in old Nissen huts. But Country Fashions was a large, square brick building with a staff entrance at the side and a loading bay at the back.

‘You see that mound of grass and earth over there?’ whispered James. ‘We can lie behind it and get a good look at the loading bay.’

‘It’s clouding over,’ Agatha whispered back.

‘I brought a couple of night-vision binoculars,’ said James, opening a travel bag. He handed a pair to Agatha. ‘Now, we wait.’

The night dragged on. Clouds covered the moon, and then a light rain began to fall. ‘Let’s give up,’ moaned Agatha.

‘Keep your voice down. I can hear something coming. Here comes the security guard.’

The rumble of a vehicle drew nearer. The guard opened the gates to the loading bay. A thickset man came out of the building. ‘Evening, Mr Staikov,’ said the guard.

‘That must be the son,’ whispered Agatha. ‘He’s taken over the business.’

The truck rumbled to a stop. The back doors were opened and two men jumped out. The driver and another man who had been in the front seat came to join them.

They began to unload rolls of leather from the back and carry them into the building. Then they heard Staikov say clearly, ‘Bring the paperwork into the office and I’ll sign it. I want to get to my bed. You were expected this afternoon.’

‘Bloody French,’ said one man. ‘Strike at Calais. Held us up for hours, it did.’

Agatha felt a sinking feeling of disappointment. The load should have arrived in broad daylight. Staikov was inside signing paperwork. The rain was coming down heavier.

She tried to get to her feet, but James pulled her down. ‘We can’t risk being seen. Wait until they drive off.’

To Agatha, it seemed to take ages. Her soaking hair was plastered to her head. Her clothes were drenched.

At long last, the truck drove off, the gates were closed, and James said they could move.

In the car, he turned on the heater. ‘This is awful,’ moaned Agatha.

‘It’s good for the gardens.’

‘I’m not a plant!’

Although she knew she was risking valuable business, Agatha told her assembled staff in the morning that she was closing down the agency for two weeks. She said they had been under threat for too long and it would do them all good to get a break.

There were a few grumbles that she hadn’t really given them time to make holiday arrangements, yet each of them was secretly relieved. Ever since Agatha had been sent that severed head and Roy kidnapped, they had all felt uneasy.

‘Where will you go?’ Toni asked Agatha.

‘Don’t know. I think I’d like to potter around, have tea with Mrs Bloxby, do village things.’

‘Doesn’t sound like you,’ remarked Phil.

‘Well, I’m weary of the whole business. Maybe if I just switch off from it all, something will occur to me.’

‘We have cases outstanding,’ Mrs Freedman pointed out.

‘Nothing that can’t be put on hold. Nothing really but nasty divorces. If we had an outstanding one about a missing child, then that would be different.’

Toni went to her computer and looked up a website that offered last-minute holidays. Last-minute or not, the prices seemed high. She went out to find a travel agent. The pavements were steaming under the hot sun after last night’s rain. It’s almost tropical, thought Toni. She walked to a small travel agency at the corner of the street, pushed open the door and went in.

‘Hi, Tone,’ a voice greeted her.

Toni saw Chelsea Flitter, the girl she had last seen working as a receptionist at Mixden’s detective agency. ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Toni.

‘It’s better here. You get free trips. I’m off to Las Vegas.’

‘Oh, you lucky thing!’ exclaimed Toni. ‘I’ve always wanted to play the tables, just once.’

‘Here, you could do it!’ said Chelsea excitedly. ‘I’m off tonight. It’s a holiday agency called Summerflight. They’ve got their own planes. Leaves Gatwick Airport. Only four days. You could share my room. All you’d need is the money for the ticket and I can book that now. It’ll be more fun with two of us. Come on, Tone. We may even meet a couple of millionaires.’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Toni.

‘Attagirl!’

The flight was uncomfortable at first, the computer having