Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist by MC Beaton

vicious shove in the back which nearly sent her flying through the window and down to her death on the rocks below. She screamed out desperately, ‘Help! Murder! Help!’ and her voice rang out over Saint Hilarion and sent birds flying from the trees on the hillside.
    James heard that scream and came hurtling up the steps and into the room where Agatha was slowly turning around, her face white.
    ‘You,’ said Agatha. ‘Was it you?’
    ‘What happened? Why did you scream?’
    Other tourists came running and crowded into the room as well. ‘Someone pushed me in the back,’ said Agatha, beginning to shake. ‘Someone tried to push me to my death.’
    The room was filling up with soldiers, taxi drivers and more tourists.
    And then a policeman pushed to the front of the crowd, followed by a tour guide. Agatha repeated again what had happened to her and the guide translated.
    ‘You are to go with this policeman to the café in the car park,’ said the guide, ‘and wait.’
    James helped Agatha out and down the steps. The crowd followed, chattering in a mixture of languages.
    James ordered a brandy for Agatha. ‘Tell me again what happened,’ he asked gently.
    Agatha took a sip of brandy ‘I was standing there, looking out of that window. If I hadn’t had my arms braced against the sides, that push in the back would have sent me to my death. I thought it was you, James.’
    ‘Why me?’
    ‘I thought you were still angry with me. I sensed the anger in the room behind me. I thought it was you. That’s why I didn’t turn round.’ She looked at him, her eyes suddenly dilating. ‘What about Olivia and the rest? Are they here?’
    ‘I haven’t seen any of them. But they wouldn’t dare –’
    ‘They were right behind us at that jeweller’s in Nicosia when we were discussing going to Saint Hilarion, when we were talking about faxing Mircester for details on their backgrounds.’
    ‘I didn’t see any of them, and if it were one of them, they would surely have had to pass me on the road up.’
    ‘Why is it always me?’ moaned Agatha. ‘Why doesn’t someone have a go at you?’
    ‘Because I don’t interfere so noisily.’
    The wail of sirens sounded louder from the road below as more police headed their way.
    And then Pamir arrived, nattily dressed as usual, and not appearing to feel the heat.
    Wearily Agatha went through her story again.
    But when he took her back over the events of the day before, carefully noting that Agatha thought she had been overheard when she said they were going to Saint Hilarion but making no mention of faxing Mircester, he began to ask about last evening. They had had dinner together at the Ottoman House. Did anything happen there?’
    ‘You’ll need to ask James,’ said Agatha. ‘I left.’
    ‘Ah, yes.’ He consulted some notes. ‘The police were informed that you had not returned home and then you were found at the Dome in the bedroom of Sir Charles Fraith.’
    ‘Sir Charles is an old friend,’ said Agatha. ‘It was a surprise to see him again. He suggested we go for a drink and we did. When I left him and returned to the villa again, James was not there. I went back to the restaurant but everyone had gone. Then I went to the Dome and they weren’t there either. Charles said he had a spare bed in his room and I was very tired and so I accepted his offer.’
    Pamir’s fathomless eyes switched to James. ‘Were you jealous?’
    ‘Of what?’ demanded James.
    ‘Of Mrs Raisin here. Of her behaviour. First she has dinner with a businessman and now she shares the bedroom of an Englishman who is not you.’
    ‘I have no reason to be jealous,’ said James. ‘I am used to Agatha’s erratic behaviour.’
    ‘Why did you leave your friends without saying where you were going?’ asked Pamir, consulting his notes again.
    ‘Because Sir Charles did not want to meet them and may I remind you, they are not friends of mine. We have only been brought together because of this