She pushed open the door of the pub. It was the lunch-hour and it was busy with office workers. But she found an empty table and sat down after collecting a gin and tonic from the bar.
Unless she hurried, she would miss lunch at the hotel and she did not feel like trying any of the pub food, which smelled horrible. She finished her gin and tonic just as the pub door opened and Jimmy came in. He shot her a brief look and then turned around and walked out.
Agatha felt quite weepy. But then, she consoled herself, she had thought him weird the way he had picked her up. So why should she be surprised by his odd behaviour?
She walked back out into the sunshine, but glad of the warmth of her coat, for the wind was cold.
She was making her way towards the hotel when she passed a group of young people who were sitting on a wall drinking beer and eating hamburgers. One of them, a young girl with noserings and earrings, suddenly flew at Agatha, clawing at her coat and screaming, "Murderer."
Alarmed, Agatha gave her an almighty push and sent her flying and then set off at a run.
Once in the hotel, she hurried up to her room and lovingly hung the precious coat away in the wardrobe.
Enough was enough. One more day and she would check out.
After dinner, she reluctantly joined the other guests in the lounge, where the colonel was opening the Scrabble board.
The tall masculine woman turned out to be Miss Jennifer Stobbs and the small weedy one, Miss Mary Dulsey. The old crabby man, Harry Berry, smelt of mothballs and peppermints. Daisy Jones was flirting coyly with Colonel Lyche.
"So few guests," said Agatha.
"We're all residents, apart from you," said Jennifer. She had a heavy, sallow face with a bristle of hairs above her upper lip. Her hair, streaked with grey, was close-cropped. "Get a lot of guests in the season and at weekends."
"Are you any good at Scrabble, Agatha?" asked the colonel. Agatha was momentarily startled by the use of her first name. The members of the old-fashioned ladies' society in her home village of Carsely addressed one another as Mrs. this and Miss that.
"Average," said Agatha, and then remembered dismally the cosy evenings spent with James playing Scrabble when they had been engaged.
She played as best as she could, but the others were not only dedicated Scrabble players but also crossword addicts, and so Agatha did badly compared to the others.
"Did you go to Francie?" asked Daisy.
But Agatha was already ashamed of having spent one hundred pounds on what she believed was probably two bottles of coloured water and so she lied and said, "No."
"Oh, you should, she's very good."
Another game started. Agatha tried harder this time but still had the lowest score. "That's it for this evening," said Colonel Lyche. Agatha was surprised to find out it was just after midnight.
She refused the colonel's offer of a drink and went up to her room, thinking that they had all been good company, and once you got to know the elderly, it was amazing how much younger they became.
She took off her blouse and put it in her laundry bag. Then she removed her skirt and went to the massive wardrobe to hang it up.
She swung open the door.
Then she screamed.
TWO
HER beloved mink coat was hanging in shreds and it had been daubed with red paint.
She backed away from the wreck of it. Agatha found she was trembling. She clenched her shaking hands and then was overtaken with an outburst of anger. There would only be the night porter on duty. She would call the police. She looked up the local phone book, pressed "9" for an outside line and dialled Wyckhadden police station.
"Evening, Wyckhadden police," said a bored voice.
Agatha curtly snapped out the details of the desecration of her fur coat. "Anything else damaged?" asked the voice, still as bored. Agatha looked wildly around the room. "Not that I can see."
"Don't touch anything. We'll have someone along directly."
Agatha began to look around the room. Nothing else seemed to have been touched. Even her jewel case, open on the dressing table, still had all her pieces of jewellery in it.
She called the night porter and explained tersely what had happened and that she had called the police. "I'll be up right away," he said.
After a few moments, there was a knock at her door. The night porter was young for an establishment such as the Garden Hotel, being somewhere in his forties. He had an unhealthy open-pored grey face, a droopy moustache and dyed black hair. He stared in awe at the wreckage of Agatha's coat. "Did you forget to lock your room?" he asked.
"I did not forget. I was playing Scrabble with the others. I locked my door and kept the key in my handbag."
"Some of our residents are very forgetful," he said.
"I am not senile!" howled Agatha. "If I say I locked my door, then that is what I did!"
Elderly people do not sleep very well and somehow the other residents must have sensed something was going on. The door to Agatha's room was open. Mrs. Daisy Jones, wrapped in a pink silk quilted dressing-gown, appeared, peering in, shortly followed by the colonel, still dressed. They both exclaimed in horror over the vandalism.
"I blame the welfare system," said the colonel. "They've got young people down here who've never done a day's work in their lives." The rest of the residents soon crowded in, chattering and exclaiming.
"I think you should all go away," said Agatha desperately. "The police will want to dust the room for fingerprints."
"Which of you is Mrs. Raisin?" called a voice from the doorway. The residents parted to reveal a squat burly man in a tight suit and anorak and a policewoman who looked as if she was half asleep.
The residents shuffled out into the corridor. "Detective Constable Ian Tarret," said the man, shutting the door on the elderly residents. "This the coat?"
"That was the coat," said Agatha bitterly.
"Let's begin at the beginning, Mrs. Raisin. You are a visitor?"
"Yes. I've only been here a few days."
"Why Wyckhadden? Know people here?"
"No, I wanted someplace for a holiday, that was all."
"Have you worn the coat since your arrival?"
"Yes, I wore it to a dance on the pier last night. I went with Inspector Jimmy Jessop."
"I thought you didn't know anyone in Wyckhadden."
"He picked me up in a pub," said Agatha, and despite her distress she maliciously hoped that bit of gossip would get round the police station.
"Now, there are people around who attack people wearing fur. Anyone have a go at you?"
"Yes, this morning, on the prom, just before I got to the hotel. There were some young people sitting on a wall. A girl with spiky hair, noserings and earrings attacked me."
"Didn't you report it?"
"Would you have done anything about it?"
"Certainly. You should have reported it. Anyone else make adverse comments?"
Agatha thought guiltily of the witch of Wyckhadden, Francie Juddle. She did not like to confess she had been consulting a witch. And what if it came out that she had asked for a love potion?
"No," she lied.
"We'll have the fingerprint men along in the morning."
"Why the morning? Why not now?"
"We're a bit pushed. Lots of work."
"A crime wave in Wyckhadden?"
"It's not that. It's lack of funds. We're only a small station. The forensic boys have to come from Hadderton, the main town. Perhaps you'd like to drop into the station in the morning and make a full statement."