Melissa was that she was a fantasist and a liar. But how long did you work for her?’
‘Just a day a week.’
‘Until she died?’
‘No, I quit before then.’
‘Why?’
Doris turned an uncomfortable red. ‘Do I have to tell you?’
‘I think you’d better.’
‘I went along one morning. She wasn’t around. She had given me a key, so I got started. I thought I would do the bedrooms first.’
She stared at Agatha.
Agatha sighed wearily. ‘You found her in bed with James.’
‘Yes.’
‘I gave her a piece of my mind and handed the key back and got out of there.’
James, James, how could you, and with such a woman? mourned Agatha.
Aloud, she said, ‘Forget about that part, Doris, and the hush-hush business. What else did you think about her?’
‘She was very fussy. She would check up on my work. I said if she wasn’t satisfied, I’d quit, and she laughed and said that one time she used to have a lot of servants, butler and footmen and all that, and she was used to supervising and checking. Funny, I didn’t believe her. I mean, no one outside a few and the Queen has servants like that these days. But I didn’t think much about her one way or the other.’
‘Even though you believed she was working for the government?’ asked Charles.
‘I didn’t think much about that. I mean, the Cotswolds are full of retired military people who like to hint they were in intelligence during the war. “I worked for the little grey men of Whitehall, for my sins.” And then you find they had some sort of minor desk job. I thought maybe she was doing some typing for a local MP, something like that. But the reason I didn’t tell the police was because she had made me promise not to tell anyone and there could have been some truth in it. I sometimes reckon I’m too cynical. You get that way cleaning houses. I’d better get on, Agatha.’
When Doris had gone off upstairs, Agatha said, ‘Typing. I wonder what she was typing? Who inherits? We didn’t ask Bill.’
‘Let’s ask Mrs Bloxby. Did Melissa have any children?’
‘Don’t know that either.’
‘So let’s get along to the vicarage.’
‘After I’ve had something to eat. You might have made me some breakfast as well, Charles.’
‘You were asleep.’
‘Oh, I’ll fix something.’
Charles watched, amused, as Agatha took a packet of frozen curry out of the fridge and put it in the microwave. ‘You’re surely not going to eat curry for breakfast?’
‘Why not?’
Charles waited while Agatha took the curry out of the microwave when it was ready and ate the unappetizing-looking mess, accompanied by strong black coffee, with every appearance of enjoyment.
Then she lit up a cigarette. ‘Can I have one of those?’ asked Charles.
Agatha gave him a steely look.
‘Have you heard of enabling, Charles?’
‘Sounds like therapy-speak.’
‘I mean you can buy your own. I may smoke but I do not encourage other people to do so, particularly when they show every sign of being able to do without it.’
‘You’ll be a saint yet, Aggie. And talking of saints, let’s go and see Mrs Bloxby.’
Mrs Bloxby was watering the vicarage garden. ‘So many greenfly and aphids,’ she mourned. ‘It’s these warm summers. Said on the radio it would be cooler today, that it would go down to about seventy degrees Fahrenheit. I never thought I’d live to see the day when seventy degrees in England was considered getting cooler.’
‘There’s rain forecast,’ said Charles. ‘We’re still on the hunt for Melissa’s character.’
Mrs Bloxby turned off the hose and joined them at the garden table. ‘What have you found out?’
They told her all they knew. She listened carefully and then she said, ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about Mrs Sheppard since I saw you last. My first impression of her, I remember, was that she was a psychopath.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Agatha. ‘You mean like a serial killer!’
‘No, no. There are different
‘Just a day a week.’
‘Until she died?’
‘No, I quit before then.’
‘Why?’
Doris turned an uncomfortable red. ‘Do I have to tell you?’
‘I think you’d better.’
‘I went along one morning. She wasn’t around. She had given me a key, so I got started. I thought I would do the bedrooms first.’
She stared at Agatha.
Agatha sighed wearily. ‘You found her in bed with James.’
‘Yes.’
‘I gave her a piece of my mind and handed the key back and got out of there.’
James, James, how could you, and with such a woman? mourned Agatha.
Aloud, she said, ‘Forget about that part, Doris, and the hush-hush business. What else did you think about her?’
‘She was very fussy. She would check up on my work. I said if she wasn’t satisfied, I’d quit, and she laughed and said that one time she used to have a lot of servants, butler and footmen and all that, and she was used to supervising and checking. Funny, I didn’t believe her. I mean, no one outside a few and the Queen has servants like that these days. But I didn’t think much about her one way or the other.’
‘Even though you believed she was working for the government?’ asked Charles.
‘I didn’t think much about that. I mean, the Cotswolds are full of retired military people who like to hint they were in intelligence during the war. “I worked for the little grey men of Whitehall, for my sins.” And then you find they had some sort of minor desk job. I thought maybe she was doing some typing for a local MP, something like that. But the reason I didn’t tell the police was because she had made me promise not to tell anyone and there could have been some truth in it. I sometimes reckon I’m too cynical. You get that way cleaning houses. I’d better get on, Agatha.’
When Doris had gone off upstairs, Agatha said, ‘Typing. I wonder what she was typing? Who inherits? We didn’t ask Bill.’
‘Let’s ask Mrs Bloxby. Did Melissa have any children?’
‘Don’t know that either.’
‘So let’s get along to the vicarage.’
‘After I’ve had something to eat. You might have made me some breakfast as well, Charles.’
‘You were asleep.’
‘Oh, I’ll fix something.’
Charles watched, amused, as Agatha took a packet of frozen curry out of the fridge and put it in the microwave. ‘You’re surely not going to eat curry for breakfast?’
‘Why not?’
Charles waited while Agatha took the curry out of the microwave when it was ready and ate the unappetizing-looking mess, accompanied by strong black coffee, with every appearance of enjoyment.
Then she lit up a cigarette. ‘Can I have one of those?’ asked Charles.
Agatha gave him a steely look.
‘Have you heard of enabling, Charles?’
‘Sounds like therapy-speak.’
‘I mean you can buy your own. I may smoke but I do not encourage other people to do so, particularly when they show every sign of being able to do without it.’
‘You’ll be a saint yet, Aggie. And talking of saints, let’s go and see Mrs Bloxby.’
Mrs Bloxby was watering the vicarage garden. ‘So many greenfly and aphids,’ she mourned. ‘It’s these warm summers. Said on the radio it would be cooler today, that it would go down to about seventy degrees Fahrenheit. I never thought I’d live to see the day when seventy degrees in England was considered getting cooler.’
‘There’s rain forecast,’ said Charles. ‘We’re still on the hunt for Melissa’s character.’
Mrs Bloxby turned off the hose and joined them at the garden table. ‘What have you found out?’
They told her all they knew. She listened carefully and then she said, ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about Mrs Sheppard since I saw you last. My first impression of her, I remember, was that she was a psychopath.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Agatha. ‘You mean like a serial killer!’
‘No, no. There are different
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