Pushing Up Daisies by M. C. Beaton Page A

you are,” said Agatha. “It’s only some stuff to add weight.”
    Charles knelt down and picked up what looked like a grey pebble. “Uncut diamonds,” he said.
    â€œPolice!” shouted a voice from the doorway.
    A uniformed policeman strode in followed by a short, burly looking man with a red face.
    â€œOh, God!” said Agatha.
    â€œWorse than God,” said Jake. “It’s Pa.”
    â€œIt’s alright officer,” said Mr. Lisle. “That’s my son. He’s not right in the head. Don’t phone it in. No charges.”
    â€œYou’d better phone it in, officer,” said Jake triumphantly. “We’ve found uncut diamonds in the leg of this chair.”
    Charles took out his phone. “I’m calling my lawyer,” he said.
    Agatha had suffered long interviews with the police before, but this latest round of grillings left her close to exhausted tears. First there was the local police and detectives. Then came detectives from Scotland Yard, followed later by Special Branch and after them, three quiet men in well-tailored suits and with hard eyes.
    â€œI am not a racist!” Agatha had howled at one time. How could she explain this odd intuition of hers? They assumed, because it was an African Embassy, she had suspected villainy. While the long interrogations went on, they were moved to Paddington Green station and allowed only a few hours’ sleep.
    After two days and with warnings not to leave the country, they were let out and allowed to go home.
    It was a brisk cold sunny day as the three of them stood like owls on the steps of Paddington Green station, blinking in the sunlight, having said goodbye to their respective lawyers.
    They were just about to hail a taxi when a limousine drove up. “Pa,” said Jake.
    â€œMy boy,” said Mr. Lisle, bounding up the steps, “I have secured a place for you at Sandhurst.”
    â€œI’ve got a job,” said Jake. “Honest. I’d make a lousy soldier. This lady has hired me as a detective.”
    Agatha supressed a groan. She had planned to find employment like gardening for Jake until he found something in line with his mental abilities like, maybe, construction work.
    â€œThen she’s as big a fool as you are. May you rot. I’ll send your stuff on.” He glared at Agatha. “What’s your address?”
    Had Agatha not been so exhausted, she would have yelled at Mr. Lisle and then told him to take his son away. But she only wanted to get to bed, and Jake was looking at her like a whipped puppy.
    She handed over her card and said mildly, “Shove off. Taxi!”
    The three dived into a cab with the raging voice to Jake’s father ringing in their ears. “Let’s get back to the hotel and pay the bill and get home,” said Agatha. “Oh, my cats! They wouldn’t let me phone Doris.” Doris Simpson, Agatha’s cleaner, often looked after the cats while Agatha was away. “I’ll phone her now and say I’ll be home as soon as possible.”
    â€œAgatha!” protested Charles. “Not one of us is fit to drive.”
    â€œI am,” said Jake.
    Charles grinned. “Doesn’t the boy make you feel old, Aggie?”
    But Agatha was busy phoning Doris.
    Back at last in Carsely, all of them feeling grubby and exhausted. Charles collected his own car and left for his home. Agatha wearily showed Jake the spare room but said she would use the bathroom first. When she finally emerged, clean and ready for bed, she went into the spare bedroom to tell Jake he could use the bathroom, but he was fast asleep, sprawled across the top of the bed. She decided to leave him as he was.
    Agatha awoke late. She squinted at the clock. It was after ten. She struggled into her clothes and went downstairs to a welcome from her cats and the smell of fresh coffee.
    Doris Simpson, her cleaner, was working in the kitchen. “Sit