Dishing the Dirt

“The vicarage is full of flowers,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “I feel like a film star.”


Agatha’s voice was suddenly sharp with concern. “Make sure all the bouquets are from the florist and no one has sneaked a homemade one in. Don’t want you dying of wolfsbane.”

When she rang off, Mrs. Bloxby told her husband what Agatha had said. They searched the bouquets, reading the cards, but all had come from the florist. “What a lot of thank you letters I am going to have to write,” said Mrs. Bloxby.

The vicar realised for the first time that, even though it was morning, his wife looked tired.

“Look, someone’s even sent a bottle of champagne. I’ll open it now and then I’ll help you open the presents. And I am taking you out for dinner tonight.”

Mrs. Bloxby’s eyes filled with tears. “You are so good to me, Alf. Isn’t it too early for champagne?”

“Not on your birthday. I’ll get the glasses.”

*

In her office that morning, Agatha allocated jobs for the day. “You haven’t got one for yourself,” said Toni.

“I would like a quiet day so that I can go over my notes,” said Agatha. The real truth was she wanted to be beside the phone in case Mark called. Of course, he could call her on her mobile number but Agatha was already fantasising about marrying him. Also, her secretary, Mrs. Freedman, had taken the day off to visit her niece.

When her detectives had left, Agatha discovered that Mrs. Freedman received quite a lot of phone calls. She longed to shout at callers to get off the line, but business was business, and so she settled down to take notes about missing pets, adulterous husbands and all the other bread and butter cases the agency dealt with. By three in the afternoon, she felt cross and hungry. She ordered a pizza to be delivered while she made herself yet another cup of black coffee.

Agatha had her mouth full of pizza when the phone rang. She picked it up. “Yes, may I help you?” she said, although because her mouth was full of pizza, it sounded more like, “Is, may elp yi.”

“I would like to speak to Agatha Raisin.” It was Mark. Agatha spat out her mouthful of pizza on the office floor.

“Mark!” she cooed. “It is Mark, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Agatha. I wondered whether you would like to join me for dinner tonight?”

“That would be lovely,” said Agatha. “What time and where?”

“The George. At eight o’clock?”

“Lovely. I’ll see you there.”

She had just replaced the receiver when Charles strode into the office.

“What are you doing here?” snapped Agatha.

“Why so hostile? Had a boring lunch with a cousin and thought I’d drop in on you.”

“Well, I’m busy, so drop out.”

Charles stared at the floor beside Agatha’s desk. “Have you been sick?”

“No, it was too hot. I’ll clean it up. I’m sorry, Charles, but I really am too busy.”

“Who is he?” asked Charles.

“Who what?”

“You’ve got that travel bag of yours beside the desk, which usually means you plan to change into something slinky for a date. Good thing you didn’t vomit pizza on it.”

“You’re talking rubbish. Oh, clear off. You make my head ache.”

“Well, don’t come crying to me if he turns out to be a rat.”

Charles strolled off. Agatha cleaned the mess off the floor. The afternoon dragged on. Then one by one her detectives returned with their reports.

“I don’t think any of this stuff warrants overtime,” said Agatha. “So you can all go home.”

*

“She’s got a date,” said Toni as she walked down the stairs from the office with Simon. “Any idea who it might be?”

“Not a clue. Anyway, whoever it is ought to be warned that our murderer might bump him off. Sometimes I think this murderer is out there, watching Agatha, and enjoying the fact that she hasn’t got any idea who he is.”

“I wonder if we should follow her, just to make sure she is safe,” said Toni.

Simon laughed. “You would think we were talking about a wayward adolescent. She wouldn’t thank us for interfering.”