Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

Agatha stifled a yawn. Oh, to be home in Carsely in her own cottage with her cats. She had been silly to run away. She wondered if James thought of her.

Back in Carsely, James Lacey switched off the word processor. He felt restless and bored. He had a dull feeling he refused to recognize that Carsely without Agatha was a lifeless sort of place. No one seemed to know where she had gone. The vicar's wife, Mrs. Bloxby, probably knew but she wasn't telling anyone.

He decided to switch on the television and watch the teatime news. Another government scandal, another murder through road rage, and then the announcer said, 'Police in Wyckhadden are investigating the death of a local witch. Mrs. Frances Juddle was found battered to death in her cottage. She was found by a visitor, a Mrs. Agatha Raisin.' There was a still photograph of Agatha in a police car. 'Mrs. Raisin from the village of Carsely in Gloucestershire is reported to be a friend of Inspector Jimmy Jessop, who is in charge of the case.' Film of Agatha leaving the hotel with Jimmy, then a long shot of Agatha and Jimmy walking along the promenade, arm in arm. The announcer then went on to describe Wyckhadden as a quiet seaside resort where a great many retired people stayed. Interviews with various neighbours of Francie Juddle, all expressing shock. James watched, bemused. Agatha had never mentioned Wyckhadden. And surely, if she had been friend with a police inspector, she would have bragged about it.

He switched off the television and went out and along to the vicarage. Mrs. Bloxby answered the door to him. 'Why, Mr. Lacey! How nice. Come in. We don't see much of you these days.'

'I've been busy. What's this about Agatha?'

'She felt the need of a holiday.'

'I have just seen her on television.'

James told her about Agatha and the murder of the witch of Wyckhadden.

'Poor Mrs. Raisin. Murder does seem to follow her around.'

'It said on the television news that Agatha was a friend of some police inspector.'

'I saw the television news. How shocking! Poor Mrs. Raisin. But I never heard her mention anything about a police inspector.'

'But why Wyckhadden?'

'I may as well tell you,' said Mrs. Bloxby, 'now that you know where she is. She didn't know anything about Wyckhadden. She just closed her eyes and stuck a pin in the map.'

'She might have told me where she was going.'

'Why?' asked Mrs. Bloxby gently. 'You have not been close for quite a time.'

'But we're neighbours!'

'No doubt she'll tell us all about it when she returns. Tea?'

'No, I don't want any more of your filthy tea,' Agatha was saying to the policewoman. The sun had gone down. The interview room was cold.

The door opened and Carroll came in again. 'We got someone for cutting up your coat.'

'Who was it?' asked Agatha.

'It was that girl you told Tarret who attacked you on the prom. Her name's Carly Broomhead. We picked her up. She still had traces of red paint on her hands. Her sister works, or rather worked, now, as a maid at Garden Hotel. She's been fired.'

'It would be someone like her,' said Agatha bitterly. 'I can sue her until I'm black in the face, but she'll never be able to pay for another coat.'

'At least we've got that out the way and know it's not connected with the murder.'

'Oh, isn't it? In my opinion, anyone who slashes a coat is quite capable of bashing someone's head in.'

'Just leave investigation to the police in future, Mrs. Raisin. You're free to go but keep yourself available for further questioning.' He turned to the policewoman and said, 'Interview with Mrs. Agatha Raisin finished at eighteen hundred hours. Switch off the tape, Josie, and leave us for a moment.'

When the policewoman had gone, Carroll leaned forward and said, 'Jimmy Jessop's a decent man.'

'I am sure he is,' said Agatha stiffly.

'He was shattered by the death of his wife. I don't want him getting hurt or mucked about by the likes of you, see?'

'Why don't you concentrate on police work and mind your own damned business,' said Agatha, standing up.

'I am concentrating on police business and I don't like the way you went out at one in the morning and found that body.'

'Are you charging me?'

'Not yet.

'Then get stuffed.'

Agatha stormed out. As she hurried back to the hotel, she realized with a little shock that she had not had a cigarette that day. She opened her handbag and took out a packet of Benson & Hedges. Then she took a deep breath of fresh air and put them back. She was free of the stuff at last.

When she got back to the hotel, she was relieved to see that no press were waiting outside. The manager, Mr. Martin, was waiting for her. 'If you would just step into the office, Mrs. Raisin.'

She followed him into an office off the entrance hall.

'I am very distressed that a member, or rather, a former member, of my staff should have been party to the destruction of your coat, Mrs. Raisin. We will not be charging you for your stay here.'

'Thank you,' said Agatha. 'I plan to make it as short as possible.'

'Our offer does not cover drinks,' he said awkwardly.

'I'll remember that,' said Agatha drily. Then she remembered that bottle of love potion she had thrust down the cushions of the armchair in the lounge. She was all at once anxious to retrieve it. 'Thank you.' She got to her feet and went out.

The colonel was reading a newspaper in the lounge and sitting in the armchair on which Agatha had sat earlier. Daisy Jones was sitting opposite him, knitting.

'What are you doing?' cried Daisy shrilly as Agatha plunged her hand down the side of the armchair on which the colonel was sitting.

'I left my medicine,' said Agatha, retrieving the bottle, although she was tempted to shock Daisy by saying, 'Just having a feel.'

'These are distressing times,' said the colonel. 'We are going to play Scrabble tonight as usual, all the same. Do join us.'

'Thank you.'

Why not, thought Agatha. Murder and mayhem may have arrived in Wyckhadden but the Scrabble game goes on.

THREE

AGATHA rubbed some more lotion into her bald patches before winding a chiffon scarf around her head and then went downstairs for dinner. After calling out 'Good evening' to the others, she picked up a paperback and began to read to ward them off. She would see enough of them over the Scrabble game.

The meal was roast pork, roast potatoes, apple sauce, and various vegetables. It had been preceded by Scotch broth and rolls and butter and was followed by meringues and ice cream. I shouldn't even be eating half of this, thought Agatha, but what the hell, it's been a bad time and I need some comfort.

But the heavy meal had the effect of making her feel sleepy again. Only ambition to find out something about