Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

said cheerfully.
    ‘Murder or water?’
    ‘Murder.’
    Agatha told him about James. Roy listened and then said, ‘That was a bit mean of him.’
    She warmed to him. ‘Why not come down for the weekend and we’ll go and watch the demonstration?’
    ‘Great. I’ll get the early-morning train.’
    Agatha put down the phone feeling better. However outrageously Roy had behaved in the past, he always popped up again and she felt like company. She remembered Guy and swore under her breath. She had been so stunned after leaving James that she had not even checked to see if his car was still outside.
    ‘Guy!’ she called up the stairs.
    There was no reply. With a little sigh of relief, she went up and stripped the bed and put on a clean sheet, pillow cases and duvet cover. Then she undressed and climbed into bed and plunged down immediately into a dreamless sleep. An hour later, she could faintly hear the phone downstairs ringing. She had switched off the one in the bedroom. She lay until it had finished ringing and then went back to sleep.
    In the cottage next door, James replaced the receiver. He had planned to ask Agatha to come into Evesham with him, but he rang off the minute her answering service came on the line.
    Rain was thudding down on to the platform at Moreton-in-Marsh Station next morning as Agatha waited for the arrival of Roy Silver.
    A large bouquet of flowers from Guy had arrived just before she left. She had slung them into a bucket of water, planning to arrange them later. She wondered why the idea of having a handsome man send her flowers was so infinitely depressing.
    The Great Western train slid smoothly alongside the platform. Roy appeared looking quite ordinary for once in a Burberry worn over cords and a sports shirt and V-necked sweater.
    ‘Hello, Aggie,’ he said, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. ‘I hope we don’t get this weather for the fête. What will we do?’
    ‘I’ve already contacted one of those firms that rent out marquees. They’ll have to be decorated and some heat supplied. There’s nothing more dampening than people crowded into damp tents with the rain pouring down. The Freemonts were all for having an orchestra, but I persuaded them that the Carsely village band would be more traditional. They’re actually jolly good. Don’t want to make it too ritzy. When it’s good weather here, I always envisage the fête being held on a cloudless day, but when it’s like this, I picture it as being damp and horrible and full of crying children.’
    ‘We’ll see,’ said Roy. ‘How could we find out if Mary Owen has money or not?’
    ‘We could ask Angela Buckley. She’s pretty direct, although, come to think of it, she did warn me off.’
    ‘Now why did she warn you off? She must have something to hide. Let’s go and see her.’
    ‘All right. We’ll leave your bags first and have a coffee.’
    After Roy had taken his bag up to the spare room, he joined Agatha in the kitchen.
    He looked at the flowers in the bucket, and then picked up the florist’s card which Agatha had left on the table. ‘Oho,’ said Roy. ‘“Love from Guy.” That wouldn’t be the delicious Guy Freemont, would it?’
    ‘We have a close working arrangement,’ said Agatha frostily.
    ‘If you say so, dear.’ He accepted a mug of coffee. ‘So after we see this Angela, I suppose we go to the spring for a punch-up. I wonder if Mary Owen really has money. What about asking James?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Have it your way. Is that sunlight outside?’
    Agatha walked to the window and looked out. Raindrops glistened on the bushes and flowers in the garden. ‘I’ll be able to let the cats out,’ she said, opening the door. Hodge and Boswell slid through and disappeared into the shrubbery.
    ‘I could fix up a cat flap for you,’ said Roy. ‘I’m pretty good at DIY.’
    ‘I never got around to getting one. I keep imagining some small, slim burglar crawling through it at night.’
    ‘Have it your way.’
    Half an hour later, they set out for Ancombe, driving through the glittering rain-washed countryside. Agatha opened the car windows. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers.
    She drove through puddles, sending up sheets of water on either side of the car. Roy began to sing happily in a flat, reedy voice. ‘I’m not very good at leisure,’ said Agatha.
    Roy stopped singing. ‘How come?’
    ‘I was just thinking that on a day like this, I should be sitting in the garden with my cats,