There was a silence while Agatha digested this news. 'Anyone else have it in for old Struthers?'
'Well, everyone knows about Andy Stiggs.'
'Not me,' said Agatha fervently.
'Of course, you're one of those incomers from...where? Birmingham, maybe?'
Agatha coloured angrily. She had been brought up in a Birmingham slum and had done her best with clothes and accent to bury her past forever.
'London,' she snapped.
'Really? I could have sworn there was a trace of Brummie there. Anyway, the late Mrs Struthers, away back before God was born, was the belle of Ancombe. I never saw it. One of those rather common blowsy creatures with a loud laugh, you know--the kind you see on a bar-stool in a road-house, skirt hitched up, laughing insanely when not taking sips out of one of those drinks that come with an umbrella sticking out of the glass. Andy Stiggs was passionately in love with her and swore Robert Struthers had lured her away.'
'So does anyone know which way Mr Struthers meant to vote?'
'Oh, who cares? We all got tired of him nodding his stupid head and saying, 'I'll make up my mind when the time comes.' Now if you'll excuse me, I have to change. I am expecting a gentleman caller.'
Feeling quite stunned by all this gossip, Agatha made her way out. She got into her car and was about to drive off when she was suddenly overcome with curiosity to see who this gentleman caller might be. She drove as far as the end of the road and parked under a lilac tree where she could still command a good view of Jane Cutler's front door.
She waited and waited and after three quarters of an hour was just beginning to decide that Jane had used a fiction of a gentleman caller to get rid of her when she saw a familiar car drawing up outside her house and a familiar figure got out. James Lacey!
Agatha's hand tightened angrily on the steering wheel. So he, too, had begun investigations!
She drove along the village street, stopped at the newspaper shop and asked for directions to the Buckley farm, and headed off.
Agatha was wary of farms, considering them full of livestock of which she knew nothing and snapping dogs. The farmhouse was more of a country mansion, being a Georgian building four storeys high, well maintained.
The door was standing open. There came the sound of voices from within.
'Hello!' shouted Agatha.
The voices stopped, then there was the sound of a chair being scraped back, then booted feet.
Angela Buckley appeared. 'It's our heroine,' she cried. 'Come along in.'
Agatha followed her into a stone-flagged kitchen. Three men sat at the table with cups of tea. 'That's my father,' said Angela, jerking her head at a grey-haired man, 'and that's Joe and Ben, they work for us. Sit down and have a coffee. This lot were just going back to work.'
The farmer picked up a cap from the back of his chair and put it on. 'Saw you the other night, Mrs Raisin,' he said. 'You told 'em.'
He went out, followed by the two men. Angela and Agatha sat down at the table.
'I've just been to see Jane Cutler,' said Agatha.
'Oh, the slurry with the fringe on top. Why did you go to see her?'
Agatha decided to plunge right in. 'I wanted to see if I could find out anything about the murder.'
'What's that got to do with you? That's police business.'
'But as I am working for the water company, it is in their interest to get this murder cleared up as quickly as possible.'
'So what did the raddled old bitch have to say for herself?'
'She more or less said you did it.'
'There's no end to that woman's venom. She's had so many face-lifts and been so stretched that every time she opens her mouth her arsehole gapes. What reason should I have for murdering old Struthers?'
'The paddock.'
'Oh, mat. It had become a bit of a joke between us. He would say, 'You'll need to wait until I'm dead.' Oh, lor'. Doesn't that sound awful?'
'But there was no real feeling about it?'
'There was from time to time. He didn't need that paddock, and he was a stubborn old codger. But actually he'd call round here quite a lot. We were friends.'
'So who could have done it? Was it to stop him voting for or against? Did any of you know which way he meant to vote?'
'No, he enjoyed teasing us.'
'What about Mary Owen? Tell me about her.'
'She always wanted to head the parish council but we wouldn't let her. She's so bossy. I think in her way she kept us all together, despite our differences. We all hated her.'
Agatha wondered whether to broach the subject of the late Percy Cutler, but decided against it. Her own heartache over James had made her unusually sensitive to another woman's feelings.
'We've always had fights over something or another,' Angela was saying, 'but they all die away after a while.' She looked at Agatha and her round weather-beaten face suddenly turned hard. 'Drop this amateur murder investigation. All you'll do is stir up a lot of muck...and you might get hurt.'
'Is that a warning?' asked Agatha, gathering up her handbag.
'Yes, it is. A friendly warning.'
Agatha said goodbye and went out to where her car was parked in the farmyard. As she drove off, she looked in the rear-view mirror. Angela was standing, her hands on her hips, watching her go. Her face was grim.
Agatha went home and phoned Bill Wong and told him of both conversations, the one with Jane Cutler and the one with Angela. Bill groaned. 'This opens up a messy field of research. Let me know if you find out anything else.'
'What, no warning to keep out of it?'
'I need all the help I can get on this one.'
James Lacey phoned Bill Wong later. 'I went to see that Cutler woman as a start,' he said. 'I'm afraid there's nothing there. According to her the members of the parish council all love one another. I must admit I found her very charming.'
'That's not what our Agatha found out,' said Bill gleefully.
There was a short silence and then James said, 'What do you mean?'
Bill repeated what Agatha had told him.
'Mrs Cutler said nothing of that to me,' complained James.
'Probably she reserves all her nice manners for us gentlemen. I found her charming as well. You should join forces with Agatha.'
'I'll think about it,' said James curtly.
But he took several days to think about it and by that time Guy Freemont had phoned up Agatha and invited her out for dinner.
'I'm afraid I'm busy tonight, James,' said Agatha, noticing with irritation that her hand holding the telephone receiver was trembling. 'Got a dinner date.'
'Oh, well, what about if I pop round this afternoon?'
'Got an engagement for this afternoon,' said Agatha. 'Look, I'll call you. Bye.'
She sat down on the stairs. Why, oh, why had James decided to contact her just when she was booked to have dinner with Guy and had made an appointment with a beautician in Evesham for that afternoon?
James was the same age as she, and if she had been going out with him, then she would not be rushing off to the beautician to have electrodes put on her face and neck to try to reduce the wrinkles.
This was what came of dating a much younger man and a handsome man at that. Somehow, with the work for the water company, and then the prospect of going out with Guy, she had not thought much about the murder, nor had she investigated it further.
