"It's a verb," said Agatha crossly, "as in damn with faint praise."
The colonel's face cleared. "How clever of you. I shall apologize to Harry."
It was James Lacey who had quoted that once, thought Agatha bleakly.
"I think we should go to the Metropol for a drink," said the colonel. "It's rather a flashy sort of modern place, but the cocktail bar is suitable for ladies."
The Metropol catered for the smarter, flashier, more painted geriatric. Women's faces grouted with layers of foundation cream. Face-lifts were still rare in England.
"I like trying new cocktails," said the colonel, studying a card on the small plastic table. "There's one here, the Wyckhadden Slammer. Let's try two of those." He signalled to the cocktail waitress, a large elderly woman with a truculent face, and ordered the drinks. When they arrived, they turned out to be bright blue in colour with a great deal of fruit and with little umbrellas sticking out of the top.
"I wanted to talk about the murders," began Agatha.
"Now why does a pretty lady like you want to talk about nasty things like that?" said the colonel roguishly. "This is quite good." He sipped his cocktail. "Wonder how they get that blue colour?"
"I keep wondering who did it?"
"Oh, I'd leave that to the police. They may seem to be plodding but they are very thorough. They'll get there."
"Have you no curiosity about the murders?"
The colonel took another sip of his blue drink. "Not really. You see, I'm pretty sure it was the husband."
Agatha decided to try another tack. "Have you and the other residents known each other long?"
"Years, I suppose. We all used to come here on holiday and then, as we retired, we decided to stay."
"It's an expensive hotel."
"Mr. Martin is only too keen to give us special rates. Can't get people in the winter. Then there's all those silly people who go abroad for their holidays now. Why?"
"Sunshine?"
"Pah, all that does is cause skin cancer. The British skin was never meant to be exposed to the sun."
"Did your wife come here with you?"
"Gudren enjoyed it here, yes. When I was in military service we travelled a lot, but we always tried to get here when I was on leave."
"Don't any of you stay with your families?"
"I have a son. I stay with him at Christmas. Daisy goes to her sister then, Harry to his daughter, and--let me see--I think Jennifer and Mary stay on."
"Do you ever quarrel? I mean, spending so much time together, year in and year out."
"Quarrel? I don't think we have anything to quarrel about." The colonel looked genuinely puzzled.
Agatha gave a little sigh. She was not going to get anything else out of the colonel. She would need to try one of the others. She refused his offer of another drink and said she was feeling tired. They walked back to the hotel.
"Press have given up for the night," said the colonel cheerfully.
"Let's hope some big story breaks and takes them somewhere else," said Agatha. "Oh, there's Jimmy." The tall figure of the inspector could be seen standing on the hotel steps.
"I'll leave you to it," said the colonel.
"Agatha," said Jimmy with a shy smile. "I was hoping to have a word with you. The others are playing Scrabble in the lounge. Let's go to our pub."
Our pub, thought Agatha cheerfully. I can't wait to try that love potion on James Lacey.
"Now, what's happening?" asked Agatha when they were seated over drinks.
Jimmy sighed. "We're going to have to release the husband. We haven't anything on him."
"Don't you have anything at all? What about all the wonders of forensic science? Isn't there anything? A hair? A fingerprint?"
"A lot of people called on Janine. Trying to sort out all the evidence is a nightmare."
"What about the appointments book?"
"There isn't one. That's disappeared."
"It must have been someone pretty powerful who threw her off the pier."
"Not necessarily," said Jimmy. "We've found threads of her white dress in the pier rail where she went over and bruises on her ankles. It looks almost as if someone pointed down at the water and said something like, 'There's something down there.' Janine leans over. The rail is quite low. Someone grasp her ankles and just tips her over."
"It must have been someone who knew she couldn't swim."
"Yes, that's what made us sure it was the husband."
"What I would love to find out," said Agatha, twiddling with the stem of her glass, "is if there is anything in the background of any of them, I mean the people at the hotel, that would cause them to commit murder."
"We've gone into that pretty thoroughly. Mary and Jennifer are a couple of single ladies who seem to have led boring and respectable lives. Daisy and Harry, the same. The colonel had a hard-working career in the army."
"Northern Ireland?"
"Yes, like everyone else, but if you're starting to think about some sinister plot by the IRA, remember it wasn't the colonel who was murdered."
"Why would anyone kill Francie and then her daughter?" said Agatha, half to herself. "The pair of them must have got to know a great deal about their clients. Maybe they got to know something they shouldn't and tried a bit of blackmail." She brightened. "I'm sure that's it. Now if it was the husband, he might know what it was, and if he isn't saying anything, it might be information he's keeping back to use himself."
The inspector looked at her fondly. "You're as good as a book, Agatha. But Cliff, despite his appearance, is a weak creature. He was bullied by his wife, from all accounts. It was her work that kept him and she never let him forget it. Janine changed her will right after her mother's death. We've just found that out."
"So Cliff does get the lot."
"On the contrary. He was left nothing. Everything goes to the Spiritualist Society of Great Britain."
"Blimey. So what's Cliff going to do for money?"
"Probably go back to working on the fairgrounds, which is where Janine met him."
Agatha sat silent for a moment. Then she said, "That's it!"
"That's what?"
"The reason for the missing money. Janine and Francie were gypsies, and gypsies do not like paying the tax man. There must have been a hell of a lot of money in Francie's box. Cliff must have taken it."
"But Cliff didn't know about the changed will, or so he says, and Janine was still alive when Francie was murdered, so I don't follow your line of reasoning, Agatha."
Agatha's face fell. "Neither do I, now I come to think of it."
He patted her hand. "Let's talk about something more pleasant. I'm taking the day off on Sunday. Would you like to go for a drive?"
"Yes, that would be nice. Where?"
"Just along the coast. Stop somewhere at a pub for lunch."
"I'd love to."
"I'll pick you up at ten."
After Agatha said goodbye to him, she walked into the hotel and looked into the lounge. They were playing Scrabble over by the fire, the group illuminated by the soft light from an old-fashioned standard lamp with a fringed shade, all of them crouched over the Scrabble tiles on the low coffee-table. The furniture in the lounge was heavy and Victorian, upholstered in dark green velvet. The velvet curtains of the same colour were closed over the long windows to shut out the night. Had they all subconsciously decided to shut out the world by not talking about it? Agatha had never even heard them discuss anything in the newspapers except for a few brief remarks about the coverage of the murder. Then, almost as if their heads were on pulled wires, they all turned their faces and looked at her. Agatha had an odd feeling that she was intruding on the meeting of some secret society.
Then Daisy called, "Come and join us."
Agatha shook her head, smiled and said good night.
As she undressed in her room, she began to speculate about a future with Jimmy. Mrs. Jessop, she repeated to herself as she ran her bath. I could be Mrs. Jessop and I will ask James Lacey to give me away. So there!