“Well, I’ll be relieved when the smoking ban comes into force,” said Fred. “Do you not worry about passive smoking, because I do.”
“The pub door is open,” said Agatha. “Fresh air is whizzing all around us. I notice a Range Rover parked outside your cottage. Your carbon footprint is a whopping great size twelve. Mine is only a toe mark.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are a very rude woman?” said Fred.
“Maybe. But no one has ever accused me of interfering with anyone’s liberty. Oh, belt up, do. I know what the trouble is. Did you used to smoke?”
“Yes, but—”
“Thought so,” said Agatha gloomily. “You lot are like converted Catholics. I’m not having any fun any more, so you’re not going to have any either. Take this global-warming scam. They say we are taxing your hide off to save the planet. Bollocks! It all goes into that black hole called the Treasury and disappears forever and bugger-all is done to save the earth.”
To Agatha’s horror, large tears appeared in Fred’s eyes and rolled with crystal purity down her cheeks.
“Now look what you’ve done,” said George angrily. He put a comforting arm around Fred’s shoulders and handed her a clean handkerchief.
“I c-can’t s-stand angry voices,” hiccupped Fred.
“Sorry,” said Agatha gruffly. “Got a bit carried away.”
“I f-forgive you.” Fred dabbed at her eyes, but as she lowered the handkerchief, Agatha caught a look of steely venom before she smiled and said, “Silly little me.”
“There, now,” said George. “No one could call you silly.”
The food arrived. Fred talked animatedly to George about people Agatha did not know. The pair seemed to have forgotten her existence.
At least she would have George to herself when he ran her home. Her mind drifted off. She would invite him in for a drink. Perhaps light the logs in the fire. Soft lights. She would be comforting. Get him to talk about his wife. Sit next to him on the sofa and hold his hand, and …
“Oh dear, what’s the matter, George? Are you getting one of your migraines?”
“I think I’ve got one coming on,” said George, “but I’ve got to run Agatha home.”
“I’ll do that,” said Fred. “Off you go and take your pills.”
At that moment, Charles sauntered into the pub. “Hi, Aggie.”
“Oh, Charles,” said Agatha with relief. “Can you run me home? George here has a migraine coming on.”
“What about a drink first?”
“We’ll get one at my place.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?”
Agatha made hurried introductions. Charles smiled at Fred but was soon hustled out of the pub by Agatha.
“What did you do to upset that fair maiden? Her eyes were red,” said Charles as he drove off.
“She was complaining about me wanting to smoke.”
Charles grinned. “And you blasted her?”
“Not quite. There was no reason for her to start to cry. You know, I am sure that one can cry at will. Nasty little actress. Also, she was around setting up the dreary tombola stand at dawn before the fete got started. She could easily have sneaked into the tent and put LSD in the jam.”
“You’re jealous. You are ruthlessly pursuing George and I bet you don’t even know the first thing about him.”
“Talk about something else,” growled Agatha.
“Okay. Don’t you think it’s possible that one of the young people at the show doctored the jam?”
“No. They weren’t interested in any of the exhibits. They all came to hear Betsy. Trust me. It was one of the locals. Anyway, I’ve proof the jam was doctored before the fete opened. I’ve taken on a new detective, Jimmy Wilson. He’s supposed to have good contacts with the police. I’ll ask him to find out if the police know how many were affected with the LSD and who they are. Apart from a few young people who might have got some of the stuff after the word went around, I think we’ll find it was the locals who suffered. Apart from the women who contributed the jam and one pig farmer who loves the stuff and the lady of the manor, I really don’t think anyone else in the village was much interested. It’s more of a hamlet than a village, and I think most of them had something on display at one of the other tents.”
Disappointed and feeling silly over her pursuit of George, Agatha decided to concentrate on work the next day. She gave instructions to Jimmy Wilson to find out who had been affected by the drugged jam. Then she settled down to work on other cases until some of the fuss had died down.
The following day, Jimmy came in with his report. He said, “The police cleared the tent when they heard about the possibility of drugs. They said only six teenagers managed to get hold of seemed to be a bit spaced out. The forensic reports on the jam are not yet in because, despite what you see on TV, it takes ages. But it seems that both Mrs. Jessop and Mrs. Andrews each had a good taste of Miss Tubby’s plum jam. They think there might have been more in that dish than in any of the others, or even that only a few of the dishes might have been drugged.”
“Surely they can find that out quickly,” complained Agatha. “It’s a simple test. Doesn’t need a DNA expert.”
“Well, it may do,” said Jimmy, “if they want to find out who handled the dish.”
