Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

aside and settled for a hard cop novel set in the deep southern states of the United States. After a few pages the book slipped from her hand.
    Charles came into her room later to say good night. He switched out her bedside light and kissed her on the forehead. Agatha stirred and muttered something but did not wake.
    She was dreaming of James. They were on a Mediterranean cruise. She could feel the sun on her cheek. They were leaning against the rail. James turned and smiled down at her. ‘Agatha,’ he said.
    ‘Agatha! Agatha!’ In her dream, Agatha wondered why James was suddenly shouting at her. Then she woke up with a start, realizing it was morning and someone was banging at the door downstairs and shouting her name.
    She pulled on a dressing-gown and hurried down the stairs, nearly tripping over the cats, who snaked around her ankles.
    She wrenched open the door. Amy Worth stood there, her eyes dilated with excitement.
    ‘What’s up?’ asked Agatha sleepily.
    ‘It’s Tolly. You’ll never believe it.’
    ‘Believe what?’
    ‘He’s dead . . . murdered . . . and with Framp guarding the house, too!’

Chapter Four

    Charles came down the stairs in his dressing-gown. ‘What’s all the row about, darling?’ he called.
    ‘Come in, Amy,’ said Agatha, flushing with embarrassment. She said to Charles, ‘Tolly’s been murdered.’
    ‘How? When?’
    ‘Last night,’ said Amy. ‘I don’t know yet how he was killed. Betty Jackson, the cleaner, went up to the manor this morning and let herself in.’
    ‘So she has a key?’ asked Charles.
    ‘Yes, and she can operate the burglar alarm. It was still on! She said she went upstairs to see if anyone was at home and she found Tolly dead on the landing.’
    ‘Maybe he knew who had stolen that painting of his,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Insurance prices, as a rule,’ said Charles, ‘are often twice or three times the auction estimate. Unless Tolly was so filthy rich he didn’t care, I would have thought he would have been delighted to get the insurance money. How much was it insured for?’
    ‘Tolly told everyone he had insured it for a million.’
    They sat down round the kitchen table.
    ‘A Stubbs,’ mused Charles. ‘Now what would a man like Tolly be doing having a Stubbs?’
    ‘I can explain that,’ said Amy, her face pink with excitement and the importance at being the source of so much interesting gossip. ‘It was just after they moved down here. Lord Tarrymundy was visiting friends in Norfolk and came over for a day’s hunting. Of course, he impressed poor Tolly no end, him being a lord and all. The next thing he says a gentleman like Tolly should start collecting and offered to sell him the Stubbs, knock-down price, he said. I believe it was three hundred and thirty thousand pounds, which isn’t really a knock-down price, but Tolly bought it and then insured it high. But this is the thing. At that time, they had a house in Launceston Place in Kensington. Lucy adored it. Evidently when they were first married, they held very chic parties there. Tolly ups and says they can’t afford two residences and he’s happy in the country and sells the house for nearly a million. Poor Lucy was furious.’
    ‘Can one make a fortune from bathroom showers?’ asked Charles.
    ‘Evidently,’ said Amy eagerly. ‘He sold all over the world, or so he says, and sold the business to an American company.’
    ‘So,’ said Agatha slowly, ‘Lucy would hardly steal the painting and then murder her husband. I mean, all she had to do was murder him and then she would get everything, Stubbs and all.’
    ‘But she was in London when the murder took place,’ exclaimed Amy. ‘So it can’t be anything to do with her at all.’
    ‘Who’s the handsome fellow at the bottom of your garden, Agatha?’ asked Charles. ‘Not a fairy?’
    ‘No, that’s Barry Jones, who does the garden.’
    ‘I wonder if he does any gardening up at the manor,’ said Charles.
    ‘I’ll ask him.’ Agatha opened the back door and called, ‘Barry?’
    The gardener walked up to the back door and entered the kitchen, doffing his cap to reveal a thick head of chestnut hair. He had the same bright blue eyes as Rosie Wilden. He was wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut off and his bronzed and muscled arms were a miracle of human sculpture.
    ‘We’re talking about the murder of Tolly,’ said Agatha. ‘Do you garden up at the manor?’
    ‘I did, missus, for a while. No flowers or