Dishing the Dirt

“Someone’s been gossiping about me,” said Agatha. “It must be Jill Davent. Someone’s found out about my background.”


“I could never understand why you are so ashamed of your upbringing,” said James. “What does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” said Agatha. “The Gloucestershire middle classes are very snobby.”

“Only the ones not worth knowing,” said James.

“Like some of your friends? Did you tell anyone?”

“Of course not. I told you before. I do not discuss you with anyone.”

But Agatha saw a little flash of uneasiness in his blue eyes. “You did say something about me and recently, too.”

He ran his fingers through his thick black hair, hair that only showed a little grey at the temples. He cursed Agatha’s intuition.

“I didn’t say anything about your background but I took Jill out for dinner and she asked a lot of questions about you, but I only talked about your cases.”

“She’s counselling Gwen Simple. She knows I was on that case where I nearly ended up in one of her son’s meat pies.”

Agatha’s last case had concerned a Sweeny Todd of a murderer over at Winter Parva. Although she suspected his mother, Gwen, of having helped in the murders, no proof was found against the woman.

“Actually, it was more or less on your behalf that I took not only Jill out for dinner, but Gwen as well.”

Agatha stared at him, noticing that James with his tall, athletic body was as handsome as ever. Jill looked like a constipated otter, but there was something about Gwen Simple that made men go weak at the knees.

“So what did creepy, slimy Gwen have to say for herself?” she asked.

“Agatha! The poor woman is still very traumatised. Jill did most of the talking.”

Gwen probably sat there with a mediaeval-type gown on to suit her mediaeval-type features, thought Agatha bitterly. That one doesn’t even have to open her mouth. She just sits there and draws men in.

“So did Jill have anything to say about the case?” she asked. “And I thought Gwen had sold the bakery and moved.”

“Jill naturally will not tell me what a client says,” remarked James. “And Gwen has moved to Ancombe.”

“I would have thought she would want to get as far away from Winter Parva as possible,” said Agatha. “I mean, a lot of the villagers must think she’s guilty.”

“On the contrary, they have been most sympathetic.”

“Tcha!” said Agatha Raisin.

*

Agatha decided to call on her friend, Mrs. Bloxby. She suddenly wondered why on earth this therapist should have gone to such lengths as to ferret out her background. As usual, the vicar’s wife was pleased to see her although, as usual, her husband was not. He slammed into his study.

As Mrs. Bloxby led the way into the garden, Agatha poured out her worries. “I’ll get you a glass of sherry,” said Mrs. Bloxby soothingly.

As she waited for her friend to come back, Agatha felt herself beginning to relax. Over in the churchyard, daffodils were swaying in the breeze amongst the old gravestones. In front of her, a blackbird pecked for worms on the lawn.

Mrs. Bloxby returned with a decanter of sherry and two glasses. After she had finished pouring out the drinks, she said, “I find it most odd that Miss Davent should obviously have gone to such lengths to dig up your background. She must see you as a threat. And if she sees you as a threat, what has she got to hide?”

“I should have thought of that,” said Agatha. “I’m slipping. And why bring her business to Carsely? Surely she would get more clients in town.”

“I think she makes clients,” said the vicar’s wife.