Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

t’other. They were just tired of being bossed around by Mary Owen.’
    ‘You don’t seem to like each other much in this village,’ volunteered Roy.
    ‘I’ve got good mates here,’ said Fred, ‘but none of ’em are on the council.’
    ‘Why is that?’ Roy took a good swig of whisky and mentally said goodbye to a few more brain cells. He wished he’d never been told that about dying brain cells. He could almost see the little buggers choking and gasping and expiring on a sea of whisky.
    ‘Because this is a snobby village and we’ve all been councillors for yonks. Nobody stands against us. You know why? Because no one wants to take responsibility for anything these days. Why do you think we’ve got a Labour government in this country?’
    ‘Because the majority of the British people voted for them,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Naw. It was because the majority of Conservative voters sat at home on their bums and didn’t vote.’
    ‘Have you any idea who might have killed Mr Struthers?’ asked Roy.
    Fred tapped the side of his nose. ‘Let’s have another.’
    ‘I don’t think . . .’ Agatha began, but he was already refilling their glasses.
    ‘Now,’ said Agatha. ‘Yes, cheers, Mr Shaw. You were saying?’
    ‘There’s things go on here that I know. I keep my ear to the ground. Get me?’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ said Roy, wriggling with excitement.
    Fred gave him a suspicious look. ‘It’s a good thing I’ve got a dishwasher. Sterilizes things,’ he said obscurely. ‘Yes. Let me tell you, Peyton Place has nothing on Ancombe. Now, Mary Owen had an eye on Mr Struthers –’
    ‘But Mr Struthers was eighty-two!’
    ‘But Mary Owen is sixty-five, and when you get as old as that,’ said Fred, just as if he weren’t nearly that age himself, ‘you look for security.’
    ‘Everyone says that Mary Owen is independently wealthy!’
    ‘Ah, but she prides herself on being a wheeler and dealer on the stock market. Believed to have lost a packet, and recently, too. So she sets her sights on old Robert Struthers. That’s when our Jane Cutler moves in. Our Jane specializes in rich men who haven’t long to live. It’s a wonder Robert Struthers didn’t die of overeating. If one of them wasn’t making him meals or taking him out to dinner, the other was.’
    ‘And who looked like winning?’
    ‘I had my money on our Jane and Mary was fit to be tied. Council meeting two months ago, she called Jane a harlot.’
    ‘Are you suggesting that Mary Owen murdered Mr Struthers?’ asked Roy. ‘Why not murder Jane Cutler?’
    ‘Ah, that was because at that council meeting where Mary called Jane a harlot, our Robert upped and made Mary apologize. Mary said to me afterwards that Robert Struthers was a decent man who had been corrupted by Jane.’
    ‘But murder!’ protested Agatha.
    ‘Our Mary’s a powerful woman and she doesn’t like anyone to get in her way.’
    ‘All this is fascinating,’ said Agatha. She could feel her head beginning to swim with all she had drunk. ‘Have you told the police any of this?’
    ‘Naw! Got no time for the police. Do you know they arrested me for drunk driving last year after I’d only had a couple of pints? Bastards. The countryside’s crawling with murderers and rapists and all they can do is persecute innocent citizens. Another?’
    ‘No, really thank you.’ Agatha got to her feet. Roy was holding out his glass and she plucked it from his fingers and set it firmly on the table.
    ‘About that fête,’ said Fred. ‘I’m a fine speaker.’
    ‘I’m sure we’ll find something for you,’ said Agatha, now desperate to get out in the fresh air.
    ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Fred. ‘I’ll call on you nearer the time and we can go over my speech.’
    ‘We can’t drive, either of us,’ said Agatha when they got outside. The rain had stopped and a pale washed-out evening sky stretched overhead. It had turned cold.
    ‘Oh, come on. I’ll drive,’ said Roy ‘It’s not far.’
    ‘No,’ said Agatha firmly. ‘I’ve got a clean licence and it’s going to stay that way and my insurance doesn’t cover you driving.’
    ‘We didn’t have much to drink.’
    ‘We did. Those glasses of whisky were enormous.’
    ‘What about having a bash at Mary Owen?’
    ‘Not till my head clears up. We need food. Come along, a walk will do us both good.’
    They were half-way to Carsely when, against the sky pricked by the first stars, black clouds started streaming