Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

reading or just looking. I always seem to be doing something. If I’m idle, I feel guilty.’
    ‘Take up a sport, then, tennis or something. Good for the waistline. Is that a bite on your neck, Aggie?’
    ‘Insect bite.’
    ‘Oh, yes? I know those sort of insects. We have them in London as well.’
    ‘Here’s Ancombe,’ said Agatha, anxious to change the subject. ‘The Buckley farm is off this way.’
    Soon they were bumping up the farm drive. ‘Looks prosperous,’ said Roy.
    ‘Never can tell with farmers, I gather,’ said Agatha. ‘They can’t all have that rich or idyllic a life, or so many of them wouldn’t commit suicide.’
    ‘It’s all those things they do with animals. I don’t think so many people are eating meat. I don’t. And I read that nobody wants to eat pork. They eat bacon, but no pork chops.’
    ‘I’ll tell you why that is. When did you last have a pork chop that tasted like anything? You’re not thinking of joining an animal-rights group, are you?’
    ‘Not me, sweetie. I just don’t enjoy meat so much. Feels unhealthy.’
    ‘Here we are.’ Agatha drew up outside the farm door. ‘And there is Angela.’
    Angela Buckley stood watching them, strong arms folded across a checked shirt-covered bosom, strong legs in cord and cowboy boots.
    ‘Wouldn’t want to meet her on a dark night,’ muttered Roy.
    They got out of the car. Agatha introduced Roy.
    ‘What d’you want?’ demanded Angela harshly. ‘Not still poking your nose into things that are none of your business, are you?’
    ‘Did you know Mary Owen was paying those Save Our Foxes people to demonstrate, and that they’re going to be at the spring this afternoon to fill it in with cement?’
    ‘What? You’d better come indoors. I’ve got the kettle on.’
    ‘I like this,’ said Roy, looking around the farm kitchen. ‘So truly rural.’
    Angela flashed him a look of contempt.
    ‘So what’s this about Mary?’ She took the kettle off the Aga and proceeded to make a pot of coffee.
    Roy watched anxiously. Angela’s way of making coffee consisted of spooning coffee into the pot and pouring boiling water on top of it. He hoped she would allow the grounds to settle, but she stirred the mixture up with a long spoon. Agatha said black and Roy, white, and then Roy bleakly looked down at the gritty coffee swirling around in his cup.
    Agatha explained again about Mary. ‘The old bitch,’ said Angela furiously. ‘I hope the police have arrested her.’
    ‘They’ve taken her in,’ said Agatha. ‘But what puzzles me is that Fred Shaw said Mary was broke and that’s why she wanted to marry Robert Struthers. But if she’s broke, how come she could pay these people – wages, transport, not to mention bags of cement, and fines in court?’
    ‘I think Fred Shaw invented the whole thing. He’s always sneering because Mary lives in the manor and doesn’t seem to put much money into it. She does all the cleaning herself, things like that. Did he say Mary wanted to marry old Robert?’
    ‘Yes, and he said Jane Cutler was after him as well.’
    Angela’s face darkened. ‘That I could believe. The mercenary old bag.’
    ‘Don’t you think Mary could have murdered Struthers? She must have felt very strongly about the spring to pay Save Our Foxes.’ Agatha took out a tissue and dabbed at the moustache of coffee grounds above her mouth.
    ‘She felt very strongly about having her will crossed. I noticed she always seemed to be wining and dining Robert, but I thought that was because she didn’t like not getting her own way and Robert used to drive her mad with exasperation because he wouldn’t tell her of his decision.’
    ‘Why did you warn me off?’
    ‘Because,’ said Angela patiently, ‘once you start digging around people’s personal lives, a lot of people get hurt, and unnecessarily so.’ She glared at Roy. ‘Who the hell are you?’
    ‘Friend of Aggie’s down for the weekend. Me and Aggie go back a long way.’
    ‘You’re too young to go back a long way. You don’t have to try to make a liaison look respectable to me.’
    ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake,’ howled Agatha. ‘Can’t I have a conversation with anyone in this damn village without being insulted?’
    ‘If you poke around people’s private lives to find out the worst about them, they’re bound to think the worst of you,’ said Angela. ‘Now, I’m busy. Why don’t you push off?’
    ‘Well!’ said Roy when they drove off. ‘Is it