Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

now?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘We go on. For a start we’ve got to try to get the Friendly woman on her own.’
    ‘How do we do that?’
    ‘You’re all kerfuffled and discombobulated these days, Aggie. You put me up for the night and then we watch her house and see if Mr Friendly leaves.’
    ‘How can we do that without being too obvious?’
    ‘The cottage is opposite the churchyard. You take me on a tour of the graves. I’m a historian. I make notes. Even if he doesn’t leave, surely she goes out shopping. Then we should get to a library and read up on ricin. Are there any castor-oil plants outside Kew Gardens in this country, for example? If not, which of our suspects has been abroad lately?’
    ‘I don’t think we’ve really got any suspects.’
    ‘Wake up! Of course we have. We have the hairy Mr Friendly. We have the woman Maggie. We’ll start with them.’
    ‘We can’t haunt the Friendlys tomorrow morning. We’ve got to go to Mircester.’
    ‘So we have. After, then.’
    ‘I’m still hurt by Bill’s behaviour,’ fretted Agatha. ‘Badly hurt. First, he’s on holiday and doesn’t phone, then he’s on duty and treats me like Suspect Number One.’
    ‘Why don’t you just phone him? You’ve got his phone number.’
    ‘I don’t want to,’ mumbled Agatha.
    ‘You’re frightened he’s gone off you because of some deep unlikeable flaw in your character, so you prefer to be miserable. Tell you what, I’ll go home and pack a bag. I’ll be staying with you.’
    Agatha raised a smile. ‘No funny stuff.’
    ‘Did I ever? See you back at the ranch, Aggie.’
    He went off. She finished her drink, but instead of going home, walked to the vicarage and rang the bell.
    ‘Christ!’ came the unholy voice of the vicar. ‘It’s that woman again.’
    ‘Don’t blaspheme, Alf, and get on with your sermon,’ came Mrs Bloxby’s calm voice.
    ‘I always call at the wrong time,’ said Agatha ruefully as Mrs Bloxby opened the door.
    ‘Pay no attention to Alf. He’s the same with everyone. I keep telling him he’s too antisocial for a vicar. Come in.’
    ‘If you’re sure . . .’
    ‘Quite sure. Tea? Coffee?’
    ‘A cup of coffee would be nice.’
    ‘Come into the kitchen.’
    The kitchen was warm and welcoming. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling and shining copper pans gleamed against the old stone walls. ‘I’ve got some ready,’ said Mrs Bloxby, pouring two mugs.
    Agatha said, ‘Can we take this into the garden? Then I can smoke with a free conscience.’
    ‘Certainly, although I hope you don’t find it too chilly. It’s got quite cold since the weather broke.’
    ‘Now,’ said Mrs Bloxby when they were both seated, ‘I know the police were at your cottage and all because of that hairdresser. I wish I had never recommended him. Is it murder?’
    Agatha described all the things she had done and left undone. A large barn owl, ghostly in the dark, swooped over their heads, and sleepy birds chirped lazily in the surrounding trees.
    ‘I’ve been so very stupid,’ commented Agatha when she had finished her tale.
    ‘I think all the effort you went to on Mrs Friendly’s behalf,’ said Mrs Bloxby, ‘shows a noble spirit. Perhaps you should tell her. She must be dreadfully frightened that the police may have found something.’
    ‘So you do think she could have been a victim of blackmail!’
    ‘Just an idea.’
    ‘Does Mr Friendly go out? I mean, is she ever on her own?’
    ‘He plays golf practically every afternoon between two and five.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Agatha. ‘I don’t feel so silly now.’
    ‘In the meantime, I shall ask around about a woman called Maggie and give your description. The joy about being a vicar’s wife is that I can ask questions about people and no one thinks it suspicious.’
    ‘I’d better go. Charles will be back any minute. He’s staying the night. I mean, you know, I don’t mean . . .’
    Mrs Bloxby laughed. ‘Off you go. And phone Bill Wong. There’s bound to be a simple explanation.’
    ‘So what’s happened to you?’ demanded Charles as she let him in. ‘All calm and smiling now. Been at the Prozac?’
    ‘Been seeing Mrs Bloxby.’
    ‘Ah, confession is good for the soul.’
    Agatha led him up to the spare bedroom.
    ‘While you’re putting your things away, I’ll make a phone call.’
    She went down to the kitchen extension and dialled Bill Wong’s home number.
    She prayed his formidable mother would not answer the