Dishing the Dirt

The evening was calm and serene, with a huge yellow moon floating above the village rooftops. Agatha remembered that blue moon. How odd it had looked. Although Moreton was only fifteen minutes away, she took a circuitous route down the backroads, past the Batsford estates office, checking all the time in the rearview mirror, but there was no one else on the road.

She hesitated outside the Black Bear. She was being silly and all because this young man was beautiful. And by being silly, she could be putting him in danger.

“Are you going in or what?” demanded a man’s voice behind her. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Agatha. She pushed open the door of the dining room and went in.

Justin was seated at a corner table. He rose to meet her. “You look pretty,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks.

No one had ever called Agatha Raisin pretty before. She gave him a radiant smile as she sat down opposite him.

Agatha had forgotten what huge servings they gave at this restaurant. She had ordered steak and ale pie and it made her waistline tighten just looking at it. Unfortunately, Justin said, “I cannot bear women who just pick at their food,” so Agatha did her best and was relieved when Justin rose and said he needed to go to the loo. For one mad moment, she thought of tipping the whole thing into her handbag, but instead, she took it up to the counter and told the waitress to take her half-finished plate away.

“Good heavens!” said Justin when he returned. “I’ll need to eat fast to catch up with you.” He wanted to hear more about Agatha’s adventures and so Agatha bragged happily, until Justin finished his meal and the waitress came up with the dessert menu.

“Nothing for me,” said Agatha.

“I’m sure your son could manage something,” said the waitress and Agatha could feel all her silly dreams crashing about her ears, even when Justin said gallantly, “Not my mother, my date.”

Agatha suddenly could not wait for the evening to end. She thanked Justin for the meal and said she would be in touch with him as soon as she learned anything new.

Once home, she petted her cats, wondering whether to send them back to Doris for safety. But they were company and she felt lonely.

*

In the following weeks, Agatha and her detectives went about their work nervously, each one worried that they might be the murderer’s next target, but nothing happened. Patrick reported that the police did not seem to have found anything new. Justin phoned a couple of times, inviting Agatha out, but each time she said it was not safe.

The agency seemed to be drawing in a lot of work: missing teenagers, divorces, firms who thought a member of the staff was stealing, a supermarket that claimed that liquor was disappearing, and so the list went on.

And while she worked, Agatha found her thoughts kept turning to Gwen Simple. She could not imagine Gwen having the strength to strangle anyone or to throw a body in the river, but she knew that men went weak at the knees in her company and wondered if she had an accomplice.

Mrs. Bloxby told Agatha that Gwen had started a business making silk flowers and would be selling them at a stall at Ancombe crafts fair at the week-end.

The vicar’s wife said she would accompany her and they set off in Agatha’s car.

“Have you see anything of Sir Charles?” asked Mrs. Bloxby.

“No, he disappears from time to time,” said Agatha bitterly. “I sometimes think I could be lying dead on my kitchen floor for all he cares, and that goes for James, too. He went off on his travels and didn’t even call to say goodbye. Here we are in Ancombe. Don’t like the place.”

“It’s all right,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “You’ve just had bad luck with some of the residents in the past. Look, you can park in that field next to the fair.”

“They must think everyone drives a four-by-four,” grumbled Agatha as her car bumped over the ruts in the field. She was directed by a Boy Scout to a remaining place at the far corner. “I didn’t think it would be this busy,” said Agatha.