day in very high heels and not even feel a twinge? Agatha felt the autumn of her life stretching in front of her.
She looked around the crowd, searching for a victim to take over the stand for her so that she could give in and find a pair of flat shoes. She saw Mrs. Allan, Carsely’s battered wife, and called to her. Mrs. Allan came up to Agatha. Although she was only in her thirties, she had stooped shoulders, as if from a lifetime of warding off blows. “Could you take over for me?” asked Agatha.
“I dunno. I ain’t never auctioned nothing.”
“The auction’s over. I’ve put the price tickets on everything. I’ll give Mrs. Bloxby the cheques.”
“Oh, all right, then,” said Mrs. Allan. “Ain’t it hot?” She removed a limp white cardigan and draped it over the edge of the stall. Underneath the cardigan, she was wearing a skimpy blouse. Agatha’s eyes sharpened. There was a nasty bruise on one of Mrs. Allan’s thin arms. “What happened there?” she asked, pointing to the bruise.
“Oh, that? Ever so clumsy, I am. Hit it on the door.”
Agatha headed off to find Mrs. Bloxby and handed her a pile of cheques and notes. “There must be a fortune here, Mrs. Raisin,” said Mrs. Bloxby. She turned to her husband, the vicar. “Alf, isn’t she marvellous? Don’t you just feel like giving Mrs. Raisin a great big hug?”
The vicar shied like a startled horse. “Good heavens, is that the time?” he exclaimed. “Got to see someone,” and ran off as fast as he could.
“I’ve got to get home,” said Agatha. “My feet are killing me.”
“Such a pity. Those shoes look really glamorous.”
Agatha smiled. Mrs. Bloxby had a knack of saying the right thing. A lesser woman would have said, “Why don’t you wear sensible shoes?”
“I’ve left Mrs. Allan in charge. She’s got a terrible bruise on one arm. Can it be the husband? He’s out of the picture, isn’t he?”
“As far as I know. But the trouble with that kind of woman – I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but sometimes I despair – is that they get rid of one villain and pick up another.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been told that women who don’t think much of themselves gravitate to people who’ll make them feel even worse about themselves. It’s amazing how they get rid of one and then marry again, the same type.”
“Has she got anyone?”
Mrs. Bloxby sighed. “Not that I know of, and if she has, there is nothing I can do about it but sit and wait until it gets too bad again and then step in and try to pick up the pieces. Off you go. You’ve done splendidly. The doll! What an enormous amount of money.”
“That was Melissa’s ex-husband, the one before Sheppard.”
“Really? He looks quite mad. I hope he does not regret spending such a vast amount of money. But these antique dolls can be really valuable.”
“I only hope that the people who donated the doll don’t come after me and demand the money,” said Agatha.
“Who was it?”
“Big manor-house. Over by Longborough. Big cedar tree outside.”
“Oh, Lord Freme. I wouldn’t worry. He’s got millions.”
“I’ll be off then.”
“Where’s your young friend?”
“Gone off with Dewey to do a bit of detective work.”
“Is that wise? He may be your murderer.”
Agatha looked worried. “I’ll wait a bit and then go after him.”
She went home and massaged her aching feet after she had taken her shoes off. Her cats jumped, purring, onto her lap and she lay back in the armchair and stroked their fur, reluctant to return to the fete. But at last she let them out into the garden, put on flat shoes and walked back to the church hall.
“Sold anything?” she asked Mrs. Allan.
“A riddle jug thing. I put the money in the box.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Allan. Why don’t you go and get a cup of tea? I’ll take over now.”
Mrs. Allan slouched off. At the next stand, Miss Simms turned the tombola drum and called over, “Your young man not coming back?”
“Don’t think so,” said Agatha. “There’s nobody interested in what I’ve got left, so I can take over for you.”
“Ta. Where’s Charles?”
“Gone home.”
“All your fellows left you?”
“Looks like that,” said Agatha sourly.
The day wore on. The morris dancers jumped up and down energetically, tourists took pictures, the cake- and-jam stall had sold out and the cafeteria was doing a roaring trade. Clouds were piling up over to the west and Agatha could feel the beginnings of a headache. Where was Roy? She began to worry so much that even when Mrs. Bloxby rounded off the day by making a speech of thanks to everyone who had helped in general and one, Agatha Raisin, in particular, she barely listened. As soon as the applause had died down, she ran home and got into her car and headed for Worcester.
When she arrived in Worcester, she realized she should just have waited at home for Roy to call. She had forgotten, he didn’t have a car. He might even now be on the train, heading back to Moreton-in-Marsh. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Six o’clock! Dewey would have shut up shop, so she would have no way of finding out when Roy had left.
She decided to try the shop anyway. She parked the car and hurried over to The Shambles. To her relief, she saw the shutters had not been put up. She cupped her hand and peered in the window. Roy was sitting in a chair, looking like a scared rabbit. Dewey was talking forcibly and standing over Roy, brandishing a pair of scissors. Agatha was about to burst in, but then she thought that might urge Dewey to violence. She moved away from the window and took out her mobile phone and called the police, and waited, trembling and anxious, until a squad car roared up. “My friend is in there,” she babbled to the first policeman, “being threatened with a pair of scissors.” There were three policemen in all. They walked into the shop and Agatha followed them, glad to see that Roy was still unharmed.
“We have a report that you have been threatening this gentleman with a pair of scissors,” said the leading policeman ponderously.
Dewey, whose face had been contorted with rage when Agatha had seen him through the window, immediately became transformed into a meek and bewildered shopkeeper.
“I do not know what you mean!” he said, putting the scissors down on the desk. He looked at Agatha. “It’s that trouble-making woman again. I was merely giving this gentleman a lecture on antique dolls.”
“Is that true, sir?” The policeman looked at Roy.
“Yes, I suppose he was,” said Roy. “But he scared me. I’ve been here for hours and
“Do you wish to lay charges?”
“No,” said Roy. “I just want to get out of here.”
“If he threatened you with a pair of scissors, you should lay charges against him.”
“I was defending myself, officer,” said Dewey. “You will find that this woman and another man entered my home recently and said they had a gun.”
Now the policeman looked at Agatha suspiciously. “You pestering this man?”
“No,” said Agatha, and “Yes,” said Dewey.
“Could we just let the matter drop?” pleaded Roy.
Dewey suddenly agreed. “Yes, let’s just forget about the whole thing.”
The police driver came into the shop. “Smash and grab out on The Walls, sir.”
“Right.” The policeman glared all around. “I’ll let it go this time.”
“Come on,” hissed Roy, grabbing Agatha’s arm. He obviously didn’t want to be left with Dewey again.
“Phew!” said Roy as they hurried along the street. “Let’s find a pub. I could do with a drink.”
