Agatha Raisin and The Potted Gardener

'I don't think so. Everyone in this village says hello. I was thinking about Mary, as a matter of fact.'

'Mrs Fortune? What were you thinking?'

'I was thinking that although we were friends, I knew so little about her. I mean, she was all charm and warmth and then she would come out with some sort of bitchy remark.'

'Such as?'

'She called you a Chink.'

'Nothing to what I get back at the station. It's probably the sort of thing she usually said.'

'No, she was out to be nasty. I was surprised that she was so overtly bitchy. I mean, often there was something you just couldn't put your finger on.'

'Lacey must have known her better than anyone.'

'Why?' demanded Agatha defensively.

'Well known in the village he was romancing her.'

'Nothing to it.' Agatha's heart had begun to hammer against her ribs. 'He took her out for a few dinners and then that stopped. They were just friends.'

Bill looked at her distressed face. Lacey had been quite open about the fact that he and Mrs Fortune had been lovers earlier in the year, but all at once he could not bring himself to tell Agatha that.

The doorbell went. 'I'll get it,' he said.

He answered the door and then came back followed by Mrs Bloxby, who was carrying a small travel bag.

'I thought you would feel better if someone stayed here with you for the night, Mrs Raisin.'

Agatha's eyes filled with tears again and she blinked them away.

'That's all for now,' said Bill. 'Come along to the police station at ten tomorrow. Get a good night's sleep. I'll call on Lacey and tell him to pick you up.'

Agatha escorted Bill and the policewoman to the door. Bill smiled at her. 'Not like London, hey?'

'They have lots of murders in London.'

'I didn't mean that. I meant that there would be no Mrs Bloxby in London to think of sitting with you.'

'Oh, that. See you tomorrow.'

Agatha returned to Mrs Bloxby. 'Come through to the kitchen and I'll make some tea.'

'Yes, but I'll make it. And then you'd better go to bed. What a dreadful experience. News travels fast here, but I found it hard to believe. Mrs Griggs, Fred's wife, phoned me to tell me that someone had planted Mrs Fortune.'

'Yes, it was horrible,' said Agatha. 'She had been strung up by the ankles and her head had been buried in a big flowerpot. And she was wearing that damn green like she always did. We didn't see her at first because of that green, because...' Agatha began to shake.

'There now. There now. I'll just put the kettle on. I am very distressed as well, although I did not have such a vile experience as you, Mrs Raisin.'

Agatha smiled weakly. 'We should not be so formal with each other. I think you should call me Agatha and I will call you...?'

'Margaret.'

'Were you fond of Mary?'

'It's not that.' Mrs Bloxby's thin hands busied themselves putting tea in the teapot and filling it with boiling water. 'I let my personal feelings interfere with my judging of the horticultural show and I have never done that before.'

Agatha blinked. 'I find that hard to believe. Why?'

The vicar's wife filled two mugs with hot tea, took milk out of the fridge and waited until they were both seated at the kitchen table. She stirred sugar into her tea and then said slowly, 'I was one of Mrs Fortune's admirers at first. It is so pleasant when a newcomer involves herself in helping out with church and village activities. She called at the vicarage quite a lot. She used to flirt with Alf.'

Not for the first time, Agatha considered Alf quite an unsuitable name for a vicar. 'I did not mind because Mary Fortune is...was...a well-travelled, pretty woman, of the kind, I thought, who flirts automatically. Then she wanted Alf to take her confession. Well, our church is quite low and Alf does not have a confessional, but he will always listen to any parishioner in trouble, so he agreed to an interview with her in his study. I do not know what happened, but he told me afterwards that he considered her not a very nice woman and somewhat unstable. Then, when she called, he always found some excuse to leave the house.

'Mrs Fortune began to make little remarks to me, little disparaging remarks. You know, it was a pity I had let myself go. She could recommend a good hairdresser and so on. I have varicose veins, but I wear my skirts long so people don't usually notice, but Mrs Fortune did. And then the next time I saw her, she would be all sweetness and light and friendship, but the poison began to seep in and I began to feel diminished and dowdy. To my horror, I began to dislike her and I never usually dislike people very strongly. One cannot like everybody and I sometimes find the Boggles, say, a sore trial, but there was something about her that got under my skin.

'She would smile at me slowly and pityingly. She would ask how many countries I had visited, and Alf and I have not been abroad in years.'

Agatha began to feel better. It was a relief in a way to find that Mrs Bloxby, whom Agatha had hitherto regarded as a saint, was capable of normal human feelings.

An idea came to her and she leaned forward eagerly. 'It must be like being blackmailed or conned. That's it. Conned.'

'What do you mean?'

'I remember reading a case in the papers where a chap in a village had tricked various people out of their savings by pretending to be a stockbroker. He wasn't very good at it and the first couple he had conned quickly found out about it. But they did not take him to court. They were too ashamed of being gulled, don't you see. So he was able to go on for a bit, tricking other people.

'Now, when people talked to you about Mary, I am sure you murmured something nice because to say you did not like her would mean you would have to explain why, and the very explanation would make you feel more diminished. I bet she riled more than you. Why did you tell me, of all people?'

Mrs Bloxby looked at her in mild surprise. 'You never judge or condemn, Agatha. I suppose that's it.'

Only in my head, and nearly all the time, thought Agatha ruefully.

And then somehow it was easy for her to say, 'James was having an affair with Mary.'

'So I gathered.'

'But no one said anything to me! James told me last night.'

'It's well known you are a friend of his,' said Mrs Bloxby tactfully. 'People would assume that you knew.' She knew that the reason had been that people did not want to hurt Agatha. 'But there's a thing. Although he stayed on friendly terms with her, he definitely cooled off her when you arrived back. It might be worth finding out why. I feel if we all knew Mary Fortune better, then we could learn who murdered her and why. You will be finding out, will you not? It is not only the murder, you see, that destroys and rips apart the tranquillity of the village, but the intrusions of the press. Such a colourful murder, you see. The press are already arriving in droves.

Sooner or later, someone is going to check the press library and find out about your previous investigations and your phone will start ringing and your doorbell.'

As if in reply, the doorbell shrilled. 'I will deal with it,' said Mrs Bloxby. Agatha heard the vicar's wife open the door, then the murmur of voices, then Mrs Bloxby saying firmly, 'Mrs Raisin has had a bad shock. She is not to be disturbed,' and then the slam of the door.

'Thank you,' said Agatha when Mrs Bloxby returned to the kitchen, although her vanity stabbed her. If she had been on her own, she would probably have invited the press in.

Then the phone rang. Without asking permission, Mrs Bloxby answered it, repeated that Mrs Raisin was not well enough to be interviewed, and then returned. 'I pulled the phone out from the wall. You will not be disturbed again. I'll just go upstairs and unplug the extension as well.'

Agatha rose to her feet and opened her mouth to say she was well able to deal with the press, but her knees trembled and she felt weak and shaky. 'You know,' she said, 'I think I will go to sleep.'

But half an hour later when she closed her eyes, visions of James in the arms of Mary Fortune swam in her mind, and with a great effort she willed herself to go to sleep to make all those nasty pictures go away.