By seven o’clock, Agatha was ready for her visitor dressed in a very short skirt, sheer stockings, white silk blouse and very high heels.
When she opened the door to George, she found to her dismay that he was casually dressed in an open-necked striped shirt, well-worn sports jacket and chinos. She invited him into her sitting room, fixed him the whisky he requested, poured a gin and tonic for herself, and then wondered where to sit. She should never have worn stockings with a short skirt. If she sat on the sofa or armchair, her skirt would ride up, exposing stocking tops. Agatha settled for a seat on a hard upright chair.
George sat on the sofa and cradled his drink in his hands. “This is a bad business,” he said moodily. “Any suspects?”
“At the moment, there’s just one,” said Agatha.
“Who?”
“Sybilla Triast-Perkins.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Sybilla wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“She was in the tent before the exhibition was officially open. Her marmalade was one of the ones we know was laced with LSD.”
“I was in the tent as well. She did not go near the jam.”
“Wait a bit! We’re forgetting the tent was empty. They set it up at six in the morning and then went off for breakfast! Anyone in the village could have sneaked in then. I know they had pinned cloths down over the jam, but it would be so easy to lift the cloths and put the LSD into the jam.”
“Mrs. Raisin—”
“Agatha, please.”
“Agatha. I myself was out at dawn checking all the marquees and making sure they were secure. I hoped you might have some hard news, but all this is the same old speculation.”
We forgive beauty such a lot, thought Agatha suddenly. If he was a little balding man with thick glasses, I might get a bit tetchy.
“But this is the way cases are solved!” she said. “You talk and talk and turn it over. The main clues are often in the characters of the suspects. What about Trixie?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Trixie! Really, Agatha. That is just too far-fetched.”
“Why?” demanded Agatha stubbornly.
“Because she is a charming lady and the vicar’s wife.”
He looked quite cross, so Agatha hurried on. “What about the organizers? Mrs. Glarely and Mrs. Cranton?”
“Innocent ladies. Do a lot of good work in the village. Nothing sinister there.”
Agatha sighed. “Can you think of anyone at all?”
“Somehow, I think it must be one of the outsiders.”
“But none of the visitors had any opportunity.”
“They may have.”
“The thing I must find out,” said Agatha, “is when exactly Mrs. Andrews and Mrs. Jessop sampled the jam. My assistant, Toni, tried to talk to the organizers, but their husbands chased her off. Now if you were to ask them … ?”
He suddenly smiled. Agatha blinked at him, dazzled.
“There’s no time like the present. Why don’t we drive over there and I’ll see what I can do.”
Agatha felt elated as they drove off in George’s BMW. As his car purred through the Cotswold lanes, she felt the countryside had never looked more beautiful.
At Comfrey Magna, George drove straight along the main street and parked outside Mrs. Cranton’s home. Mr. Cranton answered the door. He was a small waspish elderly man. “Evening, Mr. Selby. The missus is right upset.”
“I would really like to have a word with her,” said George soothingly. “It won’t take long. You must see that it’s important to find out who did this dreadful thing.”
“Okay, but don’t spend too long. Her be fair shook up.”
Mrs. Cranton was sitting in a stuffy cluttered front parlour, drinking tea and eating biscuits. “Why, Mr. Selby,” she said. “How nice of you to call.”
“I was worried about you,” said George.
A cynical little voice in Agatha’s head said, “He can turn that charm of his on and off like a tap.”
“This is the detective, Mrs. Raisin. Mr. Chance has employed her to find out who did this dreadful thing. How are you now?”
“Not so bad. I only had a little taste of the awful stuff. I ’member it was Miss Tubby’s plum jam. Last year she left stones in it. I said to Doris—that’s Mrs. Glarely—let’s make sure she hasn’t done that again. We take our jam making seriously in this village, but Miss Tubby and Miss Tolling go on as if it’s all a joke. So I tasted a little and then Doris did and then we came over all funny.”
“When was this?” asked Agatha.
“Why, it were right before the tent was opened. The vicar and his wife and you, Mr. Selby, and, oh, Miss
