Dishing the Dirt

*

Agatha was ten minutes late arriving at the George. She had put on heavy make-up, wiped it off, tried again, decided that it was too little, and just as she decided she was happy with the result, a blob of mascara fell on her cheek and she had to start all over again.

She was wearing a scarlet chiffon jersey dress with a low neckline and scarlet red high-heeled shoes. A diamond pendant and little diamond earrings completed the ensemble.

Mark Dretter rose to meet her and Agatha suddenly felt very overdressed. The long French windows at the end of the restaurant were wide open because the evening was warm and humid. Mark was wearing a blue-and-white-checked shirt open at the neck. But he said, “You look magnificent.”

“I had to deal with a very posh client before I came here,” lied Agatha.

“Let’s choose something to eat,” said Mark, “and then you can tell me how you are getting on.”

Agatha’s bearlike eyes suddenly bored into him. “So that you can report to Gwen?”

He looked hurt. “Do you credit any man who invites you out for dinner as having an ulterior motive?”

“In my line of work, I’m suspicious of everyone,” said Agatha. “Sorry.”

“Never mind. What are you going to have to eat?”

Agatha had a healthy appetite but sadly knew that anything fattening seemed to go straight to her waistline. On the other hand, she told herself, she could start dieting the next day.

She ordered avocado stuffed with shrimp as a starter to be followed by steak and a baked potato. Mark said he would have the same and ordered a bottle of Macon to go with the meal.

“I can’t help remembering having a meal here with David Herythe,” said Agatha, “and then he ended up murdered. I hope I am not putting you in danger.”

He laughed. “My sister is a security freak. My cottage has steel shutters on the downstairs windows, a CCTV camera over the door and burglar alarms back and front. Still, when you think about it, the murderer must have been following you. Just think. Might even be in this restaurant.”

Agatha looked around the dining room. “They all look ordinary,” she said. “Mind you, it’s only after a murderer is caught that people say, look at those evil, staring eyes, or something like that, when in fact the murderer could be someone you would pass in the street without a second glance.”

“Perhaps this murderer has given up,” said Mark. “Have you got over that attempt on your life?”

“Of course,” said Agatha, clasping her hands, which had begun to tremble, on her lap.

She privately thought that she would never forget Justin’s attack. Her life had been threatened before and she had got over it quickly. Maybe she was suffering from an accumulation of attacks. Maybe she should get married and forget about being a detective. Maybe Dubai would be fun. She could play the hostess with the mostest at embassy parties. Would she have to wear a print dress and a large hat?

“Hullo!” said Mark. “I think you forgot I was here.”

Agatha threw him a flirtatious look. “Now how could I forget such a handsome man?”

He smiled. “Easily, I should think. Why do you suspect Gwen?”

“Because her son, the baker, was serving up people in meat pies. There were the two of them living in that bakery. Don’t tell me she didn’t know what was going on.”

“Mother love can be blind. Also, she wouldn’t have the strength. For example, you said that Tremund had been knocked on the head and pushed in the canal.”

“I think it would be easy for such as Gwen Simple to enchant some man so that he would murder for her.”

“But you told me the police had bugged her phone. She hasn’t let anything slip. In fact, she leads a blameless life. Do eat your food. We’ve plenty of time to talk.”