Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

you like to hear your message?’
    ‘Yes!’ shouted Agatha, exasperated.
    She waited. Then a harsh voice said, ‘This is Mary Owen. Come and see me as soon as possible.’
    Oh, dear, thought Agatha bleakly. She’s heard about us questioning the corner shop. I’d better get James.
    But there was no reply. Agatha climbed out of bed and washed and dressed. She suddenly did not want to wait for James. She wanted to get it over and done with.
    She drove steadily to the manor-house in Ancombe, wondering all the while if Mary meant to take her to court for harassment or invasion of privacy or something.
    Mary answered the door. ‘Follow me,’ she said curtly. She led the way into a dark drawing-room: beamed ceiling, thick curtains, stuffed creatures in glass cases, a brass urn of pampas-grass, a drawing-room out of a Hammer horror movie.
    ‘Sit down,’ barked Mary.
    ‘I’d rather stand.’ Agatha felt she might have to make a quick getaway.
    ‘Very well. You have been spreading scandal in my sister’s neighbourhood, questioning her local shopkeeper. If you do anything like that again, a nasty accident could happen to you.’
    Mary had walked up close to Agatha as she said this. Agatha took a step backwards.
    ‘We were just trying to clear up loose ends,’ she protested. ‘If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.’
    ‘Just who the hell do you think you are?’ She grabbed Agatha by the shoulder and pulled her towards a large mirror over the fireplace. ‘Look at yourself! You are a middle-aged woman and no lady. You poke your nose into things that don’t concern you.’ She gave Agatha another shove. ‘Just get out of here and remember: Any more interference and I’ll come looking for you!’
    Thoroughly demoralized, Agatha stumbled for the door. She drove off, not even looking in the driving mirror to see if Mary was watching her. She never wanted to see her again.
    She was getting out of her car outside her cottage when Mrs Darry came scuttling along, the small bundle of yapping hair which passed for a dog trotting in front of her.
    ‘Mrs Raisin!’ she called.
    Darry, Darcy, bitches all, thought Agatha, and whipping out her keys, let herself into her cottage and slammed the door.
    She leaned her back against the door and breathed deeply.
    The doorbell rang. ‘Go away!’ shrieked Agatha.
    ‘Are you all right, dear?’ The voice of Mrs Bloxby came faintly from the other side.
    Agatha opened the door and promptly burst into tears.
    ‘Oh, come along into the kitchen,’ said Mrs Bloxby, putting an arm around Agatha’s shaking shoulders.
    Rubbing her eyes on the back of her sleeve, Agatha allowed herself to be led through to her kitchen and gently thrust down into a chair.
    ‘I’ll make some strong sweet tea,’ said the vicar’s wife, plugging in the electric kettle and then handing Agatha the box of tissues which had been lying on the kitchen counter.
    Agatha blew her nose and said weakly, ‘I’m sorry. Everything got too much for me.’
    ‘Wait until I make us some tea and you can tell me all about it.’
    Soon, with her hands wrapped around a mug of tea, Agatha poured out everything, about her shame at her affair with Guy, about not knowing where she stood with James, and finally about the threat from Mary Owen.
    ‘That’s very interesting,’ said Mrs Bloxby. ‘About Mary Owen.’
    ‘Do you mean if she could threaten me, she could have murdered them?’
    ‘Not exactly. If Mary Owen and her sister were the straight and outraged people they claim to be, why did they not complain to the police?’
    ‘Maybe they did.’
    ‘Can you find out?’
    ‘Wait a minute. I’ll try to get Bill.’
    To Agatha’s relief, Bill Wong was at police headquarters.
    ‘What is it now, Agatha?’ he asked sharply. ‘What have you been up to?’
    Agatha told him about Mary’s threat and then said, ‘Has either Mary or her sister complained to the police about me and James?’
    ‘No, thank goodness.’
    ‘Don’t you see, that’s what so odd about it? If she and her sister were as innocent as they claim to be, they’d simply have gone to the police.’
    There was a silence. Then Bill said slowly, ‘But you are making a complaint about Mary Owen threatening you.’
    ‘I don’t know, Bill. No witnesses. But she phoned and left a message on my answering service asking me to come and see her.’
    ‘Do you still have that message?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Keep it. I’d like to listen to it. But