Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

could spare us a minute,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Okay, but a minute is all I’ve got. Let’s go to the pub.’
    Once inside, Agatha asked him what he wanted to drink, not wanting Charles to start on one of his tales about a missing wallet.
    She carried the drinks over to the table. She had bought an orange juice for herself as well as Charles. She would offer to drive them home.
    Agatha told Luke Sheppard about their meeting with John Dewey and then asked him, ‘Did Melissa ever talk about her previous marriage? Or did Dewey ever try to see her?’
    ‘She said he was weird. She said he loved his dolls more than humans. But she didn’t volunteer much else except it was one marriage she was glad to get out of.’
    Agatha was disappointed. ‘She didn’t say anything about being frightened of him?’
    ‘No, I saw him once. Curiosity, you know. I went to that shop of his. Insignificant little chap, if you ask me. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. She didn’t have any trouble divorcing him.’
    Charles said, ‘But he forced her into a divorce. Didn’t she tell you?’
    He looked genuinely surprised. ‘No, she told me he had agreed to the divorce without a murmur.’
    ‘Here’s what really happened,’ said Agatha, and told him about Dewey’s drugging Melissa and threatening her.
    He goggled at her. ‘She never said a word. But she was secretive. She had a lot of money of her own. But she never discussed it with me. She kept her bank-books and bank papers locked up. Mind you, that didn’t bother me much. I wanted rid of her after the honeymoon.’
    ‘What happened on the honeymoon?’ asked Agatha eagerly.
    He glanced impatiently at his watch. ‘I’ll make it quick. It was like this. We went to Paris. It was August and there weren’t many French people around. All gone off on the annual holiday. She was a great know-all. Had memorized the guidebook. We trudged round everywhere – Notre Dame, Versailles, Sacré Coeur – you name it. I don’t speak French. She said she spoke it like a native. I said, “How come then the natives don’t understand a word you’re saying?” She’d dropped the act of hanging on my every word, being the perfect partner. She demanded attention the whole time and not only from me, from about every man who crossed her path. I often wondered how she would get on in a roomful of men with different personalities, trying to be all things to all of them. I’m telling you, by the time we got back, I detested that woman.’
    ‘So how did you get her to agree to a divorce?’
    He looked again at his watch. ‘I’ve really got to go.’
    ‘Quickly,’ said Agatha. ‘Did you ask for a divorce and did she agree to it just like that?’
    ‘Yes, something like that.’ He got to his feet. ‘See here, I’ve given you two enough of my time. Don’t come round here again.’
    ‘Where were you living when you were married?’ asked Charles.
    He half-turned. ‘Why?’
    ‘Just wondered.’
    ‘Oxford.’
    ‘Where in Oxford?’
    ‘Jericho. Pliny Road.’
    He marched out of the pub.
    ‘What did you make of that?’ asked Charles.
    ‘I think,’ said Agatha, resting her chin on her hands, ‘that he threatened her just like Dewey.’
    ‘I think you’re right. That’s why I asked for his old address.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because we will go there tomorrow and ask the neighbours about Sheppard and Melissa. I wonder, why Oxford? It’s an hour-and-a-half’s drive at least from Oxford to Mircester.’
    ‘We should have asked Melissa’s sister more questions.’
    ‘We can still do that. I’ve got her card. She lives in Cambridge. The other university town.’
    ‘Do we need to go all the way there? It’s quite a drive.’
    ‘Maybe we’ll phone her. Let’s get out of here and have some dinner.’
    ‘Come home and I’ll make us something.’
    ‘Anyone who eats microwaved curry for breakfast is not to be trusted with dinner. Plenty of good restaurants in Mircester.’
    A wave of black depression hit Agatha as soon as she awoke the following morning. She had been dreaming about James, and in her dream they had been walking along a sunlit beach together and he had been holding her hand. Where was he? Was he alive? Did he ever think of her? Why was she going to all this trouble to clear his name?
    She mumbled that thought to Charles when he came into her bedroom, demanding to know why she wasn’t getting up.
    ‘Because we are out to clear your name as well, sweetie. Or had you forgotten?