The Blood of an Englishman by M. C. Beaton Page B

child support. But murder! Not John. He’s too weak. I’m amazed he hasn’t found another rich woman to take my place. But I was old-fashioned. Any other woman would probably have seen through him.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I try to remember the good times but I can’t. He has no interest in our son. He’s a cold-hearted mercenary beast. And they call some women gold diggers!”
    Agatha felt sad and wanted to get away from the villa. The study was filled with white light from the snow outside. She felt they were encased in a bubble of cold light, like figures in one of those glass snowstorms you found in gift shops.
    â€œAnd you are really sure John could not be capable of murdering anyone?” asked Charles gently.
    â€œNo, but someday someone might murder him. God knows, I’ve dreamt about it often enough.”
    â€œYou have my card,” said Agatha. “If you think of anything, phone me.”
    *   *   *
    As they drove off, Agatha said, “I need junk food.”
    â€œDon’t you care about your waistline?” asked Charles.
    â€œNot today.”
    â€œDo you think dear John might be our murderer?”
    â€œNo, it doesn’t seem like it,” said Agatha.
    â€œBut what if George Southern threatened to tell everyone about John taking money from him?”
    â€œNot really enough motive.”
    â€œWell, try this on for size. What if Bert Simple was blackmailing him over something?”
    â€œToo far-fetched,” said Agatha. “Besides, he didn’t have anything to do with the pantomime.”
    â€œNo, but he didn’t need to. Anyone like John could have got below that stage between the dress rehearsal and the actual performance.”
    â€œOh, forget about John,” snapped Agatha. “What about you and Gwen?”
    â€œShe tried to get me to call again, but I told her I was too busy.”
    â€œAha!”
    â€œAha, what?”
    â€œIf she’s chasing after you, then she’s hardly the grieving widow.”
    â€œOh, shut up about it all,” said Charles. “One greasy spoon coming up. You’ll get a breakthrough soon.”
    But as Agatha ploughed through a plate of egg, sausage, bacon and chips, she did not realise how long it would be before that breakthrough happened.

 
    Chapter Six
    It was only on television detective shows, thought Agatha bleakly, as she stared out at yet another grey cold day in late spring, that cases were quickly solved.
    Winter had moved into a dismal cold spring, and Patrick Mulligan told Agatha that, according to his police sources, there was still not even a hint of the identity of the murderer.
    Agatha had reinterviewed as many people as she could think of, with the exception of John Hale.
    The weird thing was, that as time went by, the residents of Winter Parva seemed to settle down to their usual ways and forget about the murders. It had happened to Agatha before on a previous case where a whole village had decided the murderer must have been some visiting lunatic. Perhaps, thought Agatha, it was because the idea that the murderer might be one of them was too awful to contemplate. She had reluctantly told Gareth Craven at the end of January that she could not go on charging him until she produced results.
    She worked hard on various other cases. Charles had disappeared again and James Lacey was off on his travels.
    She had one last try at interviewing the Buxton family to try to find out if Kimberley had really been sexually attacked but the girl’s parents threatened to take her to court and charge her with harassment.
    The weather continued as gloomy as Agatha’s mood. She had put Roy Silver off several times, but finally decided to invite him because she was feeling lonely. Agatha always felt lonely when she was not in love with anyone.
    Roy, a rather effeminate young man who had once worked for Agatha, arrived on the Saturday