Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body

'Mrs. Trooly.'

'Get me her number. Good idea of yours, Charles.'

'Mrs. Raisin,' said Mrs. Bloxby severely, 'have you considered that an inebriated murderer might put you, for example, very much at risk?'

'All the better,' said Agatha cheerfully. 'Flush 'em out! I think there's more than one.'

Mrs. Bloxby hoped it would rain on the great day, anything to stop this tea that she considered at best a waste of money and at worst, highly dangerous. But the sun shone down and the coaches bringing the visitors were all full. Agatha had hired caterers. Mrs. Trooly was moving amongst the tables, offering sloe gin and wine. The band was playing old favourites and there was a general air of good will and jollity. Even Giles Timson smiled on Agatha. 'How very kind of you. Just what our villagers needed to take their minds off the horrors of the murders.'

Simon and Toni sat together at a table at the door. They had collected the money from the visitors and were now relaxing. 'They do seem to be enjoying themselves,' said Simon. 'Even May Dinwoody was nice to me.'

'Agatha believes in stirring things up,' said Toni. 'What are we to do with the money?'

'Count it up,' said Simon. 'Then we give it to Mrs. Freedman to put in the bank and she writes out a cheque to the Alzheimer's Society.'

'We'd better start,' sighed Toni. 'Some of them must have been raiding the piggy bank to pay their two pounds.'

'Agatha thinks of everything. She's left us piles of these little plastic bags from the bank, some for pennies, some for twenty pee pieces and so on. Let's see how quickly we can do it and then we'll go in there and sample the sloe gin, if there's any left.'

Penelope Timson brought over a chair and squeezed next to Agatha. 'This is such fun,' she said.

'Yes,' said Agatha bleakly. No one looked edgy. No one looked frightened or ill at ease. 'I'll just see how the young people are getting on.'

She went to the door, where Toni and Simon were putting coins into bags. 'Nearly finished,' said Toni cheerfully.

'I'm going outside for a smoke,' said Agatha.

She sat down in a bench outside and lit up a cigarette. Must give these wretched things up, she thought for the umpteenth time. From inside she could hear the chatter of voices rising above the noise of the band. Charles came out and joined her. He was wearing a deep blue cotton shirt, open at the neck, and blue chinos and yet somehow looked as neat and composed as if he were in suit, collar and tie.

'Give me one of those.'

'A cigarette, Charles? Bad for you.'

'Too right. Hand one over.'

He lit it and settled back on the bench. 'Hasn't something struck you as funny?'

'No. What?'

'Look at it this way. We know they're a sour lot and Carrie Brother, for example, is hardly the flavour of the month in that village, and yet they're all wolfing down cream teas, gulping back sloe gin, and going on like a love- in.'

Agatha sat up straight. 'You mean, they're all putting on an act?'

'Looks like it to me.'

'But why? I mean, they must think there's a murderer amongst them.'

'Maybe they have a good idea who it is. They feel safe. Look at it from their point of view. John Sunday was an interfering pest, Dan Palmer was just asking for it, Simon was a cheat and a spy and so on. I should think every man jack of them has guessed why this sudden burst of generosity on your part and they're playing up to the hilt.'

'Well, thank goodness the proceeds are going to the Alzheimer's Society,' said Agatha gloomily. 'I may need their help soon. Should I stir things up? Should I go in there and say I know the identity of the murderer?'

'And like Roy, the same thing could happen to you. Forget it. Enjoy the day.'

'Got over Sharon?' Simon asked Toni as they finally finished bagging up and recording all the money.

'Not quite,' said Toni. 'I keep thinking I see her. I'll see someone ahead of me in the street, some girl with multicoloured hair wearing a boob tube and torn jeans and I want to run after her. I keep wondering if I could have done anything. I shouldn't have let Agatha turn her out of my flat.'

'And then you might have been dead as well. She'd have started inviting her biker friends back to the flat. Would you like to go to a movie with me tonight?'

'Fine. Which one?'

'I don't know. I'd just thought of the idea.'

The day was finally over. Not one scone or bit of strawberry jam or bowl of whipped cream was left. Mrs. Trooly had taken away the remainder of her drinks after handing Agatha a bill. The men came to take away the portaloos and complained bitterly at the state of them. 'Some of them just peed on the floor,' complained one of the men. 'Dirty old hicks.' He was a Birmingham man and considered the countryside outside the city to be peopled with inbred imbeciles.

Agatha helped the caterers and village ladies to clean up the mess before she and Charles wearily trudged back to her cottage.

'I'm going back to study my notes,' said Agatha. 'I swear there's something there.'

'I'll be off, then,' said Charles.

Agatha suddenly did not want to be left alone. 'Charles, please . . .'

He swung round and looked at her seriously. 'Please what?'

'Nothing,' said Agatha gruffly. 'I'll see you when I see you.'

She fed her cats and let them out into the garden and then collected her folders of notes and took them out to the garden table.

She began to read. She found Simon's account of his trip to Cheltenham particularly amusing, as she remembered the days when she had to ferry around a horrible old couple called Boggle. Then she suddenly put the folders down on the table. Elderly . . . toilets . . . the portaloo man's complaints.

She phoned Penelope Timson. 'Oh, Mrs. Raisin. Thank you again for such a fine day.'

'I just wanted to ask you,' said Agatha. 'Do you have a downstairs toilet?'

'Yes, just as you come in the front door, on the left.'

'I must come over and see you. It's terribly important.'

'Well, really . . . All right, but I plan to go to bed early.'

In the vicarage parlour, Agatha fixed Penelope with an intense gaze and said, 'Now, you said that no one left the room during the evening John Sunday was murdered, except Miriam and Miss Simms. Right?'

'Yes, and I told the police so as well. I don't see--'

'Think! Did no one leave briefly to use the toilet?'

'Yes, but it's just outside the door.'

'Who?'

'This really is so embarrassing. I mean, one doesn't talk about such things. I was brought up to--'

'Who?' shouted Agatha.

'Let me see, I suppose Mr. Beagle and maybe Mr. Summer.'

'Right!' Agatha got to her feet and the next thing Penelope heard was the outside door slam.

Chapter Eleven

Agatha called an emergency meeting of her staff for eight o' clock the following morning.

She described what she had learned and then said, 'So you see it could either have been Charlie Beagle or Fred Summer.'