Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death

thought Agatha, Roy will marry Tracy and she will probably think she is happy and Roy will turn out to be someone I can’t stand. I wish I had never got him that publicity.
    When she waved goodbye to them, it was with a feeling of relief. The time was rapidly approaching when Roy would phone expecting an invitation and she would make some excuse.
    But of course she wouldn’t need to bother. For she would be back in London.

 
Chapter Eleven
     
    On Monday morning, Agatha rose late, wondering why she had slept so long and wishing she had risen earlier to catch any coolness of the day. She put on a loose cotton dress over the minimum of underwear, went downstairs and took a mug of coffee out into the garden.
    She had been plagued with dreams of Maria Borrow, Barbara James, and Ella Cartwright, who had appeared as the three witches in Macbeth . ‘I have summoned the evil spirits to kill you,’ Maria Borrow had croaked.
    Agatha sighed and finished her coffee and went for a walk to the butcher’s which was near the vicarage. The sign saying ‘New Delhi’ had been taken down. There was no evidence of the new owner, but Mrs Mason and two other women were standing on the step, carrying cakes to welcome the new comer. Agatha walked on, reflecting that nobody had called on her when she had first arrived.
    She was about to go into the butcher’s when she stiffened. A little way away, Vera Cummings-Browne was standing talking to Barbara James, who had a Scottie on a leash. Agatha dived for cover into the butcher’s shop and almost collided with Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘Seen your new neighbour yet?’ asked Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘No, not yet,’ said Agatha, keeping a wary eye on the door in case Barbara should leap in and savage her. ‘Who is he?’
    ‘A retired colonel. Mr James Lacey. He doesn’t use his title. Very charming.’
    ‘I’m not interested,’ snapped Agatha. Mrs Bloxby looked at her in pained surprise and Agatha coloured.
    ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I just saw Vera Cummings-Browne with Barbara James. Barbara James tried to attack me.’
    ‘She always had a dreadful temper,’ said Mrs Bloxby placidly. ‘Mrs Cummings-Browne is just back from Tuscany. She is very brown and looks fit.’
    ‘I didn’t even know she was away,’ commented Agatha. ‘I’m wondering what to buy. My cooking skills are still very limited.’
    ‘Get some of those lamb chops,’ advised the vicar’s wife, ‘and put them under the grill with a little mint. I have fresh mint in the garden. Come back with me for a coffee and I’ll give you some. You just cook the chops slowly on either side until they are brown. Very simple. And I shall give you some of my mint sauce, too.’
    Agatha obediently bought the chops but hesitated in the doorway. ‘Do you mind seeing if the coast is clear?’
    Mrs Bloxby looked out. ‘They’ve both gone.’
    Over the coffee cups in the vicarage garden, under the shade of a cypress tree, Mrs Bloxby asked, ‘Are you still determined to move?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Agatha bleakly, wishing some of her old ambition and drive would come back to her. ‘The estate agents should be putting a “For Sale” board up this morning.’
    Mrs Bloxby looked at her over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘Strange how things work out, Mrs Raisin. I thought your being here had something to do with Divine Providence.’
    Agatha gave a startled grunt.
    ‘First I felt you had been brought here for your own benefit. You struck me as a lady who had never known any real love or affection. You seemed to carry a weight of loneliness about with you.’
    Agatha stared at her in deep embarrassment.
    ‘Then of course there is the death of Mr Cummings-Browne. My husband, like the police, maintains it was an accident. I felt that God had sent you here to find out the culprit.’
    ‘Meaning you think it’s murder!’
    ‘I’ve tried not to. So much more comfortable to believe it an accident and settle back into our ways. But there is something, some atmosphere, something wrong . I sense evil in this village. Now you are going, no one will ask questions, no one will care, and the evil will remain. Call me silly and superstitious if you like, but I believe the taking of a human life is a grievous sin which should be punished by law.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘So I shall pray that if murder has been done, then the culprit will be revealed.’
    ‘But you’ve got nothing concrete to go on?’ asked Agatha.
    She shook her head. ‘Just a