there was anything in her character that would make her what Scotland Yard calls a murderee – you know, someone who would incite people to violence.”
“Having an affair with someone else’s husband in an incitement,” said Mrs. Bloxby.
“Yes, but that would mean Aggie would have to have done it,” said Charles, “and she didn’t, and I don’t believe for a moment it was the absent James. Besides, married women have affairs the whole time and no one bumps them off.”
“I think married women are a lot more faithful than you give them credit for, Sir Charles. Let me think. Mrs. Sheppard. Well, she was quite hard to get to know, considering she was a very chatty lady.”
Charles reached for another scone. Agatha, despite a tight feeling at her waistline, which she quickly assured herself must be psychosomatic, followed suit. “What do you mean, chatty?” asked Charles. “She would talk a lot about the weather, about recipes, about flowers, about village life – you know, the decline of the small village shop and all that – but nothing personal.”
“Did she have a close friend in the village?”
“No. I would see her about the village, talking to this one and that, but she was not friendly with anyone in particular.”
“Did you like her?” asked Charles.
“Well, no, I did not.”
“Why?”
“I felt she was acting the part of the village lady. I felt she was restless and discontented and vain. I felt she was afraid of losing her looks. I felt – oh, I don’t know – that she had a craving for excitement. Now, having an affair with James perhaps was her way of making herself feel like a desirable woman. She may have behaved in the same way with other women’s husbands, but I don’t know if she did. She probably enjoyed the power and excitement of an adulterous relationship.”
“We’ve just been to see the present Mrs. Sheppard,” said Agatha. “Funny little woman who dresses like a child.”
“Quite attractive, in fact,” murmured Charles, and Agatha threw him a filthy look.
“I was not aware he had married again. But then, I did not know him. Mrs. Sheppard moved to this village after her divorce from him. Is there any news of James?”
Agatha shook her head. “And I find that very odd. Particularly because of his cancer. You would think he would show up at some hospital somewhere.”
Charles delicately licked a piece of jammy scone from his fingertips. “I think we’d better go to Mircester, Aggie, and see that husband. May I use your bathroom first?”
“You know where it is? Down the corridor and on your right.”
When he had left, Mrs. Bloxby looked seriously at Agatha. “Have you considered, Mrs. Raisin, that you have been under a great deal of stress lately? That perhaps if you went away on holiday and tried to relax, it might be better for you?”
“Why?” asked Agatha, surprised. “You know I’ve got to find out about this murder. Apart from anything, James is still the prime suspect. I’ve got to keep asking questions.”
Mrs. Bloxby wanted to say that she feared Agatha might find out more about James than she wanted to hear, but she said, “Just be careful. You have put yourself in danger before.”
“I’ll be careful. I wish you could meet the present Mrs. Sheppard. I didn’t like her at all.”
“Did Sir Charles?”
“Oh, him! He was all over her like a rash.”
“Oh, well.”
“I am not jealous of her,” snapped Agatha. “I do not care what woman Charles fancies.”
“If you say so. Ah, here is Sir Charles. Can I expect you at our ladies’ society meeting tomorrow night, Mrs. Raisin?”
“I suppose so,” muttered Agatha, wishing she had never joined in the first place. She had only signed up when she had first arrived in the village as part of playing some sort of role as a villager, like trying to bake and going to church.
¦
“I wonder if they’ve bugged your phone,” said Charles, as they headed towards Mircester.
“Would they do that?”
“Seems likely. I mean, they’ll be hoping he’ll get in contact with you.”
“I don’t like that idea. Charles, do you really think James is dead?”
“No. If James was dead, we’d have had a report by now. He can’t hide away forever. And when he comes back, you’ll need to face up to the fact that you should never have married him.”
“We were working things out. It would have worked out. He’ll need nursing, taking care of.”
“I can’t see you as a ministering angel, Aggie.”
“Then you’ve never been in love.”
“I think you fell in love with a dream James who does not exist.”
“I am not a fanciful person!”
“I think you are, under that crusty exterior.”
“Shut up and drive, Charles.”
They completed the rest of the journey in silence.
“I wonder if he’s handsome,” said Agatha as she walked across the main car-park with Charles.
“Luke Sheppard? You mean because Melissa was an attractive woman?”
“If you like stringy, faded blondes and itsy-bitsy little middle-aged women who dress like schoolgirls.”
“Late thirties isn’t middle-aged these days. If it is, you’re ancient, Aggie.”
A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek and she gave a choked sob. “Here, now!” said Charles, alarmed, handing her a handkerchief as Agatha attempted to brush the tear away on her blouse sleeve. “You’re falling apart. Do you want to go somewhere for a drink? Something to eat? We’ve only had scones.” Agatha blew her nose defiantly. “I’m all right. It’s just that I keep wondering and wondering how the hell James could cheat on me like that.”
“Maybe if I thought I were dying, it might affect my morals.”
“Couldn’t. You haven’t got any.”
“That’s more like my Aggie. Come on. Here’s the gents’ outfitters. Oh, God, just look at that awful blazer with the improbable crest on the pocket.”
A-slim dark-haired woman was arranging piles of shirts at the back of the shop. She was dressed all in black – short black skirt, black stockings, and low-cut black blouse. “Maybe the third Mrs. Sheppard,” murmured Charles.
Agatha sailed forward. “We’re looking for Mr. Sheppard.”
“I’ll get him. You are…?”
“Agatha Raisin and Sir Charles Fraith.”
She undulated into the back shop. They could hear the murmur of voices and then Luke Sheppard appeared. He was a small, powerfully built blond-haired man with small red-veined blue eyes and a large thick-lipped mouth. His broad chest was encased in one of the crested blazers that Charles despised.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
“Are you very busy?” asked Charles. “Is there somewhere we can go and talk?”
“There’s the pub next door. Can you take care of things, Lucy?”
“Of course, Luke,” said the dark-haired assistant. She gave him a languorous smile.
They walked together into the beer-smelling darkness of The Green Man next door. The pub was nearly empty. Charles said he had left his wallet, which Agatha did not believe for a moment, but she paid for their drinks and then they all sat down around a table. “I assume this has to do with the death of my former wife,” said Luke Sheppard. “What have you heard?”
“Nothing new,” said Agatha. “You see, my husband is under suspicion and I am anxious to clear his name.”
“I don’t see how you plan to do that. Can’t think of anyone else with any reason to have done it.”
Agatha looked ready to flare up, so Charles said quickly, “It’s just that we’re trying to build up a picture of Melissa. No one seems to have known her very well. You see, if we get an idea what she was like, we might think
