Dishing the Dirt

Agatha took a swig of black coffee and lit a cigarette. “I’ve been warned not to speak to the press. Everything is sub judice before the court case.”


“I could leak it for you.”

“Don’t do that,” said Agatha wearily. “Wilkes would come down on me like a ton of bricks.”

“You’re a very good detective, Agatha.”

“I sometimes wonder.”

“Who else would have sensed there was something up with Justin?”

Agatha scowled into her drink. She was suddenly sure that her suspicions about Justin had been prompted by jealousy when she had seen him with Gwen Simple.

She sighed. “Maybe the police would have got round to it anyway.”

There was a ring at the doorbell. “Ignore that,” said Charles.

“No, I’ll go.”

Agatha came back into the kitchen followed by Mrs. Bloxby and James Lacey.

“What’s been happening?” asked James. “I’ve just got back and heard in the village shop about your cottage swarming with police.”

“I was worried, too,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “By the time the Chinese whispers reached the vicarage, I heard you had been arrested.”

“I’ll make a pot of coffee,” said Charles, “and Agatha can tell you all about it.”

“Get me another coffee,” said Agatha. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

As Agatha recounted her adventures, she began to feel the whole thing was unreal, that she had imagined it all. When she had finished, James said, “Now all you have to do is solve the other murders.”

Charles entering with a tray of coffee said sharply, “I think Agatha should leave that to the police.”

James laughed. “Oh, Agatha won’t leave it alone. She’s as tough as old boots.”

“Look,” said Charles, “she’s just escaped being murdered. The best thing she can do is take a few days off and chill out.”

Both men glared at each other.

I think they are both in love with her in their odd ways, thought Mrs. Bloxby. Oh, why doesn’t Agatha get married and settle down?

James gave a reluctant laugh and turned to Mrs. Bloxby. “You must long for the days when there weren’t so many incomers.”

“Well, Mrs. Simple and her son had been in Winter Parva for some time. I wonder how many murders went unnoticed before all this expert technology.” said the vicar’s wife. “But do forget about these murders, Mrs. Raisin. Be safe.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Agatha.





Chapter Nine

But that night, as she tossed and turned in bed, Agatha felt she simply could not let go. The murderer was out there, and, if not stopped, would kill again. The next target might be me, thought Agatha. She had kept her bedside light on to banish the fears brought by darkness. She regretted having bought a thatched cottage because nameless creatures rustled in the thatch.

Her bedroom door opened and Charles, who had been sleeping in the spare room, walked in, wrapped in a dressing gown.

He was carrying a glass of milk. “Drink this,” he ordered. “And here’s a sleeping pill. I picked up a prescription today for my aunt. She won’t miss one.”

“I don’t drink milk and I never take sleeping pills,” complained Agatha.

“Do as you’re told for once in your life,” said Charles, “or I will ram this pill down your throat.”

“Oh, all right,” said Agatha grumpily. She swallowed the pill. Then she said, “I never thanked you for saving my life.”

“All in the day’s work,” said Charles. “Go to sleep.”

After he had left, Agatha felt she would never sleep when she suddenly plunged down into a dream where Justin was chasing her round a village fair with an ax.