Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

stringy, faded blondes and itsy-bitsy little middle-aged women who dress like schoolgirls.’
    ‘Late thirties isn’t middle-aged these days. If it is, you’re ancient, Aggie.’
    A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek and she gave a choked sob. ‘Here, now!’ said Charles, alarmed, handing her a handkerchief as Agatha attempted to brush the tear away on her blouse sleeve. ‘You’re falling apart. Do you want to go somewhere for a drink? Something to eat? We’ve only had scones.’
    Agatha blew her nose defiantly. ‘I’m all right. It’s just that I keep wondering and wondering how the hell James could cheat on me like that.’
    ‘Maybe if I thought I were dying, it might affect my morals.’
    ‘Couldn’t. You haven’t got any.’
    ‘That’s more like my Aggie. Come on. Here’s the gents’ outfitters. Oh, God, just look at that awful blazer with the improbable crest on the pocket.’
    A slim dark-haired woman was arranging piles of shirts at the back of the shop. She was dressed all in black – short black skirt, black stockings, and low-cut black blouse. ‘Maybe the third Mrs Sheppard,’ murmured Charles.
    Agatha sailed forward. ‘We’re looking for Mr Sheppard.’
    ‘I’ll get him. You are . . .’
    ‘Agatha Raisin and Sir Charles Fraith.’
    She undulated into the back shop. They could hear the murmur of voices and then Luke Sheppard appeared. He was a small, powerfully built blond-haired man with small red-veined blue eyes and a large thick-lipped mouth. His broad chest was encased in one of the crested blazers that Charles despised.
    ‘How can I help you?’ he asked.
    ‘Are you very busy?’ asked Charles. ‘Is there somewhere we can go and talk?’
    ‘There’s the pub next door. Can you take care of things, Lucy?’
    ‘Of course, Luke,’ said the dark-haired assistant. She gave him a languorous smile.
    They walked together into the beer-smelling darkness of The Green Man next door. The pub was nearly empty. Charles said he had left his wallet, which Agatha did not believe for a moment, but she paid for their drinks and then they all sat down around a table. ‘I assume this has to do with the death of my former wife,’ said Luke Sheppard. ‘What have you heard?’
    ‘Nothing new,’ said Agatha. ‘You see, my husband is under suspicion and I am anxious to clear his name.’
    ‘I don’t see how you plan to do that. Can’t think of anyone else with any reason to have done it.’
    Agatha looked ready to flare up, so Charles said quickly, ‘It’s just that we’re trying to build up a picture of Melissa. No one seems to have known her very well. You see, if we can get an idea what she was like, we might think of a reason why she was murdered.’
    ‘The reason,’ said Luke, ‘is that she was messing around with James Lacey.’
    ‘Humour me,’ said Charles. ‘What was she like?’
    Luke’s accents, which were a sort of refined Midlands, suddenly coarsened. ‘She was a bloody actress, that’s what she was. She lived in a private soap opera. In fact, she watched as many soap operas as she could. I went to see her about a month before she was killed. She wanted more money. God knows why. She had enough of her own. I pointed out that when we divorced, she’d settled for a lump sum. She was playing at being the perfect villager, rambling on about recipes and plants and how to make loose covers. She was even wearing an apron!’
    ‘So why did you marry her?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘Because the act she was playing when I met her was lady-tart. She promised everything.’ He nudged Charles. ‘Know what I mean?’
    ‘And she wasn’t?’
    ‘She thought she was good in bed and she was lousy.’
    So what did James see in her? wondered Agatha.
    ‘Doesn’t help us a bit,’ mourned Charles. ‘Just because a woman’s a bit of an amateur actress doesn’t mean she would necessarily inspire someone to murder her.’
    Agatha covertly studied Luke Sheppard. She did not like him, and yet she had to admit he exuded a strong air of animal sexuality.
    ‘I’ve got to get back to work,’ said Luke, draining his glass. ‘If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.’
    ‘Here’s my card,’ said Agatha.
    He stood up and then said, ‘Why don’t you two let the police do the work?’
    ‘I’ve managed to solve cases in the past,’ said Agatha.
    He gave a bark of laughter. ‘Melissa did that as well. When she wasn’t watching the soaps, she was watching Miss Marple or Morse on