‘I’m fine,’ said Agatha defiantly. ‘Press on.’
James took a small earthy track leading round 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 crammed the passengers into all the seats at the front. Anything to eat or drink had to be purchased, and they even had to put one pound in the slot to use the toilet. Fortunately, the plane was only half-full and they were able to find other seats and stretch out.
The hotel was called the Old Prairie Ranch and was on the outskirts of Las Vegas near the airport. The architecture could be described as Plastic Log Cabin. Their room opened out on to a dusty outside corridor. It had a tired look. A cockroach lurked in the shower. Toni began to wish she had not come, but nothing seemed to dim Chelsea’s enthusiasm.
‘You know, I’ve always admired you, Tone,’ she said. ‘If I went a bit easier on the war paint and brushed my hair down, we could look like sisters.’
Toni was tired and suggested they should have a few hours’ sleep before setting off into town.
They ordered hamburgers and Cokes from room service, and then both fell into a heavy sleep.
Toni was awakened by Chelsea shaking her. ‘Show a leg, girl. Time to hit the town.’
Las Vegas was exciting as their taxi deposited them at the Rio Grande Hotel and Casino. There was a hectic buzz in the air. The whole city seemed a symphony of flashing neon lights.
Toni was wearing a simple black sheath with a row of pearls around her neck. Chelsea had also put on a black dress and had toned down her make-up. At first, as they entered, Toni felt almost overdressed. Elderly men and women were crouched at the slot machines, their eyes glazed, pulling the levers.
‘I want to play roulette,’ said Toni.
But Chelsea had noticed that the people at the machines were not all old. A young man with a cowboy hat pushed back on his head winked at her. ‘You go play roulette,’ said Chelsea. ‘I’ll try my luck here.’
‘What if we lose each other?’ protested Toni.
‘I’ve got a mobile which can work here. What about you?’
‘Yes, I’ve got one of those.’
‘Good, we can text each other.’
Feeling very young and self-conscious, Toni made her way to the roulette tables after buying a modest amount of chips. Not knowing whether she was allowed to use a camera or not, she still wanted a record of her visit. Agatha had given her a present of a ‘spy’ camera in the shape of a cigarette lighter. Toni had it inside a clutch handbag. She fished it out along with a packet of cigarettes. No one seemed to be smoking. Was there a smoking ban? Never mind, she told herself, if someone thinks I’m going to light up, I’m sure they’ll stop me. She rapidly clicked off a series of photographs of the people around the roulette tables. Then she saw a place at a table where she could push in.
She put fifty dollars on thirteen, and to her amazement, she won. She then played another fifty on seven and won again. ‘Third time lucky, honey,’ said an excited woman beside her. Toni played on, she lost some, but then won again, and again. Common sense took over and she decided to stop playing.
‘Luck hardly ever goes on happening,’ remarked Toni, gathering up her chips. When she cashed in her chips, she found she had won nearly two thousand dollars. She went off to find Chelsea, who was still feverishly playing the slot machines. ‘I’ve won quite a bit,’ said Toni. ‘Let’s get something to eat.’