Dishing the Dirt

Agatha looked around the room. “No flowers?”


“Hospitals don’t allow flowers these days,” said Mrs. Bloxby. “People have sent chocolates, fruit and cakes but the police took them all away for forensic examination in case they contained poison.”

“Where’s James?”

“He’s in Thailand, but he phoned to find out about you. The press have been trying to get in to see you.”

“Do you know,” said Agatha wearily, “I can’t for once face them. And look at my poor head! All done up in bandages and shaved underneath. I’ll need to wear a wig until it grows back in again.”

The door opened and Charles came in carrying a brown paper bag, which he dumped on the table in front of Agatha. “Double cheeseburger, chips and coffee,” he said.

“You’re an angel,” cried Agatha. “The hospital food is rubbish.”

“Oh, Sir Charles,” protested Mrs. Bloxby. “Couldn’t you have brought something a little healthier?”

“She thrives on junk food,” said Charles. “Look, Aggie, you’d better clear off on holiday somewhere when you get out of here.”

“Nonsense. The solving of this case will bring the agency a lot of work. Can’t wait to get back.”

But worried Mrs. Bloxby noticed that the well-manicured hands holding the cardboard container of coffee trembled a little.

*

After two weeks, and on Agatha’s last day in hospital, Bill Wong called to say that the body of the supposed Anthony had been exhumed and it had been established that it was in fact the sister, Lavender, who had perished and that Anthony had taken her identity.

“I’m surprised there was enough left to get DNA,” said Agatha.

“Enough in a surviving molar,” said Bill.

No one had told Agatha that her police guard had been told not to allow Roy Silver admittance, everyone being annoyed that he had arrived as soon as the attempt on Agatha’s life had reached the newspapers, because he had held press conferences on the steps of the hospital, bragging about how he helped Agatha with her cases. All her detectives had called daily with their reports. Charles and Mrs. Bloxby would have liked to keep them away but Agatha insisted on being kept up to date.

*

When she got home, Doris Simpson was waiting with her cats and watched anxiously as Agatha petted them and then burst into tears.

“Now, now, my love,” said Doris. “You’ve got to take it easy.”

“Sure,” said Agatha, mopping her eyes. “I’ll be all right in a day or two.”

“That wicked man won’t dare to come near you,” said Doris.

“I hope not,” said Agatha. “I suppose he didn’t bump me off at the beginning because he thought I was a fool. He must have told Jill Davent something and she tried to blackmail him and set all the murders in motion. They do say that after the first murder, the others come easy.”

*

Charles was hosting the annual village fete on the grounds of his estate. He felt his face stiff with smiling and he was bored to tears. At the end of the day, he retreated into his house and into his study while Gustav brought him a beer. He put his feet up and then remembered he had bought a lottery scratch card for a pound. He fished it out of his pocket along with a coin and began to scratch busily. He could hardly believe his eyes. It appeared he had won seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Found money, he thought. This demands a special treat.

Then he thought of Agatha. She badly needed a holiday. What if he bought her one? What kind of holiday would she feel compelled to take? But the elderly aunt who lived with him and Gustav should have something. He called them in.

Gustav wanted a new motorbike and his aunt wanted a big donation to a cancer society. When Gustav had left to pore over catalogues, Charles asked his aunt, “I’d like to send Agatha Raisin on holiday, a holiday she can’t refuse. Any ideas?”

“Oh, that Miss Marple of yours. What about the Orient Express to Venice?”

“Brilliant!”