idea.”
Agatha found she could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mrs. Dairy and the dog lying in their own blood.
She got out of bed and went to Charles’s room. He was lying awake, reading.
“I can’t sleep,” said Agatha. “I’ve got the horrors.”
“Come and join me and cuddle up.”
She climbed into bed next to him. He held her close and then began to kiss her hair.
“Charles,” protested Agatha, “I didn’t come for…
SIX
AGATHA awoke in the morning to find Charles gone. She stretched and yawned and then remembered the night’s love-making as if it had all happened in a dream. But the sun was shining outside and the horrors had gone.
She went down to the kitchen. Charles had left a note: “Just remembered I’ve got guests arriving. Phone you later, Charles.”
It wouldn’t have hurt him to have said something affectionate, thought Agatha. She went back upstairs and washed and dressed and came down just as the doorbell rang. For the first time, she did not hope it was James. It must be Charles. With a glad smile, she flung open the door.
Mrs. Bloxby stood there. Agatha’s face fell. “Oh, it’s you. Come in.”
“Who were you expecting?”
“Charles. You’ve heard about the murder? Of course you have. It was dreadful. Absolutely dreadful. Did she have any family?”
“She has a daughter and son,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “They are with the police at the moment.”
Agatha told her all about Mrs. Dairy, about the attempted blackmail, and how Mrs. Dairy had said she was going to play detective herself.
“But she couldn’t have got very far,” exclaimed the vicar’s wife. “Unless, of course, she had known John Shaw- part somewhere before. Where was he before he came to Evesham?”
“Portsmouth. He said Portsmouth. I might drive there today and see what I can find out.”
“So who are your suspects?”
“I don’t think we have any except perhaps either Mrs. Friendly’s husband or Maggie Henderson’s husband. There is a certain Jessie Lang who works at a dentist’s in Evesham who knew him and was seen at his house. Oh, and John told me he had been married once. Damn, the police probably know who to and where but they won’t tell me.”
“And where is Charles today?” asked Mrs. Bloxby brightly-too brightly, thought Agatha as those mild eyes studied her face.
“Oh, he’s got guests. He’ll probably be back later.” Did he pack? wondered Agatha suddenly.
“Of course, I don’t think it can be a man,” said Mrs. Bloxby.
“Why?”
“Just a feeling.”
“I don’t know. Of course poisoning is traditionally a woman’s weapon.”
“In history, a lot of the famous poisoners were actually men-Neill Cream, Carlyle Harris, Roland B. Molineux, Henri Landru, and so on.”
Agatha sighed. “I keep forgetting that fire. Whoever set that fire killed John; I’m sure of it. Where was Mrs. Dairy living before she came here?”
Mrs. Bloxby frowned in concentration. Then she shook her head. “She told me, but I can’t remember at the moment. It’ll come back to me. I think perhaps you should leave this to the police. That killing of Mrs. Dairy was savage. Perhaps it might be wise if you went away for a bit. If the murderer is one of the people you’ve already talked to, they might come after you.”
“I’ll try just a little bit longer. In villages, people are supposed to know everyone else’s comings and goings. It’s a wonder no one was seen going to Mrs. Dairy’s cottage.”
“Ah, but our local bobby, Fred, told me the police think whoever it was entered from the back. If someone went round by the back lane, they wouldn’t be seen. No other cottages overlook the back.”
“Someone broke in?”
Mrs. Bloxby shook her head. “They think she knew her caller. She had already served tea before she was struck down. Didn’t you notice that? But she always left her doors unlocked when she was at home.”
“All I saw was her shattered head and that poor dog.” Agatha shivered. Why hadn’t Charles phoned?
“Please don’t do anything more about it.” The vicar’s wife looked worried. “I really do believe it will put you in danger.”
“I’ll just ask around a bit.” And maybe it was a good idea to get away from Carsely, thought Agatha. Serve Charles right if he called and found her gone.
…
After lunch, a restless Agatha decided to drive to Worcester and present herelf at police headquarters to see if they might tell her how far they had got.
She drove into Evesham and turned onto the Pershore Road just before the bridge. She glanced across the road at the river. People were fishing and other people were watching them. Then she jammed on the brakes and pulled into the side of the road. An infuriated truck driver roared past, flashing his lights.
Agatha peered across the road, but her view was blocked by traffic. She eased out, drove on, found a convenient place to turn and headed back. For she had seen a blonde, rabbity-looking girl watching the fishing and all at once she was sure that girl was Jessie Lang.
By the time she had parked in the meadows and set out on foot, she had begun to think that Evesham was probably full of blonde, rabbity-looking girls. Still, it was worth a try.
She approached the place where she thought she had seen the girl who looked like Jessie. No sign of her. No sign of any blonde. Men fished. People watched them. Children ran around screaming. Children always screamed these days, thought Agatha sourly.
And then, farther along the tow-path, she saw a blonde head bobbing along. She hurried and when she was nearly up to her, she called, “Jessie!”
The girl stopped and turned around. Yes, there were the rabbity teeth and skinny legs.
Agatha smiled and held out her hand. “Jessie Lang? I’m Agatha Raisin.”
The girl touched Agatha’s hand with her own skeletal one. “Who are you? I don’t know you. Are you one of the patients?”
“No, I’m investigating the murder of John Shawpart,” Agatha blurted out.
Jessie backed away, fear darting into her eyes. “Are you the police?”
Agatha knew in that moment that if she said she was a private individual, the girl would run away from her.
She took out her credit-card case and snapped it quickly open and shut. “Detective Constable Raisin,” said Agatha. “Shall we sit over there and have a few words?”
She led the way to a bench. The girl followed her, stumbling as her high heels spiked into the grass.
They sat down side by side.
“We know,” said Agatha, “that you were seen visiting John Shawpart at his house.”
Jessie began to cry. “My m-mum’ll kill me,” she sobbed.
“We do not need to bring your mother or any of your family into this,” said Agatha. “Just tell the truth and you’ve got nothing to fear. Here.” She opened her capacious handbag and drew out a packet of tissues.
Jessie blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “Sure Mum won’t get to know?”
“I see no reason why she should.”
