Agatha Raisin and The Potted Gardener

'I'm used to being busy, and there's not much for me here.'

There was something a trifle lost and wistful at the back of Agatha's small eyes which made him say, 'That was rather a disastrous dinner we had. What about another one? There's a new restaurant just off the Evesham road, just outside Evesham. What about trying it?'

The old Agatha would have gushed. The new Agatha said quietly, 'That would be nice. When?'

'What about tonight?'

'Lovely.'

'Good. I'll call for you at seven. I've got to go now. I promised to see Mary about something.'

But the fact that he was leaving to see Mary could not spoil Agatha's sunny mood for the rest of the day. By evening, she was in a high state of excitement. When the phone rang at ten minutes to seven, she looked at it in irritation and then decided not to answer it. Nothing was going to stop her walking out of that door with James at seven. The phone rang for quite a long time and then fell silent. Seven came and went while she sat and fidgeted, handbag on her lap.

Then the doorbell went, and with a little sigh of relief, she went to answer it. James Lacey stood there. His face was pale and his eyes glittered feverishly.

'I'm sorry, Agatha,' he said. 'I'll need to cancel our dinner. I've been so ill. I've been to the doctor and he is treating me for food poisoning.'

'Perhaps if you had something to eat you would feel better?' asked Agatha, willing him to recover.

'No, no. I just want to go to bed. I feel like hell. Another time.' And he went off.

Agatha retreated indoors and sat down feeling lost and empty. She had become friends with Mary but now she almost hated her. Mary had entertained James earlier. She had probably slipped him something. Her common sense tried to tell her she was being silly, but her emotions were in a turmoil and she felt she could not bear to have anything to do with Mary again.

Four

Despite Agatha's determination not to have anything to do with Mary, a village is a small place and one cannot ignore people the way one can in the city. She could not hold out against Mary's friendliness, and although James had not repeated his dinner invitation, Agatha felt she no longer had any grounds for silly jealousy.

And then a series of crimes happened, which was to initially draw the villagers together and then drive them apart, as suspicion and fear crept into their normally quiet lives.

Mrs Mason found that her prize dahlias had been uprooted and mangled and stamped into the ground. Mrs Bloxby's roses had been poisoned by weedkiller, and most of James Lacey's flowers were no more. Some maniac had doused his garden with petrol and set it alight. And the crimes went on. A nasty hole was dug in Miss Simms's lawn. Even that old couple, the Boggles, had black paint sprayed on their white rosebush, turning all the roses black. Fred Griggs, the local policeman, tried to cope on his own, but as the list of incidents grew, the CID were called in from Mircester, and so Bill Wong was back at work in Carsely again.

At first, when the crimes against gardens had just started, the Red Lion did a roaring trade, as the customers gathered together to discuss the events, all deciding that hooligans from Birmingham had been descending on the village during the night and spitefully wrecking the gardens. Groups of villagers patrolled the streets at night armed with shotguns. There was a wartime feeling of a community working together against a common evil. It was Mrs Boggle, crouched over a pint in the Red Lion one evening, who administered the first blow to this cosy feeling. 'Reckon this would never have happened in the old days. In the old days we didn't have no newcomers.'

Her elderly voice had been loud. There was a sudden silence. Agatha, standing with Mary at the bar and hoping despite all her good resolutions that James Lacey would come in, felt an almost tangible chill creeping into the communal warmth. And then no one wanted to discuss the outrages with them. Not all at once, but gradually, people began to leave and Agatha and Mary were left alone at the bar.

'Oh, dear,' said Mary. 'That wretched old woman.'

The next day, Agatha had more to worry about. Bill Wong called, but not for coffee and a chat. 'I have to inspect everyone's gardens, Agatha,' he said apologetically. 'You know, to see if anyone's been using more weedkiller than they ought or got used cans of petrol stacked anywhere.'

'We're friends,' protested Agatha desperately. 'You know me. I wouldn't do anything like that!'

'But I'm an honest cop, Agatha, and you can't expect me to lie. Besides, what have you got to hide?'

'But - '

'Agatha!'

Miserably, Agatha led him through to the kitchen and unlocked the back door. Bill stared in amazement at the bare garden and then up at the high fence.

'What on earth are you doing?' he asked. 'I thought you were a member of the horticultural society.'

'Look, don't put this in your report, Bill. I planted out my seedlings and they were all killed by the frost. That friend of mine, Roy Silver, put a fence around the garden so that no one could see in. Then just before Open Day - you know, when the village gardens are open to the public - he was going to come down with a load of plants.'

'Cheating again? Led to disaster last time,' said Bill, referring to the time when Agatha had bought a quiche instead of baking it for a village competition and one of the judges had dropped dead of cowbane poisoning.

'There's no prize for Open Day,' said Agatha. 'I just wanted the garden to look pretty. And you're looking for weedkiller and things. You don't need to put any of this in your report.'

'No, so long as you don't have anything incriminating. But I thought you had grown out of this sort of behaviour.' Bill looked at her severely, and although he was only in his twenties he made Agatha feel like a guilty child.

'Don't moralize. Just get on with your search.'

'I'll look in the greenhouse because I can see there's nothing else in the garden.'

Bill searched the greenhouse and then came back. He snapped his notebook shut. 'That's all, then.'

'Stay for a coffee.'

'No, I don't think so. I'm disappointed in you, Agatha.'

'But I could help you find out who's been doing this.'

'Just keep out of it and leave it to the police.'

Bill marched through the house and let himself out by the front door without saying goodbye.

Sod him, thought Agatha, hurt and angry. I'll show him. I'll find out who's been doing this. Two murder cases he couldn't have solved without my help, and this is all the thanks I get. A tear rolled down one cheek and she scrubbed it away with her sleeve.

The atmosphere in the village grew sourer as suspicion began to centre on Mary Fortune, of all people. Although Agatha and James Lacey were also incomers, for some reason Mary became the target, a fact that puzzled Agatha Raisin, for Mary had initially endeared herself to the villagers. The fact that Mary was a superb gardener and that her garden had not been touched added fuel to the suspicions. Doris Simpson, Agatha's excellent cleaner, had been sworn to secrecy about the fenced garden and Bill Wong had not said anything; still, suspicion should have centred on this incomer, who had a garden that nobody saw, yet it was Mary who was the target.

'I don't understand it,' said Mary plaintively one morning when she called on Agatha. 'After all I've done for this village!' And Agatha, despite her simmering jealousy of Mary, could not understand it either. And yet, when she went with Mary to the pub, the hostility towards Mary was evident. 'I'm sick of this,' said Mary. 'As soon as the horticultural show is over, I'm leaving.'

'Surely they won't be having one now,' said Agatha. 'It's not fair on the ones who have had their gardens destroyed.'

'Oh, all of them, even James, claim they have salvaged enough to at least put one bloom in for the show. What about you, Agatha? What are you submitting?'

'I won't bother,' said Agatha, thinking guiltily of her bare garden. She had been going to buy something and