Pushing Up Daisies by M. C. Beaton Page B

down, love,” said Doris, “and I’ll get you a mug of coffee. You’re in the newspapers. I bought them all at the shop. They’re on the table.”
    â€œWhat are they saying?” asked Agatha.
    â€œJust that you and Sir Charles had been taken to Paddington Green for enquiries.”
    â€œOh, snakes and bastards. That’s where they take terrorists. Doris, I’ve got a young man upstairs.”
    â€œWell, you know me, Agatha. I never was a one to judge. They say these here winter summer…”
    â€œI am not having an affair,” howled Agatha. “But he’s going to work for me, and he needs clothes. Could you be an angel and go to Marks in Mircester and see if you can buy him stuff to be going on with? I’ll give you plenty of money, and take enough as well to pay for your time … and petrol, of course.”
    Doris took down Agatha’s little used sewing basket from a cupboard and fished out a measuring tape. “I’ll best measure the lad.”
    Because of all the dramas he had been through, when Jake awoke to find a white-haired lady measuring him, his first mad idea was that he was being sized up for a coffin, and jumped out of bed with a yell.
    Doris rapidly explained things. She opened a wardrobe and handed Jake one of Charles’s dressing gowns and suggested he wash, and leave all his dirty clothes on the bed so that she could put them in the washing machine.
    When Jake finally erupted into the kitchen, all shining-morning-face, Agatha winced and felt her age.
    â€œSo when do we get started?” he asked eagerly.
    â€œFirst,” said Agatha, “we find you a flat, and then I’ll think up some work to keep you going until you find a proper job.”
    He looked almost ludicrous in his dismay. “But I thought I was going to be a detective!”
    â€œBut you have no training. And you can’t be a detective until you get a certificate.”
    â€œYou could take me on as a trainee,” pleaded Jake.
    The phone rang. “Answer that, Jake,” said Agatha. “If it’s the press, I’ll talk to them later. Oh, and if it is someone called Roy Silver, I am out detecting.”
    It was Roy Silver. “He always wants to come and visit when he thinks there is a chance of getting some publicity for himself,” explained Agatha. “I’m very fond of him, but if he wants to come this week-end, I don’t feel up to it. Tell him I’m up in London somewhere.” Jake conveyed the message.
    The doorbell shrilled. “I’ll get it,” said Jake.
    A tall, handsome man stood on the doorstep. “Who are you?” he demanded sharply.
    â€œI’m Agatha’s latest…”
    He had been about to say, “detective,” but the angry man made a sound of disgust and strode off.
    â€œWho was it?” asked Agatha.
    â€œBig chap. Asked who I was. I started to say I was your latest detective, but I only got as far as latest when he stormed off.”
    â€œOh, dear. I’ve a feeling that was my ex. He lives next door. We’ll wait here until Doris comes back with clothes for you. You can pay me back when you get work. I’ll need to buy you a cheap car.”
    In the early evening, Agatha introduced Jake to her staff, who always reported back before going their separate ways. “He is a trainee,” said Agatha. “He can start off by going out with one of you and observing how it’s done. Simon, you’ve got that supermarket job. Take Jake with you tomorrow.”
    Simon noticed the way that Jake kept looking at Toni. Although he had persuaded himself he was no longer interested in Toni, he didn’t want to see anyone else snatching her away.
    â€œWhat do we have to do?” asked Jake.
    â€œWe keep an eye out for shoplifters.”
    â€œBut supermarkets usually have a security guard,” said Jake.
    â€œThis one has. But he’s an