Dishing the Dirt

“I could do with a drink,” said Charles when they left the building. “I want you to sit down and tell me exactly what’s got into that crazy head of yours.”


They headed for the bar of the Queen’s Hotel. “It’s like this,” said Agatha, taking a gulp of gin and tonic. “Bob Dell was a cross-dresser. He said he wasn’t alone. Right? What if one transvestite recognised the man behind so-called Lavender Tweedy’s disguise? What if the Tweedy woman saw me going there and got worried?”

“Well,” said Charles cautiously, “what on earth can you do about it?”

“Teeth often survive a fire. I wonder if the body was buried? I should talk to Bill.”

“And he will consult his superiors and Wilkes will tell you to stop interfering in police business.”

“I wonder what’s in the Tweedy garden?”

“Agatha, the police searched all the gardens looking for wolfsbane.”

“Snakes and bastards. And it could all have been uprooted.”

“What about the allotments?”

The allotments were those strips of land just outside Carsely rented by various villagers to grow vegetables and flowers.

“I seem to remember they searched those as well,” said Agatha gloomily.

“Just suppose I go along with this mad idea of yours,” said Charles. “Could she have got an allotment in a nearby village? Mrs. Bloxby would know if there were any available.”

Agatha’s face cleared. “Let’s go and ask!”

*

Mrs. Bloxby’s gentle face looked bewildered as Agatha poured out her new theory and then demanded to know if Mrs. Tweedy could have rented an allotment in any nearby village.

“Do have another scone, Sir Charles, while I think,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “I’ll ask Alf.”

She went along to her husband’s study but unfortunately left the door open. “You mean that pesky woman is here again?” they heard the vicar demand. “Hasn’t she got a home of her own to go to?” Then the study door was shut.

Charles grinned. “Doesn’t like you much, does he?”

“That man is not a Christian,” snapped Agatha.

Mrs. Bloxby came back. “There is a village called Upper Harley. It’s about ten miles from Carsely. They had allotments available last year. It’s little more than a hamlet so they might allow outsiders to rent.”

“I’ll go over there tonight,” said Agatha. “Don’t want to be snooping around in the daytime.”

“I can’t come with you,” said Charles. “Got a dinner engagement. You’d better take someone with you.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Agatha.

“Don’t be silly,” snapped Charles. “There’s nothing to think about. Don’t go alone.”

*

That evening, Charles talked politely at dinner while all the time his mind raced. Damn, Agatha. If her mad conjectures were right, she was putting herself in serious danger. He looked anxiously at the fading light of the evening beyond the long windows of the dining room. It would be dark soon.

At last he couldn’t bear it any longer. He made a muttered excuse and found his way to the lavatory. He sat down on the pan, took out his phone, where he had all the numbers of Agatha’s detectives listed. He rapidly told them where Agatha was going and begged them all to get over there. Then he phoned Bill Wong and managed to get him at home. Bill listened in amazement as Charles rapidly told him about Agatha’s theory and where she had gone.

“I think that attack on her life upset her,” said Bill, “or she would never have come up with this load of rubbish.”

“There’s something awfully convincing about it,” pleaded Charles. “Can’t you just get out to that allotment and check?”

“It’s my night off,” protested Bill. “Oh, all right. But I am really going to give her a blast.”

*