Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

the same villa, and yet you accept an invitation to dinner from Mr Mort.’
    ‘It was just a friendly chat,’ said Agatha hotly. ‘He was waiting for his wife.’
    ‘A wife you did not know existed until she arrived.’
    ‘That’s not true! Have you been watching me?’
    ‘Mrs Raisin, one of my colleagues happened to be in that restaurant last night. I had a little man-of-the-world chat with Mr Mort this morning. He found you attractive and asked you for dinner under the impression, to quote him, that he was “on to a good thing”. So you agreed to join him for dinner, for a date, although you are with Mr Lacey.’
    ‘Anything that was between me and Mr Lacey is dead,’ said Agatha furiously. ‘We are friends and neighbours, that’s all.’
    He bent his head and made some notes. Then he raised his eyes and looked at her thoughtfully. ‘As I said, I must examine all the tensions in your relationships, you and the rest. And here we have two threesomes, two devoted husbands and two devoted friends. Jealousy could have been a motive.’
    ‘You’ll need to ask them.’
    ‘Oh, I shall. Now either someone had enough medical experience to know where to stick that thin blade which killed Mrs Wilcox, or it was a lucky blow. Do you have any medical training, Mrs Raisin?’
    ‘None.’
    ‘And Mr Lacey?’
    ‘None either.’
    ‘It looks like a premeditated crime.’ He leaned forward. ‘Someone was prepared. Perhaps someone knew of the lighting in that disco – that at moments when the ball overhead swung round it was quite black. Had any of the others been there before?’
    ‘I just don’t know,’ said Agatha wearily. ‘I barely knew them. But perhaps I could be of help to you. I have helped the police before. The clue to the murder must lie in their backgrounds, that is, if one of them did it. If I could just study –’
    ‘No,’ said Pamir firmly. ‘No amateurs. I suggest you manage to have something of a holiday and put this behind you.’
    ‘Meaning I am not a suspect?’
    ‘Everyone who was in that disco on the night of the murder is a suspect. You may go, but do not leave Cyprus yet. Send Mr Lacey in.’
    Agatha would have given anything to hear what went on between Pamir and James. Was he asking him about their relationship? And what would James say?
    Then she decided gloomily that James would probably just say, again, that they were only friends and that for some reason Agatha had followed him to Cyprus, and she would appear a pathetic middle-aged woman chasing lost love.
    When James finally emerged, Agatha suggested that they should have lunch in Nicosia alone, but James said they should all have lunch together.
    ‘Why?’ demanded Agatha.
    ‘Don’t you want to find out who did this?’
    ‘Ye-es,’ said Agatha reluctantly, not being able to say that she only wanted to be alone with him.
    At last they had all been interviewed and silently they walked across to the Saray Hotel and took the lift up to the restaurant at the top. The call to prayer sounded out over the red roofs of Nicosia as they sat down at one of the tables next to the window.
    ‘Damned caterwauling,’ said Olivia crossly.
    ‘It’s a Muslim country,’ said Angus. ‘Well, ma friends, do ye think that’s it?’
    ‘If you mean, will they question us again,’ said James, ‘then I think they are bound to. They are sure one of us did it.’
    He glanced at Trevor, but Trevor was staring stonily out of the window at the minarets of the mosque.
    ‘I’m beginning to think it’s up to me to find out who did it,’ said Agatha, and then immediately regretted her words, because she knew she sounded like an insensitive brag.
    ‘Oh, all your stories about solving murders,’ said Olivia with a brittle laugh. ‘Are you sure you weren’t fantasizing, dear?’
    ‘No, I was not!’ said Agatha hotly. ‘I have helped the police in Mircester in several cases.’
    ‘If you say so,’ said Harry Tembleton with a slight sneer.
    ‘Tell them, James,’ urged Agatha.
    ‘It is true that Agatha, by blundering around in murder investigations, managed to prompt the murderer to show his, or her, hand,’ said James flatly.
    Agatha looked at him in amazement. ‘If you were a woman, James, you would be called a bitch.’
    There was an awkward silence and then Trevor found his voice. ‘I wish the lot of you would realize I have lost my wife,’ he said flatly. ‘I think it was some local crazed on drugs. All I want to do is get