(15/30) The Deadly Dance Read Online Free Page A

him what ‘e means and ‘e starts to talk but the Nazi ower there says, ‘You ‘ave customers waiting.’ Cow!”
    “Where can I find Jimmy?”
    “At Stonebridge services.”
    “The petrol station.”
    “That’s it.”
    Agatha was just leaving the supermarket when her phone rang. Emma again. “Mrs. Raisin,” said Emma formally, “I think you should return to the office. We have a client.”
    Agatha hurried back to the office. An expensively dressed woman was sitting in one of the visitors’ chairs, being served coffee by Emma.
    “Mrs. Benington,” said Emma, “this is our private investigator, Mrs. Raisin.”
    Everything about Mrs. Benington looked hard, from her lacquered hair to her glittering red nails. She had slightly prominent eyes with heavy lids and a small thin mouth, bright red with the sort of lipstick one paints on with a brush. She was tanned with that sun shower treatment that is supposed to look natural but never does. Her figure under a tailored jacket, blouse and short skirt was very good. Her legs were the thin kind that used to be so admired, ending in shoes that looked as if they had been made from crocodile skin. Surely not in these politically correct days, thought Agatha, although Mrs. Benington, radiating pent-up energy, looked perfectly capable of killing a crocodile herself.
    “How can I help you?” asked Agatha.
    ”I think my husband’s cheating on me. I want proof.”
    “Yes, we can do that for you. As to charges … ?”
    “Mrs. Comfrey has already discussed the charges with me and I have agreed.”
    Agatha’s eyes narrowed into slits. Emma rushed forward and put a signed agreement in front of Agatha. Agatha was all prepared to blast Emma until she saw that Emma had charged an extraordinarily high amount along with generous expenses.
    “Excellent,” Agatha forced herself to say.
    “I have given Mrs. Comfrey a cheque,” said Mrs. Benington, getting to her feet. “I must say, I was reassured. In this nasty business, it is so nice to be dealing with a lady.” And she smiled at Emma.
    When she had left, Agatha said, “In future, Emma, do not charge any amount of money without consulting me first.”
    Emma could feel her old crushed self about to whimper out an apology. But she felt she had got this far by pretending to be self-confident and she knew that any sign of weakness and the formidable Agatha would have her by the throat.
    “In this case,” she said mildly, “what would you have charged?”
    Agatha opened her mouth to blast her and then suddenly shut it again. For the first time in her life, she heard a voice in her brain telling her that she was jealous.
    She stared for a long moment at Emma and then shrugged. “I really don’t know, Emma, but I certainly would not have dreamt of charging so much. Well done. Now, I’d better phone our photographer, Sammy, and also Douglas for surveillance and get them on the job. Would you like to try your hand at some more detective work?”
    “You mean the Johnson boy?”
    “Yes, him. The father’s got his car back as good as new, but there’s no sign of Wayne. Wayne has a friend, Jimmy Swithe, who works at Stonebridge petrol station. You could try there first.”
    Emma’s face lit up in a smile. “I’ll get on to it right away.”
    When the door closed behind her tall, thin figure, Agatha Raisin said ruefully, “I am a bitch, that’s what I am,” and picked up the receiver to start investigating Mrs. Benington’s husband.
    Emma Comfrey arrived at the petrol station and asked for Jimmy Swithe. She was told he was working on a car in the garage at the side.
    Feeling waves of her usual timidity about to engulf her, Emma took a deep breath. I will act as if I am brave, she told herself. A burly man in stained overalls was bent over a car. “Mr. Swithe?”
    He jerked his hand towards the back of the garage. Emma walked forwards into the gloom. A young man was sitting on an upturned oil drum under a “No Smoking”