Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body

'But that's why we're here.'

'I'm not talking about that snoop, Sunday, who deserved to die. I'm talking about my Pooky.'

'Pooky?'

'My little dog, my precious boy.'

'What happened?'

'It was yesterday. I was out on the village green and put Pooky down so that he could have a little run around. I saw him get hold of something and start eating it. By the time I got to him, he had finished it, whatever it was. I said, 'Pooky, bad boy. You're not supposed to eat anything that Mummy doesn't give you.' ' Her eyes filled with tears. 'And Pooky just licked my nose and looked up at me with his little eyes. I took him home and put him in his basket. I went for an afternoon nap myself and when I woke up, he was dead! I took the body to the vet and demanded an autopsy.'

'Have you had the result?'

'Not yet. The stupid vet tried to tell me it was probably the result of overeating and not enough exercise.'

'How old was Pooky?'

'Nearly twelve years.'

'It's a good age for a dog.'

'Nonsense. He had years left in him.'

'Please sit down and let me make you a cup of tea,' urged Toni. 'You've had a bad shock.'

Without waiting for an answer, Toni found the kitchen and made a cup of strong sweet tea and took it back to Carrie. Carrie swallowed a gulp of tea and then said gruffly, 'You're a kind girl. No one else seems to care. They said that my Pooky fouled the village green.'

'If your dog was poisoned, who could have done it?'

'Any one of them could have done it. This was a nice village. Oh, we were all fed up with Sunday snooping around but it drew us closer together. While we had our little rows now and then, we were a close-knit community. Even Miriam fitted in. We let her play lady of the manor because she did a lot for the village. For a while, everything was back to normal because people were sure Tom Courtney had done it, but now it seems as if he couldn't and we have a murderer amongst us.'

'Who do you think could have killed Sunday? I mean, perhaps it might turn out to be the same person who killed your dog.'

Carrie looked steadily at Toni for a long moment, her eyes red-rimmed with weeping. 'I'll tell you,' she said at last. 'It was the vicar, Giles Timson.'

'But why?'

'He wouldn't let me bring Pooky to church. 'What about all things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small?' I asked him. And he sneered at me and said God created things like pythons and cockroaches. Now, would I want any of those in the church? And Pooky bit his hand. And you should have seen the evil look he gave me. Besides'--she lowered her voice--'I saw his wife in a coffee shop in Mircester with John Sunday and she was crying as if he were breaking up with her.'

Probably the photograph, thought Toni. 'Here is my card,' said Toni. 'Phone me the minute you get the result of the autopsy.'

Agatha found Penelope in the churchyard, clearing grass and long weeds away from the base of some of the old tombstones. She was wearing a pink straw hat with a wide brim and with pink-and-white dotted net wrapped around the crown.

'Splendid hat,' commented Agatha.

'Oh, this.' Penelope straightened up and pushed it to the back of her head. 'I only use it for gardening. I hate it. I bought it to wear at someone's wedding, someone I really didn't like, so I never felt again like wearing this hat for dressing up. Silly, I know. Did you want something?'

Toni had phoned Agatha while Agatha had been searching around the vicarage for Penelope.

'I heard there was a young man staying here with May Dinwoody. Someone pushed him into the pond last night.'

'Simon? Such a nice young man. Why would anyone do that? Probably just a joke.' She lowered her voice. 'There are people in this village who drink too much.'

'Or someone who thought he could not swim,' said Agatha. 'What I really wanted to ask you was this. Look, it seems you were once seen in a cafe in Mircester with Sunday. Was it about that photo? What did he really want? Money? Tell the truth this time. He had that photo, didn't he?'

'Yes, but he didn't want money. Giles had bought a plot of land outside the village some time ago. He said when he retired, we could build a house there. I didn't want to go on living in the village. I'm a town person myself.'

'Which town?'

'I'm from Moreton-in-Marsh originally.'

Hardly a buzzing metropolis, thought Agatha.

'So what did Sunday want? The building plot?'

'Yes, he wanted me to persuade Giles to sell it to him or he would send that photo to Giles.'

'When was this?'

'A week before the murder.'

'Why on earth would he want to live in Odley Cruesis?' asked Agatha.

'I think,' said Penelope, passing an earthy hand over her face and leaving streaks, 'that he wanted to build up a little microcosm of power. He liked bullying people.'

'So what did you do?'

'I invited him to tea and let him ask Giles if he could buy the plot. Giles refused point-blank. He asked Giles if he had a happy marriage. Giles gave him a curt yes, and John laughed and said, 'Enjoy it while it lasts.'

'I actually fantasised about killing him. That was when I told Giles about the photo. Do you really need to find out who did this murder? Are you sure it wasn't Tom Courtney?'

'Absolutely sure. And look at it this way. If the murderer is never found, you'll all go on suspecting each other and this village will never be the same again. If it ever was much to write home about in the first place.'

'Oh, it was lovely and peaceful and we all got along. Boring at times, of course.' Penelope took off the offending hat and put it on the head of a stone angel. 'And one could always go into Mircester for some culture. Did you see the local company's production of The Marriage of Figaro last year?'

Agatha had seen it in an attempt to widen her horizons but had disliked it so much that she put it down to her tin ear. She didn't know it had truly been dreadful, mainly because the role of Cherubino had been taken by the local newspaper editor's wife, which had ensured that the production received a glowing review despite the fact that Cherubino had a voice that could strip lead off a church roof.

'Yes,' said Agatha.

'So uplifting.'

'Just so. But we are getting away from the main subject. Think back to the evening Sunday was murdered. Are you absolutely sure no one left the room apart from Miriam and Miss Simms?'

'No one I can remember. But there was such a lot of smoke from the fire and I had to go out at one point to get the brandy.'

'Neither Tilly Glossop nor Carrie Brother attended.'

'Penelope!' shouted a voice from the vicarage.

'My husband. I must go.' Penelope fled, leaving her hat on top of the angel.

To his surprise, Patrick found that Tilly Glossop was actually flirting with him. When she served him a mug of coffee, she stretched round him, leaning her heavy breast against his shoulder. He could not quite remember any female flirting with him during his last twenty years when his face had settled into its present lugubrious lines, but he smiled and tried to look flattered.

'So nice to have a man in the house,' said Tilly as she jangled over the coffee table. She had multiple bracelets on her thick wrists and chains with dangling bobbly objects around her neck. She was wearing a long,