reckon. Course he had to soft-soap Mrs Josephs, didn't he? I mean, she was making things hot for him over that cat. Then there was that funny old creature, Webster. That's it'
Agatha's scowl came back. She estimated that Josephine Webster, she who ran the dried-flower shop, was probably younger than herself.
'None of these ladies is really old,' she protested.
Cheryl shrugged. 'All look like a hundred and two to me' she said with all the callousness of youth.
'Did he get up to any of this philandering in Mircester?' asked James.
'Didn't know him then,' replied Cheryl. 'Saw the ad for a vet's receptionist and got the job'
'So what are you doing now?'
'Kennels. Out Warwick way' Cheryl's face suddenly softened. 'I like animals. B'etter'n people any day'
'So all we got out of that unlovely pair,' said James as they drove back to Carsely, 'was much as we supposed. He was charming the ladies of Carsely
'And screwing one,' said Agatha with a grin.
'I must confess I was very surprised to hear that about Freda' he said stiffly. 'Do you think our Miss Mabbs could have been making it up?'
'Not for a moment' said Agatha gleefully.
'Oh, well, I suppose we should now concentrate on Miss Webster. Then there's Mrs Mason to see. Who was the other one you saw at the funeral?'
'Harriet Parr'
'We'll see them all tomorrow' said James. 'But better not let Bill Wong know what we're doing'
'And yet' said Agatha, 'I can't help feeling that the clue to the whole thing lies with his ex-wife. She must know more about him than anyone. And who was the woman who answered the phone that night I called and said she was his wife? I'll bet that was our Mrs Skirt-up-to-Her-Eyeballs, Freda Huntingdon'
'Can we please drop the subject of Freda?' he said. Agatha glanced sideways at him as they approached the orange lights of a roundabout. His face looked grim.
Damn Freda, thought Agatha bitterly, pressed her foot harder on the accelerator and sent the car racing homewards through the night.
'Do you think there is a Mr Parr?' asked James as he and Agatha strolled through the village the next day to renew their investigation.
'Probably only the married ones' said James.
He put his hands in his pockets and began to whistle something complicated - probably Bach or some old bore like that, thought Agatha.
Mrs Harriet Parr lived in a modern bungalow on the outskirts of the village. When they reached the gate, Agatha said suddenly, 'This is a waste of time.'
'Why?'
'I don't remember meeting a Mrs Parr at the vicarage, and if she wasn't there to overhear what Mrs Josephs said to me, how can she have anything to do with it?'
'Perhaps Mrs Josephs was going about saying the same thing earlier'
'Oh, well, let's get on with it'
Mrs Parr answered the door herself. Agatha began by saying they hadn't met, but she and Mr Lacey would like to ask her a few questions, and soon they found themselves in a comfortable living-room. Agatha counted six cats. There was something claustrophobic about seeing so many cats in one room. She felt obscurely that at least some of them ought to be outside.
Mrs Parr was a small woman with curly black hair and an oddly old-fashioned sort of hourglass figure. Agatha decided she was probably wearing a corset. She had hard red cheeks and a small pinched mouth which when she spoke revealed pointed teeth.
It was some time before Agatha could get down to questioning her because she and James had to be introduced to each cat in turn. Then Mrs Parr fussed over James, asking him if he were comfortable, plumping cushions at his back, before rushing off to fetch tea and 'some of my special scones'.
'No Mr Parr' whispered Agatha.
'Might be out at work' said James.
Mrs Parr came back with a loaded tray. After tea had been poured and the lightness of scones admired, Agatha said, 'Actually, we're really interested in finding out about Paul Bladen'
Mrs Parr's cup rattled against the saucer. 'Poor Paul' she said. She put cup and saucer down and dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. 'So young and so brave'
'Brave?'
'He was going to found a veterinary hospital. He had such dreams. He said he could only talk to me. I was the only one with enough imagination to share his vision'
Then they heard the front door open. 'My husband' whispered Mrs Parr. 'Don't . . '
The door of the living-room opened and a tall thin middle-aged man with a grey face and a prominent Adam's apple bobbing over a rigid shirt collar came in.
'People from the village, dear' said Mrs Parr.
'Mrs Raisin and Mr Lacey. They both live in Lilac Lane. They've just been admiring my scones'
'What brought you here?' asked Mr Parr bluntly.
'We've just started asking a few questions about Paul Bladen - you know, the vet that was found dead.'
'Get out of here' hissed Mr Parr. He held the door wide open. 'Out!'
'We were only -' said Agatha, but that was as far as she got.
'Get out!' he shouted at the top of his voice this time, his thin tired face working with rage. 'Never come here again. Leave us alone'
'I am very sorry we upset you so much' said James politely as he and Agatha edged past the infuriated husband.
Tuck off, you upper-class twat' yelled Mr Parr and spat full in James's face.
There was a horrified silence, punctuated only by the sound of Mrs Parr's weeping. James slowly cleaned his face with a handkerchief. Mr Parr was now trembling and looking appalled at the enormity of his own behaviour.
James put his large hands on Mr Parr's shoulders and shook him backwards and forwards.
He punctuated each shake by saying, 'Don't . . . ever ... do ... that ... to ... me . . . again'
Then he abruptly released him and strode out, with Agatha at his heels.
'We're really stirring up mud, Agatha' he sighed. He looked back at the neat bungalow. 'You know, sometimes when I was coming home on leave, I would look out at little houses like that from the train and imagine secure and cosy lives. What awful emotional dramas lurk behind the facades of all the houses called comfortable names like Mon Repos and Shangri-La, what breeding grounds for murder'
'Oh, it's quite a lively place, the country' said Agatha cheerfully. 'I feel we're getting somewhere. Mrs Parr must have been having a fling with Bladen. Let's try Josephine Webster.'
'Perhaps before we get to her, we should call on Freda Huntingdon.'
'What? That floozy? How can you bear to look at that slut without blushing?' demanded Agatha.
He stopped and looked down at her, leaning back, hands in his pockets and rocking slightly on his heels. A faint gleam of malice shone in his eyes. 'On the contrary, Agatha, I find the idea of a Freda Huntingdon with her skirt around her ears quite delectable.'
Agatha walked on. Well, they would call on Freda because Agatha was suddenly sure, had a sudden gut feeling that Freda was the murderer. She, Agatha Raisin, would prove it. Freda would be dragged off by the police. She would be sentenced to life imprisonment. She would be locked away from society and James would never set eyes on her again.
'Why are you racing along?7 demanded James plaintively from somewhere behind her. 'I thought you weren't all that keen on seeing the woman'
'I've decided that after all I do want to visit dear Freda' snapped Agatha.
