Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body

She led the way through a small door at the end of the hall and into a wood-panelled room with comfortable chairs where a fire burned brightly on the hearth. 'I can't have central heating,' said Miriam, 'in case it warps the antiques.'

The only genuine antique here is you, thought Agatha. This manor is jammed with fakes.

They all sat down in front of the fire. 'Want a drink?' asked Miriam.

'Coffee would be nice,' said Agatha.

Miriam stood up and pulled on an embroidered bell rope by the fireplace. 'Isn't this fun?' she said. 'The old bell rope was frayed and a little woman in the village made up a new one.'

'Do you have a large staff?' asked Agatha.

'No. Some of the village women come in to clean, but I keep a Ukrainian girl to act as a sort of maid.'

The door opened and a small, neat girl came in dressed in black with a white apron and cap.

'Coffee, Natasha,' ordered Miriam.

'Doesn't she object to looking like a Victorian servant?' asked Agatha when the maid had left.

'How should I know?' said Miriam rudely. 'I didn't ask her. It impresses the tourists. I advertise in America and often get coach tours descending on me. Now, let's get down to business. I don't like being suspected of this murder.'

'There seem to be so many people who might have wanted John Sunday dead,' said Agatha. 'All we can do is ferret around.'

'I can do that as well,' said Miriam brightly. 'I know everyone in this village.'

'So far,' said Agatha, 'all we have learned is that Tilly Glossop was close to Sunday and may have been having an affair with him. Carrie Brother confessed to doing the murder by telekinesis as a joke and is being charged by the police for wasting their time. The vicar threatened to kill Sunday for banning candles in the church. Anyone else?'

'There are the Summers and the Beagles,' said Miriam. 'They decorated their cottages each year with masses of Christmas lights and illuminated plastic Santas in the gardens. Yuck! We were all rather pleased when Sunday put a stop to that. Let down the tone of the place no end.'

'What reasons did he give?'

'Oh, you know . . . Thank you, Natasha, leave the tray on the table and we will help ourselves. Light bulbs had to be subjected to a 'pull' test, their carbon footprint was the size of a hobnailed boot, dangerous electrical wiring, you name it.'

'Can you see any of them murdering someone?' asked Toni.

'Go and see them. They're all old and frail.'

'If they are that old and frail,' said Agatha, 'how did they get all the decorations up?'

'Old Fred Summer did most of the work. He's a retired builder. Charlie Beagle is a retired electrician. Both of them competed a bit to see who could get the most lights up but it was a friendly competition.'

'Where do they live?' asked Agatha.

'The last two cottages out on the Badsey road.'

Miriam poured coffee. Agatha noticed the coffee was served in earthenware mugs. She began to wonder if Miriam was as wealthy as she was reputed to be or someone who had turned an old manor house into a Disneyfied attraction for tourists.

'You seem to have a very good track record as a detective,' said Miriam. 'One wouldn't think it to look at you. Charles told me you were a whiz at ferreting things out.'

'I have had a lot of success,' said Agatha, repressing a sudden impulse to throw her coffee cup at Miriam's head.

'I bet I'd make a pretty good detective. I'll ask Charles when I see him.'

'I doubt if you will,' said Agatha.

'Oh, he's taking me for dinner tonight. We arranged it earlier.'

He's my friend, not yours, thought Agatha savagely. She wished she'd never taken Miriam on as a client. She felt that this woman was going to move into her life and friends and take over.

Aloud she said, 'Can you think of anyone else in this village before I get back to Mircester? I really must call in at the office.'

'Let me think.' Miriam scowled down into her coffee cup. Then her face cleared. 'Of course. I'd forgotten. May Dinwoody. She makes toys and sells them at the markets. Sunday damned them as unsafe for children and quite ruined her business. God, was she ever furious.'

'Where will I find her?'

'In the old mill house at the back of the shop, down that lane that runs at the side.'

'We'll try her. Come along, Toni.' Agatha rose to her feet.

'I'll call on you later,' said Miriam.

'Don't bother. I've got other work to do,' said Agatha, heading for the door. 'I'll keep you posted.'

'Snakes and bastards,' muttered Agatha as they got back into her car. 'I really don't like her.'

'We can't like all our clients,' commented Toni reasonably. 'We've had some horrors.'

'Look at how fast the snow is melting,' said Agatha. 'That's all the hopes of a white Christmas gone.' Night had fallen and a large moon was shining down.

'Are you having a party this Christmas?' asked Toni.

'Never again. What are you doing for Christmas?'

'Going to my mother's in Southampton.'

'Right. Here we are at the shop. Let's park here and walk.'

The old mill house had been divided into flats. It loomed over a weedy pond.

Agatha studied the names beside the front door and pressed a bell marked Flat 3, Dinwoody. A tinny voice came over the intercom. Agatha explained who she was. There was a long silence and then the front door buzzed.

They entered and walked up carpeted stairs to the flat, which was on the first floor. A woman was waiting by the open door. Agatha's heart sank. May Dinwoody certainly did not look the type of lady to plunge a knife into anyone. She was possibly in her sixties, slightly stooped, with grey hair and thick glasses through which pale grey eyes stared at them myopically. She was wearing a pink T-shirt emblazoned in sequins with the slogan Born To Party over which she wore a man's brown cardigan. She was also wearing black leggings and pixie boots. Agatha wondered whether she was a thrift-shop junkie or wearing a younger relative's clothes.

'Come in,' said May. 'I hear you are investigating this murder for Miriam.'

She stood back to let them pass and then led them into a dimly lit room, filled with flowers and pictures. A square window looked over the pond. Moonlight sparkling on the water threw flickers of wavering light into the room.

'Take your coats off,' urged May. Her voice held a Scottish burr. 'The central heating here is excellent. Now, coffee?'

'I think we've had enough coffee for one day,' said Agatha. She saw a large glass ashtray on a coffee table. 'Mind if I smoke?'

'Go ahead,' said May. 'I smoke myself. We are a persecuted race. First the smoking ban closed down the village pub and now they don't allow smoking on aircraft, the air is no longer changed and we all have to get slowly poisoned with gunk leaking from the engines. Pilots are trying to sue for brain damage but it keeps getting hushed up. I hate this politically correct nanny state.'

Agatha sat down in an armchair and lit a cigarette after offering one to May.

Soon smoke lay in bands across the room. Toni took a chair by the window, longing to open it because the room was hot and stuffy and she did not want to suffer from passive smoking.

'Now,' said Agatha, 'I hear you had a row with Sunday.'

'I did so. Horrible wee man. Ruining my business, claiming my toys were unsafe. But I won! I took him to court and proved all my toys were well made and there was no danger of children choking on bits of them. The Health and Safety Board had to pay me compensation.'