Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

nasty, acidulous old bat and I hope you rot in hell.’ She stormed out.
    Charles rose as well. ‘Just one thing,’ he said to Mrs Green, who was gasping and goggling. ‘What was this child’s hair like? I mean, long, short, pigtails?’
    She looked up at him through her thick glasses. ‘It was in little clumps at either side and tied with ribbons. Now, I must say, Sir Charles, I do not know what you see in that woman. I don’t –’
    Charles simply walked out. Agatha was standing outside, lighting a cigarette. He plucked it out of her hand and threw it into Mrs Green’s garden and then waltzed her down the road. ‘What’s up with you?’ cried Agatha, disengaging herself when she could.
    ‘The child wore its hair in bunches, or clumps, as she called them, and tied with ribbons. Now, who do we know wears her hair like that?’
    ‘Megan,’ breathed Agatha.
    ‘What do we do now? Go to the police?’
    ‘No, I want to go and see her and confront her.’
    ‘Might not be safe.’
    ‘You’ll be with me.’
    ‘I’m not much protection against a psychopath wielding a hammer. But she won’t be on her own. Sheppard’ll be there. And how did she get from Oxford to Carsely and back without her husband knowing about it?’
    ‘Taxi?’ said Agatha.
    ‘I’m sure the police will have checked that. And buses.’
    ‘Unless Sheppard was in on it. If only we could make sure he’s not at home when we call.’
    ‘I think that could be arranged,’ said Charles. ‘Let’s get home and I’ll phone him and say there’s been a break-in at his shop.’
    ‘What if she goes with him?’
    ‘We’ll chance that. If not, we’ll need to wait until Monday morning, when he goes to work.’
    They hurried back to Lilac Lane. Charles looked up the Sheppards’ number in the phone book. ‘Don’t listen,’ he said to Agatha. ‘I’m going to disguise my voice and I can’t do it with you listening. I’ve got to pretend to be a copper.’
    Agatha went into the kitchen. She took out her packet of cigarettes and then put them away again.
    She heard the murmur of Charles’s voice and then he came into the kitchen. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
    Charles drove quickly to Blockley, hoping he did not meet Luke Sheppard driving out of the village. He parked in front of the Sheppards’ cottage and took a deep breath. ‘Here we go, Aggie,’ he said.
    Megan answered the door. ‘You again,’ she said. ‘What now?’
    ‘May we come in?’ asked Charles, smiling at her. ‘We have some news for you.’
    ‘I suppose. Luke isn’t here. There’s been a break-in at his shop.’
    They followed Megan as they had done before, out into the garden. ‘So what have you got to tell me?’
    Charles opened his mouth to start with a diplomatic way of approaching the subject, but Agatha said brutally, ‘You murdered Melissa. You were seen in the village at the time of her death. We have a witness.’
    Megan sat very still, the pupils of her eyes seeming huge. Then she laughed. ‘Nice try. I was in Oxford all night. How was I supposed to get from Oxford to Carsely?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha. ‘But we have this witness. It places you at the scene of the murder.’
    ‘And what do the police have to say to that?’
    ‘We haven’t told them yet,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘We wanted to know what you had to say for yourself.’
    ‘Aren’t we all supposed to be in the manor-house library?’ jeered Megan. ‘While the great detective accuses and the guilty one breaks down? Why don’t you both take your fairy-tales and run along, or I will call the police and charge you with harassment.’
    ‘It was you James found out about,’ said Agatha doggedly. ‘You were sectioned at the same time as Melissa.’
    ‘I’m going to count to ten, and if you’re not out of here by the time I have finished, I am going to call the police. One . . .’
    ‘Come on, Aggie,’ said Charles.
    ‘Two . . .’
    Agatha rose reluctantly to her feet.
    ‘Three . . .’
    Charles urged Agatha through the cottage. ‘Four . . .’ Megan’s voice chanted.
    Outside, Charles said, ‘That’s it. We’re going to see Bill Wong.’
    ‘What can he do that we can’t?’ demanded Agatha.
    ‘We’ve got a suspect, we’ve got a witness. We’ve got to show Bill where to look.’
    Mrs Wong looked outraged when they asked to speak to Bill. ‘It’s Sunday,’ she protested, ‘and we’re about to have Sunday