fairies.
By the next day, Agatha began to wonder if the fuss would ever die down. And for the following week, the village of Fryfam was under a sort of siege. 'You did this,' Polly shouted at Agatha when she met her crossing the village green. Because of the fairies, not only tourists but weirdos had descended on the village. And then came the New Age travellers, that scourge of the countryside, with their savage dogs and dirty children, their broken-down trailers and trucks camped on the village green. They were finally routed by the police and left in a haze of filthy exhaust, leaving the village green like a tip and not a duck left on the pond because they had eaten the lot.
So it was with something like surprise that Agatha opened the door one morning to Harriet and Polly.
'Can I help you?' she asked nervously.
'Yes, you can,' said Polly. 'We are all getting together to clean up the village green.' She handed Agatha a roll of garbage bags.
Glad to be no longer ostracized, Agatha agreed. She called to Charles to come and help but he appeared to have become suddenly deaf because there was no reply to her calls. She went off with Harriet and Polly. 'I'm sorry about that fairy business,' said Agatha. 'It just slipped out.'
'Well, you're no longer the culprit, everyone in the village seems to have spouted off about fairies to the television cameras,' said Polly, sour because no one had asked her about them. 'Has Mrs. Jackson been cleaning for you?'
'Not yet,' said Agatha. 'She's been due to call several times but she always says she's poorly. Has anyone seen Lucy?'
They both shook their heads. 'We hear she's up at the manor and the lawyers have called,' said Polly, 'and the police are still there the whole time.'
'Oh, dear,' murmured Agatha as they came upon the full horror of the village green.
'That's not all,' said Harriet with gloomy relish. 'Those pesky travellers were using the pond as a toilet, so we're getting some down from the Department of the Environment to advise us how best to purify the water.'
Several other villagers were working alongside them. 'This is all the fault of that Lucy Trumpington-James,' complained a stout countrywoman to Agatha. Agatha straightened up from her rubbish collection. 'How's that?' she asked.
'If she hadn't have murdered him, then these dirty folks wouldn't have come here.'
'But she was in London.'
'So they say, but don't you believe it.'
'Was Tolly Trumpington-James having an affair with anyone?' asked Agatha.
'Why shouldn't he?' demanded the woman, her red hands on her broad hips. 'Wasn't much fun being married to her.'
'So who was he having an affair with?' said Agatha eagerly.
'I never said nothing,' retorted the woman angrily and walked quickly away to another part of the green.
I must find out more about this, thought Agatha. She called to Polly and Harriet, who had been joined by Carrie, 'When you're ready for a break, we can go back to my place for coffee.'
'Right,' said Harriet. 'We'll let you know.'
Agatha was just wondering if she would ever walk straight again when Harriet called, 'Wouldn't mind that coffee now.'
Agatha straightened up with a groan. Her back was aching. Her fingers were numb because the day was icy cold.
When they were all seated around the kitchen table-still no sign of Charles-Agatha said, 'A woman on the green told me Tolly was having an affair.'
'Who would that be?' wondered Harriet. 'I mean, who told you that?'
'Big, broad woman, rosy cheeks, frizzy grey hair.'
'Oh, that would be Daisy Brean. I wonder what she was on about. I never heard anything about Tolly having an affair. I mean, who would want Tolly?'
'We could ask about,' suggested Agatha. 'I mean, if she knows something, maybe someone else does. And that would mean there might be some angry husband who wanted rid of Tolly.'
'I saw Charles the other day,' said Carrie, 'and he took me for a drink. He said you were thinking of leaving soon but that he might stay on.'
Agatha realized that she had been able to put James out of her mind for over a week.
They had played endless games of Scrabble, gone to the cinema in Norwich, gone shopping and had kept away from the villagers as much as possible. Charles had said it was best to keep clear until the fuss died down and the press moved on to juicier stories. So when had he met Came? Then she remembered; she had decided to wash and set her hair and he had said he would go out for a walk. Came was slim and attractive. Damn Charles, and thank God she hadn't gone to bed with him. She was now determined to stay on longer. If Fryfam could take her mind off James, then it was worth hanging on for a bit. Charles's suggestion that she see a therapist still rankled.
'I'll be here for a bit,' said Agatha. 'By the way, I like that rose scent that Rosie Wilden uses. Is it a commercial one?'
'No, she makes it.'
'Does she sell any?'
'I think she'll give you some if you ask her. She says it's from an old recipe,' said Carrie. 'I suppose I'd better be going.'
The others rose as well. As Agatha saw them out, Charles was just returning.
'What now?' she asked.
'Eat something and then we'll go out to the manor to present our condolences to Lucy.'
'I'm tired of thinking about meals,' said Agatha crossly.
'Doesn't seem to trouble you much. Just bung it in the microwave. Let me see what we've got. I'll make something. Let's see. Eggs, bacon, sausage. That'll do. A nice fry-up.'
'I needn't worry about my weight,' said Agatha. 'I must have lost pounds picking up that garbage.'
'Sit there while I make with the frying pan.'
'Are you usually so domesticated?'
'Only around you. I'm driven into it.'
After lunch, they headed out to the manor, Agatha refusing to walk, saying she had endured enough cold air to last her for the rest of the day. There had been a hard frost during the night and patches of it still lay unmelted on the ground.
'If anyone talks to me about global warming, I'll puke,' grumbled Agatha. 'It was a rotten summer as well.'
'The rest of the world was burning up,' said Charles. 'Here we are. Gates open. No policeman on duty.'
They went up the drive. It all seemed very quiet.
Charles rang the doorbell. They waited for what seemed a long time, until Lucy's voice suddenly sounded from the other side of the door. 'Who is it?'
'Charles Fraith and Agatha Raisin.'
The door opened. 'I thought it might be the press,' said Lucy. 'Come in.'
They followed her into the drawing-room. She was wearing a silky trouser suit and was highly made up, as if about to go on television.
'We were very sorry to hear of Tolly's death,' said Agatha.
'Were you?' Lucy raised thin eyebrows. 'You barely knew him.'
There was an awkward silence. Then Agatha said, 'Have you any idea who would murder your husband?'
'No,' said Lucy, suddenly looking weary.
'But you wanted me to find out if Tolly had been having an affair.'
'Did I?'
'Yes,' said Agatha crossly. 'You thought he was having an affair with Rosie Wilden. Remember? All about the rose perfume in the bedroom and the fact that Tolly had washed the sheets?'
'Oh, that.'
