Agatha Raisin & the Vicious Vet

'I bought make-up at the chemist's' Agatha's voice was now reduced to a flat even tone. 'I wanted to cover up the spot, but the light in the Ladies' wasn't working and I thought it probably needed a new bulb. I remembered I had a packet of light bulbs in the car and went to get one. But the only way I could get to the light was by standing on the basin. It came away from the wall. I was so shocked I decided to say nothing about it.'

'I am afraid you are going to have to come with me' said Bill severely.

The fact that James Lacey did not offer to accompany her, that he muttered something awkwardly about staying put and reading the newspapers, plunged him low in Agatha's estimation despite her distress. So much for the knight errant of her dreams. He was going to sit safely while she dealt with a no doubt enraged landlord.

James went out a few moments after they had left. He bought two newspapers and then returned to the pub. But he could not concentrate on the stories. Damn Agatha. What a woman. What a stupid thing to do! And then the ridiculous side of it all struck him and he began to laugh and, once started, couldn't seem to stop, although people edged away from his table nervously. He finally mopped his eyes and, tucking the unread papers under his arm, strode over to the George.

Agatha was holding out a cheque which the landlord of the George was refusing. 'Ho, no, you don't get off that easily' he said. He was an unpleasant-looking man with a face like a slab of Cheddar cheese, the skin yellow and slightly sweating with rage. 'You charge this woman, officer' he said to Bill, 'and I'll see her in court. You charge her with wilful vandalism.'

James twitched the cheque out of Agatha's fingers and blinked slightly at the large sum. 'You can't afford this' he said to Agatha. 'A lady like yourself, existing on a widow's pension, cannot afford a sum like this. Declare yourself bankrupt and then, even if he takes you to court, he won't get a penny. I know a good solicitor just around the corner.'

'Good idea' said Bill. 'You need a solicitor anyway. He'll want to know why there was no light bulb in the Ladies' in the first place, why the basin fell away from the wall so easily. The wiring in this pub had better be checked, too'

I'll take the cheque' growled the landlord desperately.

'You'll take another cheque' said James firmly. 'Agatha, get your cheque-book and write out one for half this sum.'

The Cheddar cheese looked ready to explode again, but a steely look from James silenced him.

Agatha wrote out the new cheque while James tore up the old one.

When they were all outside in the square, Bill said, 'If that had been a nice, respectable landlord, I might have charged you, Agatha. Anyway, thanks to Mr Lacey, it's all sorted out. What about dinner tonight?'

Agatha hesitated. She had originally thought her day with James might end in an intimate dinner. On the other hand, better to continue to play it cool. 'Yes, that would be nice. Where do you live? I know your phone number but not your address'

'It's number 24, The Beeches. You go out of town on the Fosse and take the first left along Camden Way until you come to a set of traffic lights, turn right, then take the first left, and that's The Beeches. It's a cul-de-sac'

Agatha scribbled the information down on the back of a gas bill. 'What time?'

'Six o'clock. We eat early'

'We?'

'My parents. You forget, I live at home. You come, too, Mr Lacey'

Please, please, please, God, prayed Agatha.

James looked surprised but then said, Td like that. I'd more or less decided to have the day off. Is it all right if I come dressed like this?'

Bill looked amused. 'We're not formal' he said. 'See you then'

He moved off, with the tall and still silent policewoman walking beside him.

'I think we need something to eat now,' said James. 'What about a beer and a sandwich, and then we'll decide who we ask about the sister. We should have asked Bill Wong. Still, we can always do that this evening'

He did not mention the ruined toilet and Agatha was grateful for that. But she felt obliged to say gruffly, 'I'm hardly penniless'

'I know,' he said amiably, 'but the minute that landlord thought you were broke, then he was glad to take any money'

Once they had eaten, he drew out a notebook and pen and said, 'Why don't we pretend it's murder and start by writing down all the names of the people we should speak to'

1 think the ex-wife would be a good idea,' said Agatha, 'although she wasn't very friendly. I know, we can call at the vet's here, his partner, Peter Rice. Hell know whether Bladen had a sister, and that would be a start'

Mr Peter Rice was a pugnacious man with a large bulbous nose, small eyes and a small mouth. The ugly nose, which dominated his face, was disconcerting, rather like a face pressed too close to a camera lens. His thatch of thick red curly hair looked as if someone had dropped a small wig casually on the top of his rather pointed head. His neck was thick and strong, as were his shoulders. In fact, his body seemed too strong and broad for his small head, as if he had thrust his head through a Strong Man cardboard cutout on a fairground.

He was not pleased to learn that they had queued up in his surgery, not to consult him about some animal, but to ask him questions about his dead partner.

'Sister?' he said in answer to their questions. 'No, he didn't have a sister. Got a brother somewhere in London. Fell out a time ago. Brother didn't bother turning up for the funeral.' His hands covered in thick red hair like fur moved restlessly over a shelf of small bottles, as if looking for a label that said 'Vanish'. 'Now if that's all . . '

'Was he a wealthy man?' asked James.

'No'

'Oh. How do you know?'

'I know because he left everything to me'

'How much was that?' asked Agatha eagerly.

'Not enough' he said. 'Get out of here and leave me to deal with my customers'

'So he inherits and not the brother. Now there's a motive' crowed Agatha when they were outside. 'Who would know how much money was involved?'

'The lawyer. But I doubt if he would tell us. Let's try the local newspaper editor' said James. 'They pick up all sorts of gossip'

The offices of the Mircester Journal came as a disappointment to Agatha, even though the newspaper consisted of little more than three pages. She had naively expected something like the newspaper offices she had occasionally seen on news programmes, great enormous rooms with lines of computers and busy reporters. Time and printing changes had passed the Mircester Journal by. The offices consisted of several dark rooms at the top of a rickety staircase. A pale young woman with straight lank hair was pounding an old-fashioned typewriter and a young man with his hands in his pockets was standing by a window, whistling tunelessly and looking down into the street.

'May we see the editor?' asked James.

The pale girl stopped typing. 'If it's births, deaths, or marriages, I do that' she said.

'None of those'

'Complaints? Wrong name under the photo?'

'No complaint'

'That makes a change' She got to her feet. She was wearing a long patchwork skirt and baseball boots and a T-shirt which said 'Naff Off'. 'Names?'

'Mrs Raisin and Mr Lacey'

'Right'

She pushed open a scarred door and vanished inside. There was a murmur of voices and then she popped out again. 'You're to go in. Mr Hey ford will see you now'

Mr Heyford rose to meet them. After the vision in the T-shirt and baseball boots he came as a conservative surprise, being a small, neat man with a smooth olive face, black eyes and thin strips of oiled black hair combed straight back from his forehead. He was dressed in a dark suit, collar and tie.

'Sit down' he said. 'What can I do for you? I recognize your name, Mrs Raisin. That was quite a lot of money