Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

You and Mr Lacey here were to be married, but the wedding was interrupted by the arrival of your husband, who was subsequently murdered. You planned to go to north Cyprus on your honeymoon, but while you were in hospital, Mrs Raisin, recovering from an assault on you by the murderer, Mr Lacey here left for Cyprus and then you followed him. If you will both forgive me saying so, in my experience people who lead violent and colourful lives are often violent themselves.’
    ‘Well, I’m not,’ said Agatha. ‘Why don’t you go off and grill that brothel-keeper, Mustafa, or does he bribe the police to stay away?’
    ‘We’ll deal with this murder first,’ said Pamir. ‘What we have here is two ill-assorted couples who mysteriously become friends very quickly. Now let us take the usual two motives – money and passion. Do you think George Debenham fell madly in love with Rose Wilcox?’
    Agatha looked at James, who shrugged. She said, ‘No, there seemed to be no sign of that. Rose liked to flirt.’
    ‘But when Trevor saw Rose with George, he looked jealous?’
    ‘Yes, he looked furious.’
    ‘Odd. Then they dine together, go to Famagusta together, and then dine together again. I must study the background on them all.’ He ruffled the sheaf of fax papers.
    ‘James and I have had some experience of helping the police,’ said Agatha eagerly. ‘If I could just –’ She reached out towards the fax papers. Pamir stuffed them in his breast pocket and got to his feet.
    ‘I do not want this investigation hampered by amateurs,’ he said. ‘Try to enjoy your holiday and I shall see you both tomorrow.’
    James saw him out and then came back and leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘What a blabby little thing you are, dear. Why didn’t you give him your knicker size while you were at it?’
    Agatha cracked. She hurled her coffee cup across the kitchen, where it smashed against the wall. ‘You cold, unfeeling bastard,’ she howled. She stumbled from the kitchen and ran up the stairs to her room and fell facedown on the bed.
    The windows and shutters were open and a mild breeze blew in with a smell of pine, salt and vanilla. The Mediterranean was rough that day, and instead of falling on the beach in measured waves it roared steadily, as if there were a helicopter overhead. And so Agatha did not hear James come in. He sat on the edge of the bed and lightly touched her hair.
    ‘Come on, now, Agatha. This will not do. We’ll go along to the Celebrity, where Trevor and Angus are staying, and see what we can find out.’ Agatha continued to sob. He went up the stairs and into the bathroom and soaked a towel with cold water. He came back and turned Agatha over and sponged her face.
    ‘You’d better wear something cool.’ He searched through her clothes and picked out a loose flowered beach dress. He jerked her upright and started to unbutton her blouse. ‘Let’s get this off for a start.’
    But Agatha was wearing a serviceable cotton brassiere and not one of the lacy French ones bought with seduction in mind, so she pushed him away, snarling, ‘Oh, leave me alone. I’ll dress myself.’
    Soon they were driving off into the ferocious heat along to Lapta and so to the Celebrity Hotel. The hotel is rated four-star, but as Agatha walked into the reception and her jaundiced eye took in the amount of plush and gilt furniture, the chandeliers and the hot noisy carpets, she decided it was Middle Eastern four-star. No one at the reception desk had much English and so it took them some time to discover that Trevor and Angus had just checked out.
    ‘Why can’t they get someone who speaks bloody English?’ raged Agatha. ‘They don’t care about tourism in this country.’
    ‘Maybe that’s why they don’t rip them off, insult women and have the place full of lager louts,’ said James mildly. ‘Anyway, we ought to learn Turkish and stop whining about their lack of English.’
    ‘I wasn’t whining. I was putting forward a reasonable criticism. For God’s sake, why do you have to pick on me over every little damn thing?’
    ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere, and no, Agatha, you do not look beautiful when you’re angry. I’ll bet Trevor and Angus have gone to the Dome to join the Debenhams. We’ll try there. We’ll drop off at the villa first and pick up swimsuits and get a swim later.’
    But Agatha refused to speak to him. When they got back to their villa, the door was standing open.
    ‘What the