"I wonder if it was that lotion I got from Francie."
"I think it would probably have grown back in anyway. I'll need to go."
"We're all going to the pier dance tonight," said Agatha hopefully.
"If I find a spare minute, I'll drop in. But don't waste time worrying anymore about who did the murder. If you ask me, it could have been anyone. She had so many clients over the years and one of them could have seen her putting money away in that box and talked about it at home. Some youth hears about it and tells his pals. I've a nasty feeling this one isn't going to be solved."
Agatha walked back to Partons Lane. Again the young man answered the door. "Are you Cliff? Janine's husband?" asked Agatha.
"Yes." He led her into the living-room and said, "Wait there."
The white cat was lying on the hearth. It saw Agatha and bared its pointed teeth in a hiss. Agatha eyed it warily in case it flew at her again.
Janine came in. She had dyed blonde hair piled up on top of her head. She had hard pale blue eyes fringed with white lashes, a thin, long nose and that L-shaped jaw which used to be regarded as a thing of beauty in Hollywood actresses of the eighties.
"What can I do for you?" she asked, smiling. The smile was not reflected in her hard, assessing eyes. Agatha felt that every item she was wearing had been priced.
"Your mother--excuse me, my condolences on your sad loss--sold me some hair tonic. I wonder if you have any left."
"No, I'm sorry. I threw a lot of that stuff out. I don't deal so much in potions. I have seances, palm-reading, tarot, things like that. I could read your palm."
"How much?"
"Ten pounds."
Pretty steep, thought Agatha, but she was anxious to ingratiate herself with Janine.
"All right."
"Give me your hands."
Agatha held out her hands. "You have a strong character," said Janine. "Like getting your own way."
"I don't need a character assessment," said Agatha testily.
"You have suffered a bereavement recently, a violent bereavement." Agatha's husband's murder had been in all the papers. "There are now three men in your life. Each loves you in his own way, but you will never marry again. There has been a great deal of danger in your life up until now, but that is all gone. You will now lead a quiet life until you die. Nor will you have sex with anyone from now on."
"How can you tell all that?" Agatha was feeling angry.
"There is an affinity between us. You found my mother. There is a psychic bond between us. That is all."
What a rotten ten pounds worth, thought Agatha, and then was about to say something when she was hit by an idea.
"You said you do seances," she said.
"Yes, I call up the spirits of the dead."
"So who does your mother say murdered her?"
"It is too early. Any day now. She is getting established on the other side."
Can't be unpacking anyway, thought Agatha sourly.
"Look, there's six of us along at the Garden Hotel. Would you consider doing a seance for us if the others are agreeable?"
"Certainly."
"At the hotel?"
"No, I always do seances here."
I'll bet you do, thought Agatha. Too many tricks to carry along.
She said aloud, "I'll check with the others and let you know."
She paid over ten pounds. "How much do you charge for a seance?"
"Two hundred pounds."
"Blimey."
"It takes a lot out of me."
And a lot out of everyone else's pocket, thought Agatha as she stumped along the promenade some minutes later.
When she arrived at the hotel, she took a look in the lounge. Mary was on her own by the fire, knitting. Agatha decided to join her. Mary rarely said anything. Jennifer always acted as spokeswoman for both of them.
Taking off her coat, Agatha sat down opposite her. Mary gave her a brief smile and went on knitting. She must have been quite pretty once, in a weak, rabbity sort of way, thought Agatha.
"I went to see Janine," said Agatha.
"Francie's daughter? What was she like?"
"Read my palm at great expense and talked a lot of bollocks. Still, it might be a hoot if we all went along to one of her seances."
"Do you think those things are real?"
"I can't see how. But it might be fun. She charges two hundred pounds, would you believe? Still, split up amongst six of us, it isn't too bad."
"I wonder if she can tell about the living? I mean, if her spirits can tell about the living."
"I doubt if she can any more than I can bring myself to believe she talks to the dead. Why the living?"
"Just someone I was keen on a long time ago."
"A man?" asked Agatha, who often wondered whether Mary was in a relationship with Jennifer.
"Of course, a man. I often wonder where he is and what he is doing."
"Didn't it work out?" asked Agatha sympathetically, thinking of James Lacey.
"It all went wrong." Mary's large brown eyes filled with memories. "But for a while, we were so happy. I was on holiday with my parents here, in Wyckhadden, and it was at this very hotel that I met him."
"How old were you?"
"Twenty-two," said Mary on a sigh. "A long time ago. We got friendly, we walked on the beach, we went to dances."
"Did you have an affair?"
Mary looked shocked. "Oh, nothing like that. I mean, one didn't... then."
"And so how did it end?"
"I gave him my address. I was living in Cirencester then with my parents. He lived in London. I waited but he didn't write. He hadn't given me a phone number, but I had his address. At last I couldn't bear it any longer. I went up to London, to the address he had given me. It was a rooming-house. The people there had never heard of him."
"Maybe he gave you a false name?"
"It was his real name, the one he gave me, because he had a car. He had just passed his driving test and was very proud of his new licence. It had his name on it, Joseph Brady. I described what he looked like and I even had a photo with me, but the people in the rooming-house said he had never lived there and one lady had been there for the past ten years! He had said he was an advertising copy-writer. When I got home, I phoned all the advertising agencies that were listed. I went off sick from work to do it. Nobody had heard of him. I couldn't get over him. I went back to Wyckhadden year after year, always hoping to see him.
"Was he on his own here at the hotel?" asked Agatha.
"Yes."
"You didn't notice the address of the driving licence?"
She shook her head.
"What about the hotel register?"
"I didn't like to ask."
Agatha rose to her feet. "I'll try to find out for you."
"How?"
"I'm sure they have all the old books locked away somewhere. What year was this?"
"It was in the summer of 1955, in July, around the tenth. But don't tell Jennifer."
Agatha sat down again. "Why?"
"I met up with Jennifer ten years afterwards. My parents were poorly and I came here on my own. I told her all about Joseph. She told me I was wasting my life. We became friends. She had, has, such energy. I was working as a secretary. She told me to take a computer programming course. She said it would get me good money."
"What did Jennifer do?"
"She was a maths teacher at a London school."
"Teachers aren't well paid," Agatha pointed out. "Why didn't she take a course herself?"
"Jennifer has a vocation for teaching."
"I see," commented Agatha drily.
"So I did very well but then my parents died, one after the other, and I had a bit of a breakdown. Jennifer moved in with me in the long summer vac and looked after me. Then she suggested I should sell my parents' house and take a flat with her in London. It seemed such an adventure. I got a programming job with a City firm."