murdered.’
‘So you say. I have yet to read the Gloucester report. I hope you have not been lying to them as well.’
Agatha thought about her saying that someone had told her the villa had burnt down and then finding out Charles’s car had been spotted. She groaned inwardly.
‘We are taking some things,’ said Brudge. A policeman held out a box containing a few bottles of vitamin pills and aspirin. ‘We will give you a receipt for them.’
When they had all left, she said to Charles, ‘What a mess.’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Not very.’
‘Let’s go along to the Red Lion and get a sandwich.’
‘All right. Give me a moment while I change. I feel all sweaty.’
She went up to her bathroom and stripped and had a quick shower and put on a clean blouse and skirt.
She looked out of the window. Charles was playing with her cats in the garden. He had made a ball out of kitchen foil and was throwing it in the air while the cats leaped up to catch it.
Did he ever worry about anything? Probably just as well if he did not. She herself was worrying enough for the whole of the Cotswolds.
The lounge bar of the Red Lion was smoky and dim. A fire had been lit and little puffs of grey smoke escaped from it and lay in bands across the low-beamed room.
They collected gin and tonics and ham sandwiches and retreated to a far corner.
‘So what do we do now?’ asked Agatha.
‘We go on. For a start we’ve got to try to get the Friendly woman on her own.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘You’re all kerfuffled and discombobulated these days, Aggie. You put me up for the night and then we watch her house and see if Mr Friendly leaves.’
‘How can we do that without being too obvious?’
‘The cottage is opposite the churchyard. You take me on a tour of the graves. I’m a historian. I make notes. Even if he doesn’t leave, surely she goes out shopping. Then we
should get to a library and read up on ricin. Are there any castor-oil plants outside Kew Gardens in this country, for example? If not, which of our suspects has been abroad lately?’
‘I don’t think we’ve really got any suspects.’
‘Wake up! Of course we have. We have the hairy Mr Friendly. We have the woman Maggie. We’ll start with them.’
‘We can’t haunt the Friendlys tomorrow morning. We’ve got to go to Mircester.’
‘So we have. After, then.’
‘I’m still hurt by Bill’s behaviour,’ fretted Agatha. ‘Badly hurt. First, he’s on holiday and doesn’t phone, then he’s on duty and treats me like
Suspect Number One.’
‘Why don’t you just phone him? You’ve got his phone number.’
‘I don’t want to,’ mumbled Agatha.
‘You’re frightened he’s gone off you because of some deep unlikeable flaw in your character, so you prefer to be miserable. Tell you what, I’ll go home and pack a bag.
I’ll be staying with you.’
Agatha raised a smile. ‘No funny stuff.’
‘Did I ever? See you back at the ranch, Aggie.’
He went off. She finished her drink, but instead of going home, walked to the vicarage and rang the bell.
‘Christ!’ came the unholy voice of the vicar. ‘It’s that woman again.’
‘Don’t blaspheme, Alf, and get on with your sermon,’ came Mrs Bloxby’s calm voice.
‘I always call at the wrong time,’ said Agatha ruefully as Mrs Bloxby opened the door.
‘Pay no attention to Alf. He’s the same with everyone. I keep telling him he’s too antisocial for a vicar. Come in.’
‘If you’re sure . . .’
‘Quite sure. Tea? Coffee?’
‘A cup of coffee would be nice.’
‘Come into the kitchen.’
The kitchen was warm and welcoming. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling and shining copper pans gleamed against the old stone walls. ‘I’ve got some ready,’ said Mrs
Bloxby, pouring two mugs.
Agatha said, ‘Can we take this into the garden? Then I can smoke with a free conscience.’
‘Certainly, although I hope you don’t find it too chilly. It’s got
‘So you say. I have yet to read the Gloucester report. I hope you have not been lying to them as well.’
Agatha thought about her saying that someone had told her the villa had burnt down and then finding out Charles’s car had been spotted. She groaned inwardly.
‘We are taking some things,’ said Brudge. A policeman held out a box containing a few bottles of vitamin pills and aspirin. ‘We will give you a receipt for them.’
When they had all left, she said to Charles, ‘What a mess.’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Not very.’
‘Let’s go along to the Red Lion and get a sandwich.’
‘All right. Give me a moment while I change. I feel all sweaty.’
She went up to her bathroom and stripped and had a quick shower and put on a clean blouse and skirt.
She looked out of the window. Charles was playing with her cats in the garden. He had made a ball out of kitchen foil and was throwing it in the air while the cats leaped up to catch it.
Did he ever worry about anything? Probably just as well if he did not. She herself was worrying enough for the whole of the Cotswolds.
The lounge bar of the Red Lion was smoky and dim. A fire had been lit and little puffs of grey smoke escaped from it and lay in bands across the low-beamed room.
They collected gin and tonics and ham sandwiches and retreated to a far corner.
‘So what do we do now?’ asked Agatha.
‘We go on. For a start we’ve got to try to get the Friendly woman on her own.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘You’re all kerfuffled and discombobulated these days, Aggie. You put me up for the night and then we watch her house and see if Mr Friendly leaves.’
‘How can we do that without being too obvious?’
‘The cottage is opposite the churchyard. You take me on a tour of the graves. I’m a historian. I make notes. Even if he doesn’t leave, surely she goes out shopping. Then we
should get to a library and read up on ricin. Are there any castor-oil plants outside Kew Gardens in this country, for example? If not, which of our suspects has been abroad lately?’
‘I don’t think we’ve really got any suspects.’
‘Wake up! Of course we have. We have the hairy Mr Friendly. We have the woman Maggie. We’ll start with them.’
‘We can’t haunt the Friendlys tomorrow morning. We’ve got to go to Mircester.’
‘So we have. After, then.’
‘I’m still hurt by Bill’s behaviour,’ fretted Agatha. ‘Badly hurt. First, he’s on holiday and doesn’t phone, then he’s on duty and treats me like
Suspect Number One.’
‘Why don’t you just phone him? You’ve got his phone number.’
‘I don’t want to,’ mumbled Agatha.
‘You’re frightened he’s gone off you because of some deep unlikeable flaw in your character, so you prefer to be miserable. Tell you what, I’ll go home and pack a bag.
I’ll be staying with you.’
Agatha raised a smile. ‘No funny stuff.’
‘Did I ever? See you back at the ranch, Aggie.’
He went off. She finished her drink, but instead of going home, walked to the vicarage and rang the bell.
‘Christ!’ came the unholy voice of the vicar. ‘It’s that woman again.’
‘Don’t blaspheme, Alf, and get on with your sermon,’ came Mrs Bloxby’s calm voice.
‘I always call at the wrong time,’ said Agatha ruefully as Mrs Bloxby opened the door.
‘Pay no attention to Alf. He’s the same with everyone. I keep telling him he’s too antisocial for a vicar. Come in.’
‘If you’re sure . . .’
‘Quite sure. Tea? Coffee?’
‘A cup of coffee would be nice.’
‘Come into the kitchen.’
The kitchen was warm and welcoming. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling and shining copper pans gleamed against the old stone walls. ‘I’ve got some ready,’ said Mrs
Bloxby, pouring two mugs.
Agatha said, ‘Can we take this into the garden? Then I can smoke with a free conscience.’
‘Certainly, although I hope you don’t find it too chilly. It’s got
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