Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

and leave the forensic team a clear field. ‘We’ll probably find the place covered in fingerprint dust,’ complained Agatha. ‘I thought they used lights these days.’
    ‘Don’t ask me,’ replied Charles. ‘It’s all a closed book to me.’
    ‘I thought you had to be home today?’
    ‘I’ll hang on a bit longer. Things were getting a bit boring, but now they’ve picked up.’
    Agatha felt a pang of dismay. Although she often suspected that all she meant to Charles was a diversion, she didn’t like to have it confirmed.
    Mrs Bloxby was just arriving back at the vicarage as they walked up. ‘Oh, you poor things,’ she said. ‘Do come inside. I’ve just been visiting Mrs Allan.’
    Agatha remembered vaguely that Mrs Allan was a battered wife who lived on the council estate. ‘She back with her husband?’
    ‘No, he disappeared. But would you believe it, she actually misses him and keeps saying he wasn’t so bad and she should never have reported him.’
    ‘At least there aren’t any children,’ said Agatha. ‘I hate it when children are involved.’
    ‘That reminds me,’ said the vicar’s wife, ushering them in, ‘we have the concert and fête to raise funds for Save the Children in two weeks’ time. I wondered if you could help, Mrs Raisin. We’re having a cake sale as well.’
    ‘I’m not good at cakes.’
    ‘But you are good at publicity. We need to get a lot of visitors.’
    ‘You’ve left it a bit late. I’ll do what I can. Give me the exact date, time, and what’s on offer and I’ll see what I can do with the local papers.’
    ‘Perhaps that friend of yours, Mr Silver, could help. He was awfully good before.’
    ‘It would mean inviting him down and he’d expect to be here for the whole weekend. Don’t think I could face it at the moment. But I’ll do what I can.’
    ‘And we have no one to man the white elephant stall, yet. Perhaps you, Sir Charles . . .?’
    ‘Sorry. I haven’t been home for a bit and I can’t stay away much longer. Besides, you know what these white elephant sales mean? People buy stuff one year to help out and then they put it in the next year, until no one really wants to buy anything.’
    ‘But with Mrs Raisin doing the publicity and attracting visitors to the village, I’m sure it will be a big success.’
    ‘Sorry, not my scene.’
    ‘Sit down,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘Did you have any breakfast?’
    ‘No, we haven’t had time with all this,’ said Agatha.
    ‘I made some fresh rolls. I’ll make you rolls and bacon.’
    When she had gone off to the kitchen, Agatha leaned her head back against the feather cushions of the old sofa and closed her eyes. ‘This can’t go on,’ she said. ‘I don’t think whoever broke in was bothered whether they would find me there or not. I keep thinking of some faceless man, armed with a vacuum and a hammer.’
    ‘I’ve a nasty feeling we’re never going to get anywhere on this one, Aggie,’ said Charles.
    ‘But we’ve got to! We’ve got to clear James’s name.’ She opened her eyes and looked at him accusingly.
    ‘Fact is,’ said Charles. ‘I really should be at home. Before we came along here, I phoned my aunt. She’s got some people coming to stay today. They’re bringing Tara with them.’
    ‘Who the hell’s Tara?’ grumbled Agatha.
    ‘A very gorgeous girl.’
    ‘Imagine naming someone after a plantation in Gone with the Wind .’
    ‘Well, you know what parents are like. Boys get traditional names like John, Charles and David. But when it comes to girls, they call them really daft names.’
    Mrs Bloxby came back bearing a laden tray.
    Charles took an appreciative bite of a bacon roll. ‘Bliss,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’
    ‘I might,’ said Mrs Bloxby with a flirtatious laugh. Agatha glared at her. She was a vicar’s wife. She should behave like a vicar’s wife.
    ‘So have you any idea who might have broken into your house?’ asked Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘My money’s on Sheppard,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Oh, why?’
    ‘I think he really hated her. He exudes an air of threat and violence.’
    ‘What about the other husband? Dewey,’ said Charles. ‘He’s sneaky and creepy enough to have got into your cottage without being noticed.’
    ‘I just don’t know,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Don’t you think you should move out of the village for a little?’ suggested Mrs Bloxby. ‘I do not like to think of you being there, a target for some murderer.’
    ‘I’ll be all