Dishing the Dirt

They made their way along the cobbled streets of the village, up past the vicarage to where Victoria lived. “Not many people about,” commented Charles. “Is it always this quiet when it is open gardens day?”


“Probably,” said Agatha. “Mrs. Bloxby once said that they are so jealous in the village that at the beginning of the day they often don’t want to visit anyone else’s garden. Then they all turn out.”

“Aren’t you worried that Victoria will start screaming insults at you?” asked Charles.

“No, she got a shock when I threatened to sue her for libel.”

“She hasn’t got a ‘Garden’s Open’ sign up on her gate,” Charles pointed out.

“So what?” demanded Agatha, pushing the gate open.

The little front garden of the thatched cottage was crammed with flowers. Tall hollyhocks raised their blossoms to the summer sky. White rambling roses tumbled round the low front door.

Agatha stopped suddenly on the path and Charles bumped into her. “Look!” whispered Agatha. “Wolfsbane!”

“You need to study those photos,” said Charles. “That’s a delphinium.”

“Rats! I should have known it would be too easy.”

Agatha rang the bell. “She must be out,” she said, after they had waited a few minutes. “I know, let’s go round to the garden at the back. If she comes home and catches us, we can lie and say we thought hers was one of the open gardens.”

But when they arrived in the back garden, it showed that the flower display was all at the front. There was a shaggy lawn dominated by a clothesline. At the end of the garden was a shed. Along the back fence were two crab apple trees.

“Let’s have a look in the shed,” said Agatha.

“She might catch us.”

“Don’t be a wimp. Come on.”

“No,” said Charles firmly. “You see that garden chair up by the house? I’m going to sit on that until you are finished. If I hear her coming, I’m running away.”

“Boneless creep!” Agatha made her way down the garden. Three large crows that had been pecking at something flew up at her approach.

Outside the shed, what at first looked like a bundle of clothes lay on the ground. Curious, Agatha moved forward. Then she let out a high-pitched scream that brought Charles running to her side.

The dead eyeless face of Victoria Bannister stared up at them. “The crows,” babbled Agatha. “They’ve pecked her eyes out!”

Charles put an arm round her. “Come away. We’ll call the police. Come on, Aggie. Back away carefully or we’ll be charged with mucking up the crime scene.”

*

The police arrived. Agatha and Charles were taken outside the house to wait in a police car while the pathologist and Scenes of Crimes Operatives got to work.

Wilkes turned up and rapped on the window of the car in which Agatha and Charles were sitting. “We’ll move down to your cottage, Mrs. Raisin,” he said, “and take your statements there.”

Why is it so sunny? wondered Agatha bleakly. It ought to be dark and gloomy. The village looks so normal. Unaware yet of the drama, some villagers had started to trot in and out of the gardens.

At her cottage, Agatha insisted they move into the garden, where she could smoke. Wilkes was accompanied by Bill Wong, Alice Peterson and a policewoman.

“I’m amazed you are still indulging in that filthy habit,” commented Wilkes.

“A woman has been found dead with her eyes pecked out by crows and all you can do is bitch about my smoking,” said Agatha. “Get on with it.”

They crowded round Agatha’s garden table and the questioning began. When the grilling came to an end, Agatha told them about her dinner with Tris Davent, saying, “He scared me. I’ll bet he did it.”

“Wait a minute,” said Wilkes. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”

He moved off into the kitchen. “Are you all right, Agatha?” asked Bill. “You look quite white.”