Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death

Borrow stood there. Her greyish hair was scraped up into a knot on the top of her head. Her eyes were pale. They looked past Roy to where Agatha stood cringing behind him.
    ‘I knew you would come,’ she said and she stood aside to let them enter.
    They found themselves in a low-beamed living-room crowded with furniture and photographs in silver frames. From the beams hung bunches of dried herbs and flowers. On a low table in front of a chair on which Maria Borrow placed herself was a crystal ball.
    Roy giggled nervously. ‘See us coming in that?’ he asked.
    Maria nodded her head several times. ‘Oh, yes.’ She was wearing a long purple woollen gown despite the heat of the day. ‘You have come to make amends,’ she said, turning to Agatha. ‘You and your fancy man.’
    ‘Mr Silver is a young friend,’ said Agatha. ‘In fact, Mr Silver is considerably younger than I.’
    ‘A lady is as young as the gentleman she feels,’ said Roy and cackled happily. ‘Look,’ he said, becoming serious, ‘we were visiting Warwick Castle and took a video on one of the towers. When we ran it, there you were, glaring at Aggie here like poison. We want to know why.’
    ‘You poisoned my future husband,’ said Maria.
    There was a silence. A trapped fly buzzed against one of the windows and from the village green outside came muted shouts and the thud of cricket ball on bat.
    Agatha cleared her throat. ‘You mean Mr Cummings-Browne.’
    Maria nodded her head madly. ‘Oh, yes, yes; we were engaged to be married.’
    ‘But he was married already,’ exclaimed Roy.
    Maria waved a thin hand. ‘He was divorcing her.’
    Agatha shifted uneasily. Vera Cummings-Browne was not much of a looker, but she was streets ahead of Maria Borrow, with her greyish face, thin lips, and pale eyes.
    ‘Had he told her?’ asked Roy.
    ‘I believe so.’
    Agatha looked at her uneasily. Maria seemed so calm.
    ‘Were you lovers?’ asked Roy.
    ‘Our union was to be consummated on Midsummer’s Eve,’ said Maria. Her pale eyes shifted to Agatha. ‘I am a white witch but I know evil when I see it. You, Mrs Raisin, were an instrument of the devil.’
    Agatha rose to her feet. ‘Well, we needn’t keep you any longer,’ she said. She felt claustrophobic. All she wanted to do was to escape into the sunlight, into the sights and sounds of ordinary village life.
    ‘But you will be punished,’ went on Maria, as if Agatha had not spoken. ‘Evil deeds are always punished. I will see to that.’
    Roy forced a light note. ‘So if anything happens to Aggie here, we’ll know where to look.’
    ‘You will not know where to look,’ said Maria Borrow, ‘for it will be done by the supernatural powers I conjure up.’
    Agatha turned on her heel and walked out. There was a game of cricket taking place on the village green, leisurely, placid, with little knots of spectators standing about.
    ‘I’m scared,’ she said when Roy joined her. ‘The woman’s barking mad.’
    ‘Let’s walk away from the cottage a bit,’ said Roy. ‘I’m beginning to think that Reg Cummings-Browne would have screwed the cat.’
    ‘He probably took what he could,’ said Agatha. ‘He was hardly an Adonis. We shouldn’t have come, Roy. Something always happens to me after I’ve been asking questions. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the day.’
    They went to get their bikes, which were chained to a fence beside the pub. As they were mounting, John Cartwright came around the side of the pub. Lunch-time was over. He had discarded his apron. He stopped short at the sight of them and glowered. They pedalled off as fast as they could.
    On the road home, Roy struck a rock and catapulted over the handlebars, fortunately landing on the soft grass at the side of the road. He was winded but unhurt. ‘You see what can happen?’ he said. ‘You really ought to wear a cycling helmet, Aggie.’
    The rest of the day passed pleasantly, until Agatha ran him into Oxford and waved goodbye to him at the station.
    The next day, she remembered his remark about cycling helmets and bought one at a shop in Moreton-in-Marsh. Although she had a cottage cheese salad for lunch and a chicken salad for dinner, she still felt fat. Exercise was called for. She put on her new helmet and got out her bike and pedalled up out of the village, having to get off several times and push. The light was fading as clouds were beginning to build up in the evening sky. At the top of the road, Agatha turned