Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

something.’
    ‘Well, well. Anyone else?’
    ‘A young pretty woman, thirties, that’s young to me. I hadn’t seen her before.’
    ‘What did she look like?’
    ‘Blonde, slim, a bit rabbity, rather prominent teeth, skinny legs.’
    ‘Anyone else?’
    ‘No. It’s God’s punishment on me!’
    ‘I don’t think God punishes or rewards,’ said Charles unexpectedly. ‘Those are both such human failings, starting off with, “If you’re good, Santa will give you a bike for Christmas.” I never got one because I was told that Santa was mad at me for blocking up the chimney and smoking out the house.’
    Agatha blinked at him in surprise and then went on, ‘Liza – may I call you Liza?’
    She nodded.
    ‘The thing is, Liza, don’t worry about the police. Do you think anyone might have seen you with Mr John?’
    ‘I don’t think so. Perhaps his neighbours . . .’
    ‘But his neighbours didn’t know you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘So at the worst, all they can give is a description, and you’ll probably be lost in all the other descriptions of women Mr John was seen with.’
    ‘How was he poisoned?’
    ‘Ricin.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘It’s a poison from castor-oil beans.’
    ‘But I’ve never even heard of it!’
    There was the sound of a key in the door. Agatha glanced out of the cottage window and noticed the leaded panes were smeared with rain.
    ‘Bob!’ said Liza.
    ‘So that’s all settled,’ said Agatha. She raised her voice. ‘You’re like me, Mrs Friendly, and don’t want to perform at any of their concerts, but I would appreciate your help with the catering on the next occasion. Why, Mr Friendly! We were just leaving.’
    ‘Good,’ he said rudely, swinging a bag of golf clubs from his shoulder and stacking them in a corner. ‘Bloody rain.’
    Agatha and Charles got up and made their way to the door. ‘My wife has enough to do with the housekeeping here without wasting time on parish affairs,’ he said as they edged past him.
    ‘Quite,’ murmured Agatha. ‘Such a pleasure to meet you again.’
    ‘Tcha!’
    ‘And ya sucks boo to you to,’ said Agatha when she and Charles emerged into the pouring rain. ‘Let’s run. I’m getting soaked.’
    They ran all the way to Agatha’s cottage. They dried themselves off in their respective rooms, changed into dry clothes and met up again in the kitchen.
    ‘Well,’ said Agatha, ‘what did you make of that? Mrs Darry!’
    ‘Who’s she?’
    ‘The ferrety woman with the nasty little dog.’
    ‘Ah, the one who retrieved your phone book.’
    ‘The same.’
    ‘So do we tackle her next?’
    ‘I suppose so, although she’s going to be most dreadfully rude. Damn, if it hadn’t been for Liza, I would be regretting having tried to rescue any incriminating papers. God, would I love to have some dirt on Mrs Darry.’
    ‘What’s her first name?’
    ‘In the ladies’ society of Carsely, Charles, first names do not exist. We are all Miss this and Mrs that.’
    ‘Where does she live?’
    ‘Grim little house called Parks Cottage up Parks Lane, at the back of the village shop.’
    ‘The rain is easing off. I think we should go before you lose courage. Maybe she’ll have a garden full of castor-oil plants.’
    Agatha hesitated. ‘What sort of approach are we going to take?’
    ‘Nasty and blunt, I should think, dear Aggie. Sort of thing you do best.’

Chapter Five

    Watery sunlight struck down on the cobbles as they made their way to Mrs Darry’s cottage. Not for one moment would Agatha admit to herself that she was intimidated by the waspish Mrs Darry and yet she experienced a sinking feeling as they approached the cottage and she saw that the door was standing open and the nasty little dog was snuffling about the steps.
    ‘No castor-oil plants,’ commented Charles, looking around the small front garden. ‘Nothing but laurels and other dreary shrubs. Wonder what’s round the back.’
    Mrs Darry appeared at her front door. Her greeting was typical. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘We wanted to have a word with you.’ Agatha surreptitiously edged the snuffling dog away from her ankles with her foot.
    ‘I don’t think I should invite you in,’ said Mrs Darry, her thin face bright with malice. ‘I have my reputation to think of.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Agatha, irritated, gave the little dog another kick.
    ‘I don’t think I should let you and one of your fancy men into my home.’
    Charles brayed with