Dishing the Dirt

James came through a side gate from his garden carrying a ladder which he propped against the fence.


Agatha climbed down. She smiled up at James and then ducked her head as she realised she wasn’t wearing make-up.

“Come in and have a coffee,” said James. “But I really think you should have a word with the press, even if it’s ‘no comment’ or they’ll be here all day.”

“In these clothes!”

“Agatha! Oh, all right. We’ll climb back over, sort yourself out, and then go out to face them.”

*

James waited impatiently in Agatha’s kitchen for half an hour until she descended the stairs, fully made-up and teetering on a pair of high heels.

Agatha went out to face the press. She competently fielded questions while television cameras whirred and flashes went off in her face. Yes, she had spent a long time at police headquarters. Why? Because she was a private detective who lived in the village where the woman was murdered.

And then to her horror, Victoria Bannister pushed her way to the front. “You threatened to kill her!” she shrieked.

“Jill Davent hired a private detective to find out all about me,” said Agatha. “I was annoyed with her. That is all. The question that arises is, why was she afraid of me? What had she got to hide?”

“You’re a murderer,” shouted Victoria.

“And you,” said Agatha, “will be hearing from my lawyers. I am going to sue you for slander.”

Victoria’s wrinkled face showed shock and alarm. “I’m sorry,” she babbled. “I made a mistake.” She turned to escape, shouting at the press to let her through.

Agatha’s voice followed her, “There’s one in every village.”

And in that moment, Victoria could have killed Agatha. As she fled up to her cottage, she vowed to find out the identity of the murderer herself. She knew all the gossip of the village. Once inside, she poured herself a stiff sherry and went off into a rosy dream where she was facing an admiring press and telling them how she had solved the case.

*

“All done?” asked James as Agatha teetered back into the kitchen, sat down and kicked off her shoes.

“I think they’ve gone off to the vicarage to persecute Mrs. Bloxby.”

“Will she be able to handle it?”

“Oh, yes. A vicar’s wife has to be tough. In the past, she’s had to confront several women who developed a crush on her husband. It’s a lousy existence and she’s welcome to it. Half her time is acting as an unpaid therapist. A lot of people take their troubles to her.”

“Including you?”

“I’m her friend. That’s different. I’ll phone Toni to take over tomorrow. I think I’ll go into Oxford and talk to Clive.”

*

Clive Tremund’s office was in a narrow lane off Walton Street in the Jericho area of Oxford. It was situated in the ground floor of a thin two-storied building. Agatha tried the handle and found the door was unlocked.

There was a little square vestibule with a frosted glass door on the left bearing the legend TREMUND INVESTIGATIONS. She pushed open the door and went in.

Agatha let out a gasp. It was a scene of chaos. Papers were scattered everywhere. Drawers hung open at crazy angles. A filing cabinet had been knocked over onto the floor. She backed slowly out, took out her phone and called the police. Then she went outside to wait.

The cobbled lane was very quiet.