'Anyway, what did Beth want to talk to you about?'
He stood up and closed the kitchen door and then returned to the table and sat down again. 'Mary had telephoned Beth earlier this year and said she was going to get married again...to me.'
'Ouch!'
'Yes, exactly...ouch. I have a feeling Beth regards me as prime suspect. Let's get out of the village and go to the lawyers'. By the way, why do you have the lights on in this kitchen and the blind down over the window? It's a lovely day.'
'Never mind that,' said Agatha hurriedly. 'Let's go.'
And so here I am again, she thought ruefully, running about the countryside with James, only this time it all seems rather...ordinary. And she congratulated herself on her new-found detachment.
The lawyers' office was down a cobbled side-street leading off the main square, where old buildings leaned towards each other, cutting out the sun. There was a faded lady behind an ancient typewriter in the outer office. They gave their names and were told to take a seat and wait. She retreated into an inner room. Dust-motes floated in shafts of sunlight that streamed through the window behind the desk. They were seated side by side on a horsehair sofa, a relic of the 'Victorian Age, like everything else in the musty office.
They were ushered in after a ten-minute wait. The fact that the lawyer who rose to greet them was comparatively young came as a surprise. Agatha had begun to expect an elderly gentleman with pince-nez and side-whiskers. 'Jonathan Carter,' he said. 'Please be seated. You are both beneficiaries under the late Mrs Mary Fortune's will. It is very simple and straightforward. I will not take up much of your time.' He picked up several pieces of stiff paper and flicked through them. 'I will only read the bit that concerns you both. I think you will not be surprised to learn that apart from a few bequests, the bulk of her estate goes to her daughter.'
Agatha felt a pang of guilt. Poor Mary. She really did like me. And I haven't even mourned her. All I could think of after we found her dead in that terrible way was to feel shattered because James confessed to having had an affair with her.
'Mr Lacey,' said the lawyer, 'you must understand that what is written here is in the words of Mrs Fortune. To Mr James Lacey of 8 Lilac Lane, Carsely, Gloucestershire, I leave the sum of five thousand pounds in payment for services rendered, although said services were not really worth much.
James said, 'Thank you,' in a stifled voice. To Mrs Agatha Raisin of 10 Lilac Lane, Carsely, Gloucestershire, I leave five thousand pounds so that she may take herself to a reputable health farm to reduce her middle-aged bulk.
'Bitch,' commented Agatha briefly.
'You will both be receiving the money in due course,' said the lawyer.
'I don't want it.' James's voice was harsh.
'Take your time,' said the lawyer. 'It is, I admit, a rather spiteful bequest. But do not reject it out of hand. We all need money.'
'Are you accepting yours?' asked James as they walked up to the square.
'Oh, yes. She's not alive, is she? I mean, money's money. You know, James, if she really was as bitchy as it now seems she was, it's not surprising someone bumped her off.'
'The world is full of bitches,' said James, lengthening his stride so that Agatha had to hurry to keep up with him. 'But no one goes about murdering them.'
'Let's go and see Bill Wong,' panted Agatha. 'And do slow down a bit.'
He stopped so suddenly, she almost cannoned into him. 'Why Bill Wong? He's told you to keep out of it.'
'But if we tell him about Mary's will, we might be able to ferret some information out of
'I don't want to tell him about the will.'
'Don't you see, the police will know the contents of the will already. I'll tell him my bit. You don't need to come if you don't want to.'
He stood for a moment, his hands thrust in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels, looking at his feet. 'All right,' he said abruptly.
They walked to police headquarters and asked at the desk for Bill Wong. He came down the stairs after only a short wait, a smile of welcome on his face. 'Just at my lunch-hour,' he said cheerfully.
'If you've got the time, lunch is on me,' said Agatha. 'We've something to tell you.'
'I hope you haven't been stirring things up with any amateur detective work,' said Bill.
'No, no. Do you want to hear our news or not?'
'I'd like lunch,' said Bill with a grin.
'We'll go to that restaurant James took me to the other day,' said Agatha briskly.
In the restaurant, she ordered a sirloin steak with sauteed potatoes, grilled tomatoes and peas. 'What happened to your diet?' asked James.
'Sod the diet,' retorted Agatha. She privately thought there was no need to go on suffering. She had no one to compete with and she was no longer romantically interested in James Lacey. Of course, she had read endless articles in women's magazines about how one should slim for oneself, one should feel good about oneself. But it had never worked that way for Agatha and she doubted if it ever would.
When they were served, Bill asked, 'Now what was it you wanted to tell me?'
'I'm a beneficiary in Mary's will,' said Agatha.
'I know that,' said Bill. 'And Mr Lacey here as well.'
'James,' he corrected. 'A very rude bequest it was, too.'
'Come to think of it, she must have hated us,' said Agatha. 'And why make such a recent will? She must have expected to live a long time.'
'Not necessarily,' said Bill.
'Why?'
'I don't want you getting involved.'
Agatha reached, out a hand. 'I'll take that plate of steak-and-kidney pudding away from you, Bill Wong, unless you explain yourself.'
'Leave it alone. I'm hungry. Oh, I suppose the press will get hold of it. When her husband asked for a divorce way back when, she tried to commit suicide.'
'Emotional blackmail,' said James. 'Probably didn't mean to go through with it.'
'She would have done the job all right - bottle of barbiturates, bottle of vodka - but for one little miracle. A neighbour whose flat overlooked hers passed his day in watching the women opposite through binoculars, although he subsequently swore to the police that he was bird-watching. So he saw Mary swallowing pills and drinking vodka and swallowing pills until she slumped over the table and he called for an ambulance and the police. She was rushed to hospital and her stomach was pumped out. She was subsequently treated several times for depression, the last being when she was living in New York. She moved there after the divorce to a flat in Washington Square in the Village.'
'My cleaner, Doris Simpson, was about the only person who didn't like her when everyone else seemed to,' said Agatha. 'She said something like, 'No warmth there. It's as if she's acting.' Do you think that? Why come to the Cotswolds?'
'She is English,' pointed out Bill.
'Where from?'
'Newcastle originally. Her parents are dead. A lot of outsiders move to the Cotswolds. Take you two, for example,' said Bill.
'But don't you see,' said Agatha, pursuing her theme, 'she was acting being the perfect village lady, baking and gardening and so on. If she had lived, she might have tired of the act, moved somewhere else and adopted another role.'
'Speculation,' said Bill, shaking his head. 'I need more solid facts. I may as well make use of you while you're here. Let's start with the people who had their gardens ruined. Mrs Bloxby? Who would have a spite against Mrs Bloxby, of all people?'
Mary, thought Agatha suddenly, but could not voice her suspicions without betraying the confidences of the vicar's wife.
But another idea struck her. She said, 'James, do you remember when you were supposed to take me out for
