Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

here.’
    ‘Didn’t you love your husband?’
    ‘I thought I did. I was looking for money and security, and believe it or not, children. But Tolly can’t make children, or so it turned out, and Tolly turned out to be a bore when we got down here and he decided his role in life was to be the squire of Fryfam. His name’s Terence and he was Terry in London. But down here, he decided to be Tolly to fit in with all the tightarses in the hunt and their stupid nicknames. I think that lot never grew out of the nursery.’
    Agatha’s drink was very strong. ‘How long will it be before you can sell the house?’
    ‘Oh, God, I don’t know. I hope it’s not too long. Christ, it takes a mint to run this place. Another week and I’m going to sell off the livestock. We’ve got sheep and cows. I’ve already rented out the shoot. Surely they can’t stop me doing that.’
    ‘Fryfam’s an odd little place,’ said Agatha. ‘I mean, first the fairies, then the murders, all these passions lying just underneath the surface.’
    Lucy grinned. ‘Talking about passion, how’s the delicious Charles?’
    ‘As usual. Just a friend.’
    ‘Might try my luck there. Is he rich?’
    ‘I believe so, but he’s the sort of man who conveniently forgets his wallet when it’s time to pay the bill in a restaurant.’
    ‘Then why do you put up with him?’
    ‘Because I’m not dependent on him.’
    ‘Oh, and are you two detecting?’
    ‘We’re trying.’
    ‘Getting anywhere?’
    ‘I’ve a feeling we’re nearly there. All sorts of threads being drawn together,’ said Agatha sententiously. The drink was strong. ‘I think Paul Redfern knew something and I think he was going to tell the police if he didn’t get paid.’
    ‘I’d better get on,’ said Lucy, draining her glass and putting it down.
    Agatha left the remains of her own drink and got to her feet. She realized she hadn’t taken off her coat and yet had not felt too warm.
    ‘Central heating broken down?’ she asked.
    ‘Air in the pipes or something. I’ll get someone in tomorrow.’
    Agatha walked into the hall. ‘Well, goodbye, Lucy,’ she said.
    ‘Just don’t go around sticking your nose into things or you could get hurt,’ said Lucy.
    Agatha paused with her hand on the doorknob. ‘That a threat?’
    ‘You’re the sort that sees villains under the bed. Only a friendly warning.’
    Agatha left and walked down the long drive. She took a deep breath of air to clear her head. She went over everything Lucy had said. There wasn’t much. But had she really meant poachers when she said the fools had killed Paul? Why would a townie like Lucy think of poachers? Large-scale poachers could be violent. That much she knew from the newspapers. The sort of poachers who dynamited salmon pools. But the sort who snared rabbits, maybe caught the occasional pheasant? Hardly.
    She would discuss it with Charles. She wondered whether he had found out anything.
    She felt suddenly hungry. The effect of the strong drinks was wearing off.
    Agatha reached her cottage at last, took out her massive door key, and put it in the lock. The door was unlocked. Charles must be home. She walked in and called out, ‘I’m back.’ She saw two packets with bolts still on the table in the hall. ‘I see you haven’t fixed those bolts yet,’ she shouted. ‘Did you get anything out of Rosie? Was Lucy having an affair?’
    Her two cats came up to her, their fur erect on their backs. She stooped down and patted them. ‘There, now,’ she crooned. ‘What’s frightened you? Where’s Charles?’
    And then she felt something hard shoved into her back and a man’s voice said, ‘Into the sitting-room, Mrs Raisin.’
    Agatha twisted around. Barry Jones was standing there holding a shotgun.
    She walked into the sitting-room, her frightened mind racing. Mrs Jackson was in a chair by the fireplace. ‘Sit down and shut up,’ she said.
    ‘You!’ Agatha sat down in the chair opposite.
    Barry Jones stood behind the sofa, the shotgun levelled at Agatha.
    ‘We’re waiting for your friend,’ said Mrs Jackson.
    ‘Why?’ demanded Agatha through white lips.
    ‘You’ll see.’
    ‘Lucy said the fools murdered Paul. That was you and your son.’
    ‘She phoned and told us she thought you were beginning to figure it out.’
    Agatha looked at Barry Jones, handsome Barry Jones, although he did not look handsome at that moment, with his eyes as hard as stones.
    ‘You can’t murder me and