Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death

Cotswold ladies, who would turn up by the busload to cheer them on. Perhaps these Americans had started an English tradition, mused Agatha sourly. Perhaps in five hundred years’ time there would be male strippers performing in the squares of the Cotswold villages while tour guides lectured their clients on the beginnings of this ancient ritual.
    Back to the church hall and down to business. Once more they were a large group of staid worthy women, discussing the arrangements of this fête and that to raise funds for charity. Mrs Bloxby got to her feet and said, ‘Our Mrs Raisin is running an auction on June tenth to raise money for charity. I hope you will all come and help to drive up the bidding. We are very grateful to Mrs Raisin and hope you will all do your best to support her.’ Agatha cringed, waiting for someone to say, ‘Not that Mrs Raisin, not the one who poisoned poor Mr Cummings-Browne,’ but all she got was a warm-hearted round of applause. Agatha felt quite weepy as she stood up and bowed in acknowledgement. Bill Wong was right. Retirement would be highly enjoyable just so long as she forgot all about Reg Cummings-Browne and that wretched quiche.

 
Chapter Eight
     
    Agatha kept to her determination to mind her own business as far as the death of Cummings-Browne was concerned. Instead, she turned her energies again on the local newspapers and dealers, rousing interest in the auction. The editors published paragraphs about the auction just to keep Agatha quiet, as journalists had done in the not so very long ago when she was selling some client or product.
    In their good-natured way, the Carsely Ladies’ Society contributed books, plates, vases and other worn-looking items which they had bought over the years at other sales and were now recycling. As the day of the auction approached, Agatha began to receive more and more visitors. Mrs Mason, the chairwoman of the group, called regularly with several of the other ladies with their contributions, until Agatha’s living-room began to look more and more like a junk shop.
    She was so engrossed in all this that she almost forgot about Roy’s visit and had to rush to meet the train on the Friday evening. She wished he were not coming. She was beginning to feel part of this village life and did not want outrageous Roy to damage her new image of Lady Bountiful.
    To her relief, he descended from the train looking as much a businessman as several of the other London commuters. He had a conventional hair-style, no earrings, and wore a business suit. Hanging baskets of flowers were ornamenting Moreton-in-Marsh station and roses bloomed in flower-beds on the platform. The sun was blazing down on a perfect evening.
    ‘Like another world,’ said Roy. ‘I thought you’d made a ghastly mistake coming here, Aggie, but now I think you’re lucky.’
    ‘How’s the baby-food thing going?’ asked Agatha as he got in the car.
    ‘I did what you said and it was a great success, so I’ve leaped to respectability with the firm. Do you know who the latest client is?’
    Agatha shook her head.
    ‘Handley’s nursery chain.’
    Agatha looked bewildered. ‘More babies?’
    ‘No, dear. Gardens. They’ve even given me a dress allowance, tweed sports jacket, cords and brogues, can you believe it? Do you know, I thought I quite liked flowers, but they’ve got all these poisonously long Latin names, like chemical formulas, and I never took Latin at school. It’s all so boring ; garden sheds and gnomes and crazy paving as well.’
    ‘I might like a gnome,’ said Agatha. ‘No, not for me,’ she added, thinking of Mrs Simpson.
    ‘We’d better sit in the kitchen,’ she said when they arrived home. ‘The living-room is chock-a-block with all the stuff for the sale.’
    ‘Are you cooking?’ asked Roy nervously.
    ‘Yes, one of the members of the Carsely Ladies’ Society, Mrs Mason, has been giving me some lessons.’
    ‘What is this ladies’ society?’
    Agatha told him and then gave him a description of her outing to Mircester and he laughed till he cried.
    The dinner consisted of vegetable soup, followed by shepherd’s pie and apple crumble. ‘Keep it simple,’ Mrs Mason had said.
    ‘This is remarkably good,’ said Roy. ‘You’re even wearing a print dress, Aggie.’
    ‘It’s comfortable,’ said Agatha defensively. ‘Besides, I’m battling with a weight problem.’
    ‘“Wider still and wider, shall her bounds be set,”’ quoted Roy with a