Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

hairstyle and the shadows painted under the eyes.
    With a break in her voice, lowered a register, Olivia said she had only known Rose a short time but they had become firm friends. ‘She was so full of life,’ said Olivia, ‘and to see such a life snuffed out is a tragedy.’
    Angus then put in his bit in an accent so broadly Scottish it was almost unintelligible. He said Rose was a ‘puir wee broken burdie’.
    ‘Pass the sick-bag,’ snarled Agatha.
    ‘Shh!’ admonished James, turning up the volume. George spoke next, in a gruff, embarrassed voice about how they all missed Rose. Only Harry Tembleton remained silent.
    ‘And now the weather,’ said the newscaster.
    ‘I wonder when that conference was,’ said James. ‘I mean, if they were all at a press conference they could hardly be up at Saint Hilarion trying to push you out of a window. Let’s go and find out.’
    ‘They might have told us what they were up to,’ complained Agatha.
    ‘They could hardly do that as we haven’t seen them. Let’s go.’
    When they arrived at the Dome, the manager approached them and said, ‘I have a fax for you, Mrs Raisin.’
    ‘Now we’ll find out all about them,’ said Agatha excitedly.
    But the fax from Bill Wong said only, ‘Call me at my home number.’
    ‘Rats,’ said Agatha.
    ‘I see his point,’ said James. ‘Forget about here for the moment. We’d best get back and phone.’ He turned to the manager. ‘When was that press conference here – about the murder?’
    ‘At four thirty this afternoon.’ That let no one out. The attack at Saint Hilarion had been at one o’clock.
    ‘Can’t we phone from here?’ Agatha asked James.
    ‘Yes, but too expensive.’
    Back they went to the villa. ‘It’s early over there,’ said James as he picked up the phone. ‘There’s two hours’ difference. What’s the number?’
    Agatha fished a small leather-bound book out of her handbag and then took the phone from James. ‘He’s my friend,’ she said. ‘I’ll phone.’
    Mrs Wong answered. ‘My Bill’s just dropped in and is having a cup of tea. You’ll need to call back.’
    ‘I’m phoning from Cyprus,’ howled Agatha.
    Fortunately the receiver at the other end was taken from Mrs Wong and Bill’s voice came on the line. ‘You can’t keep away from murder, can you?’ he said cheerfully.
    ‘Oh, Bill,’ said Agatha thankfully, ‘did you get anything on any of them?’
    ‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ he said, ‘and don’t you ever let anyone know where you got your information from. Here goes.’
    James paced up and down impatiently as Agatha listened and took notes. Then Agatha finally said, ‘Well, thanks a lot. That’s given me something to think about. No, I won’t get into trouble. Yes, I found James. He’s here. What? No, no, no.’
    James wondered what that no, no, no had been in answer to.
    Agatha finally rang off and turned and looked triumphantly at James. She began to tell him what she had learned. Trevor’s plumbing business was on the skids and the receivers were shortly to be called in. Angus was a very rich retired man who had owned a chain of shops in Glasgow. George Debenham was also in financial trouble, having gambled unwisely on the stock exchange. Friend Harry was a comfortably off farmer, no debts there. Rose Wilcox was extremely rich in her own right, the result of three previous marriages, the last of which had left her a very wealthy widow before she married Trevor.
    ‘So does Trevor inherit now she’s dead?’ asked Agatha, her eyes gleaming. ‘And why wouldn’t she bail his business out if she was that wealthy?’
    ‘The simplest way will be to ask Trevor, but I’d like to get him away from the others. Let’s leave it until tomorrow, Agatha. We’ll go in early in the morning and suggest he might like to take a drive with us. Leave it until tomorrow.’
    But Agatha fretted. ‘Bill might know,’ she said, ‘and have forgotten to tell me.’
    But when she phoned Bill’s number again, Mrs Wong told her acidly that her son had gone over to see his new girlfriend – ‘such a nice young lady.’
    So that was that. James said he was tired and hungry and he would cook them both something to eat.
    Agatha sat staring into space. This was not how she would have imagined it to be. Her dreams had turned upside-down. No lingering romantic kisses beside the Mediterranean – except from Charles. Every time she thought of that episode with Charles, she