Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

Your alibi is only for the evening James disappeared. You’ve got nothing to prove your innocence when it comes to Melissa’s murder.’
    ‘Can you bring me up a cup of coffee?’
    ‘No, you’ll drink it and lie in bed and smoke and gloom. Come downstairs.’
    Agatha climbed out of bed. Her knees were stiff and she stared down at them. Here was another bit of body betraying her. She did some exercises and took a hot shower. By the time she had dressed, the stiffness had gone. But, she wondered, was this the beginning of the end? Goodbye healthy life and hello rubber knickers and support hose? What would it be like to creak about on a Zimmer frame? She had a sudden craving for life, for excitement. She had an impulse to ask Charles to go upstairs to bed with her that minute. Then she thought, was this how James felt? If I can feel like this over a brief ache in the knees, what did he feel like when he learned he might die? He should have been making his peace with God, she answered herself. Would you? sneered a little voice in her head. Agatha slowly shook her head. The God she only half believed in had shaggy grey locks and wore open-toed sandals and disapproved of one Agatha Raisin.
    ‘Agatha! Why are you standing there shaking your head and moving your lips?’ asked Charles.
    Agatha gave herself a mental shake. ‘I just wondered what thoughts were going through James’s head when he learned of his cancer.’
    ‘Doesn’t bear thinking of. I’ve made toast and coffee. Eat. Drink. Then let’s get off to Oxford.’
    As they drove to Oxford, Agatha driving this time, she switched on the air-conditioning in the car. ‘The sun’s so hot,’ she said. ‘Going to be one very hot day.’
    ‘Watch out for the speed camera just after Blenheim Palace,’ said Charles as Agatha drove through Woodstock. ‘You just get used to the camera facing one way, and then they come and turn it the other way and catch all the drivers who increase speed when they think they are safely past it.’
    ‘I never speed through towns or villages,’ said Agatha virtuously. A car ahead of her, unaware that the camera had turned, went slowly past it and then speeded up. There was a bright flash as he was photographed. ‘See what I mean?’ said Charles with all the satisfaction of one motorist seeing another getting caught by a speed camera.
    ‘I was thinking, Charles, that we have all these suspects whirling around our brains. Well, maybe two suspects, Sheppard and Dewey.’
    ‘Three.’
    ‘Who’s the third?’
    ‘Her sister. She inherits. Maybe she knew she was going to inherit. Melissa, it seems, had money of her own.’
    ‘Yes, but where does James come into it?’
    ‘I’d forgotten about him.’
    ‘Why would the sister attack James?’
    ‘We don’t know what James was up to. Remember, he was like you when it came to trying to find out things.’
    ‘So three suspects . . .’
    ‘Maybe more. What about Jake and his pals? No one’s going to bother much about a bit of pot these days. But remember, Melissa had once been sectioned for drugs. Maybe she wanted some hard stuff and they were pushing.’
    ‘All possible. But we can’t go to Bill with mere speculation. I can see both Sheppard and Dewey doing it, but I really can’t think of a motive. They were both clear of her.’
    ‘Who knows? Maybe Melissa paid a visit to Dewey’s shop and spat on his favourite doll.’
    ‘Which brings us back to where James came into it.’
    Charles groaned. ‘Okay, let’s see if we can find out anything about Melissa and Sheppard when they were married that he hasn’t told us. I mean, it took nearly a year for the divorce to come through, so he didn’t start divorce proceedings immediately after the honeymoon.’
    ‘It’s a pity we didn’t get the number in Pliny Road. I don’t know whereabouts in Jericho it is. I’ll pull into the lay-by and have a look at the map. You’ll find a street map of Oxford in the glove compartment. Jericho’s that residential area between the Woodstock Road, Saint Giles and the canal.’
    ‘I know,’ said Charles as Agatha drew the car to a stop. They spread out the map. ‘Let’s see the index,’ said Charles. ‘Ah, here we are: Pliny Road, off Walton Street, just there.’
    ‘Doesn’t look very long,’ said Agatha. ‘We’ll just knock on doors.’
    ‘While we’re in Oxford,’ said Charles, ‘do you think there’s any point in asking questions at the Randolph? Maybe one of