your way with a basket,' said the landlord.
Agatha frowned. She did not want to tell Bill anything. Not now. Not until she had it all worked out.
Bill Wong turned away from Agatha's cottage, disappointed. He glared up at the
'For Sale' sign. He felt sure she was making a mistake. A faint miaow came from inside the basket. 'Shh,' he said gently. He had brought Agatha a cat. His mother's cat had produced a litter and Bill, as usual, could not bear to see the little creatures drowned, so had started to inflict them on his friends as presents.
He was walking past the cottage next door when he saw James Lacey.
'Good morning,' said Bill. He eyed the newcomer to Carsely shrewdly and wondered what Agatha thought of him. James Lacey was surely handsome enough to strike any middle-aged woman all of a heap. He was over six feet tall, with a strong tanned face and bright blue eyes. His thick black hair, fashionably cut, had only a trace of grey. 'I was looking for your neighbour, Mrs. Raisin,' said Bill.
'I think the heat's got to her,' said James in a clear upper-class voice. 'She went past me muttering, 'Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones.' Whoever Mr. Jones is, I feel sorry for him.'
'Anyway, I've brought her this cat,' said Bill, ' a present, and a litter tray. It's house-trained. Would you be so good as to give it to her when she returns? My name is Bill Wong.'
'All right. Do you know when that will be?'
'Shouldn't be long,' said Bill. 'Her car's outside.'
He handed over the cat in its carrying basket and the litter tray and went off. Jones, he thought. What's she up to now?'
He went into Harvey's to buy a bar of chocolate and asked the woman behind the till, 'Who's Mr. Jones?' 'Not you too,' she said crossly. 'Mrs. Raisin was in here to find out, and quite rude she was. We're all suffering from this heat, but there's no call to behave like that.'
Bill waited patiently until the complaints were over and he could find out about Mr. Jones. He didn't really know why he was bothering except that Agatha Raisin had a way of stirring things up.
Agatha was quite depressed as she walked home. She thought she had solved the case, as she had begun to call it in her mind, but while in the pub, that great stumbling block had risen up in front of her again.
There was no way Vera Cummings-Browne could have cooked a poisoned quiche in her kitchen without the police forensic team finding a trace of it.
She let herself wearily into her hot house. Better put the whole business to the back of her mind and go down to Moreton and buy a fan of some kind.
There was a knock at the door. She looked through the new spy hole installed by the security people and found herself looking at the middle of a man's checked shirt. She opened the door on the chain.
'Mrs. Raisin,' said the man. 'I am your new neighbour, James Lacey.'
'Oh.' Agatha took in the full glory of James Lacey and her mouth dropped open.
'A Mr. Wong called but you were out.'
'What do the police want now?' demanded Agatha 'I did not know he was from the police. He was plain clothes. He asked me to give you this cat.'
'Cat!' echoed Agatha, amazed.
'Yes, cat,' he said patiently, thinking, She really is nuts.
Agatha dropped the chain and opened the door. 'Come in,' she said, suddenly aware of her loose print dress and her bare, unshaven legs.
They walked into the kitchen. Agatha knelt down and opened the basket.
A small tabby kitten strolled out looked around and yawned. 'That's a sweet little fellow,' he said, edging towards the door. 'Well, if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Raisin ... '
'Won't you stay? Have a cup of coffee?'
'No, I really must go. Oh, there's someone at your door.'
'Could you wait just for a moment,' said Agatha, ' watch the kitten until I see who that is?'
She left the kitchen before he could reply. She opened the door. A woman stood there, looking as fresh as a spring day despite the heat.
She was wearing a white cotton dress with a red leather belt around her slender waist. Her legs were tanned and un hairy Her expensively dyed blonde hair shone in the sunlight. She was about forty, with a clever face and hazel eyes. She was exactly the sort of woman, Agatha thought, who would be bound to catch the eye of this glamorous new neighbour. 'What is it?' demanded Agatha. 'I've come to view the house.'
'It's sold. Goodbye.' Agatha slammed the door. 'If your house is sold,' said James Lacey when she returned to the kitchen, feeling more of a frump than ever, ' should get the estate agents to put a 'Sold' sign up.'
'I didn't like the look of her,' muttered Agatha. 'Indeed? I thought she looked very pleasant.' Agatha looked at the wide-open kitchen door, which gave a perfect view of whoever was standing at the front door, and blushed.
'Now you really must excuse me,' he said, and before Agatha could protest, he had made his escape.
The cat made a faint pleading sound. 'What am I going to do with you?' demanded Agatha, exasperated. 'What is Bill Wong thinking of?' She poured the cat some milk in a saucer and watched it lapping it up.
Well, she would need to feed it until she decided how to get rid of it.
She went back into the heat. Her neighbour was working in his front garden. He saw her coming, smiled vaguely, and retreated into his cottage.
Damn, thought Agatha angrily. No wonder all these women were crawling on to his doorstep with gifts. She went to Harvey's, where the woman behind the till gave her a hurt look, and bought cat food, extra milk, and cat litter for the tray.
She returned home and fed the kitten and then took a cup of coffee into the garden. Her handsome neighbour had knocked all thoughts of murder out of her head. If only she had been properly dressed. If only he hadn't heard her being so rude to that woman who wanted to see the house.
The kitten was rolling over in the sun. She watched it moodily. She, too, could have taken along a cake. In fact, she still could. She scooped up the kitten and carried it inside and then went back to Harvey's to find that it was early-closing day.
She could go down to Moreton and buy a cake, but one should really take home-baking along. Then she remembered the freezer in the school hall.
That was where the ladies of Carsely stored their home-baking for fetes to come. There would be no harm in just borrowing something. Then she could go home and put on something really pretty and take along the cake.
The school hall was fortunately empty. She went through into the kitchen and gingerly lifted the lid of the freezer. There were all sorts of goodies: tarts, angel cakes, chocolates cakes, sponges and she shuddered even quiches.
She took out a large chocolate cake, feeling every bit the thief she was, looking about her, expecting any moment to be surprised. She gently lowered the lid and slipped the frozen cake into a plastic bag she had brought with her for the purpose. Back home again.
She took a shower and washed her hair, dried it and brushed it until it shone. She put on a red linen dress with a white collar and tan high-heeled sandals. Then she gave the kitten some more milk and defrosted the cake in the microwave after taking it out of its cellophane wrapper. She arranged it on a plate and marched along to James Lacey's cottage.
'Oh, Mrs. Raisin,' he said when he opened the door and reluctantly accepted the cake. 'How good of you. Perhaps you would like to come in, or,' he added hopefully, ' you are too busy.'
'No, not at all,' said Agatha cheerfully.
He led the way into his living-room and Agatha's curious eyes darted from side to side. There were books everywhere, some already on banks of shelves, some in open boxes on the floor, waiting to be stored away.
'It's like a library,' said Agatha. 'I thought you were an army man.'
'Ex. I am settling down in my retirement to write military history.'
He waved a hand to a desk in the corner which held a computer. 'If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll make some coffee to go with that delicious cake. You ladies are certainly champion bakers.'
Agatha settled herself carefully in a battered old leather armchair, hitching her skirt up slightly to show her legs to advantage.