Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

which seemed to be strangling him. ‘We’re all respectable citizens, and if you ask me, that water company’s behind these murders.’
    ‘That’s what I think,’ said Bill Allen.
    Muscular Fred Shaw was sweating. ‘You lot don’t know how to think, that’s my opinion. You hated Robina like poison, Mary, and so did you, Angela.’
    ‘I didn’t hate her,’ said Mary. ‘She was one of those dreary little fluffy women of small brain.’
    Between the acrimonious exchanges, all were drinking champagne, an efficient waiter making sure all the glasses were kept topped up.
    ‘You and Angela could have learned something about femininity from Robina,’ said Fred. ‘She was all woman, not a leathery trout like you two.’
    ‘A common little man like you wouldn’t know a feminine woman even if she leaped out of your soup and bit you on the bum,’ said Angela.
    ‘How do you lot ever get anything done for the parish if you snipe at each other like this?’ demanded James. ‘Aren’t any of you curious to know why Robert Struthers and Robina Toynbee were murdered, and by whom? It could have been one of you.’
    There was a shocked silence.
    ‘What’s this?’ demanded Fred Shaw. ‘One of us? Why?’
    ‘Why not?’ said Mary Owen. ‘You were up at Robina’s cottage the evening before she was murdered, Fred. She would have told you about how she planned to make that speech from her garden wall.’
    ‘I’m the only one of you that liked Robina.’ Fred wrenched off his tie. Then he took off his blazer and rolled up his shirt sleeves. ‘I often went round there, and so did Bill and Andy. It was you and Angela that always had it in for her.’
    ‘Nonsense.’ Angela looked at the buffet table. ‘Are we going to eat that stuff or not? I’m starving.’
    There was a temporary lull while they collected plates of food. Although Agatha had put out chairs in the garden, Angela and Mary sat down on the grass, a sensible move, since it meant they did not have to balance plates of food on their knees. The others joined them.
    James began to ask them what they felt about the proposed bypass around Ancombe. Soon Fred Shaw was declaiming it was a disgrace because it would ruin shopkeepers like himself if the through traffic was taken away, and Bill Allen, who ran the garden centre, agreed with him.
    ‘I think it’s a good idea,’ put in Mary. ‘I mean, who wants droves of Americans?’
    ‘What’s up with Americans?’ demanded Andy Stiggs. ‘Damn this tie. You’ve had the right idea, Fred.’ He took his off and then his blazer.
    How different the dream always is from the reality, marvelled Agatha. In her dream about the garden party, she stood there gracious in her pretty gown with the lightest of breezes fluttering through the flowers in her hat. James, in white shirt, blazer and cravat, would be bending over her, smiling in admiration. But James was sitting on the grass with the others, eating cold salmon and drinking champagne and apparently concentrating solely on getting to know these councillors better.
    ‘Oh, these Americans. Everything always so quaint and pretty . Pah.’
    ‘I thought American-bashing was desperately unfashionable these days,’ said Agatha. ‘I mean, the ones that get this far are usually pretty sophisticated and seem to know more about the Cotswolds than the locals.’
    ‘So brash and vulgar.’ Mary glanced at Agatha. ‘Like to like, I suppose.’
    ‘Oh, shut your face and eat your food,’ said James, and to Agatha’s surprise, Mary laughed and threw him an almost flirtatious look.
    ‘What have you got to do with this water business?’ Andy Stiggs asked James.
    ‘It’s Agatha’s business. I am here to lend her moral support.’
    Angela looked narrowly from Agatha to James. Then she said, ‘Well, it can’t be romantic support. Agatha’s affair with Guy Freemont is the talk of both villages.’
    To her fury, Agatha felt herself turning dark red. ‘I am not having an affair with Guy Freemont,’ she said.
    ‘It’s all right, Agatha,’ said Mary. ‘Angela’s just being catty. Guy Freemont’s much too young for you.’
    ‘Listen, the lot of you!’ Agatha put her plate and glass carefully on the grass. ‘The idea of this garden party was to mend fences, to get you to be friendly towards each other again. It was a great mistake. You’re always like this, murder or no murder – nasty, carping, vicious and bitchy. How so many like people should end up on one