Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

look. ‘She’s in the restaurant next door. I’ll get her.’
    Agatha stood and fumed. Eve came hurrying back in.
    ‘In a rush, are we?’ she asked sweetly.
    ‘I don’t know about you, but I do not like to be kept waiting,’ snapped Agatha.
    ‘Well, I’m here now,’ said Eve soothingly. She guided Agatha to a chair and began to remove the rollers. Then she back-combed and smoothed the hair.
    Agatha stared at her reflection in the mirror.
    ‘That,’ she said bitterly, ‘is the epitome of provincial middle-aged hair-styles. Too bouffant.’
    ‘It’s the latest style,’ said Eve.
    ‘It was the latest style somewhere around the sixties.’
    ‘If you would like me to restyle it?’
    ‘Oh, forget it. Just give me the bill and let me out of here.’
    In a thoroughly bad temper, Agatha went back to the car park to wait for Charles. Fortunately for her, they had used her car, so she sat and smoked and waited . . . and waited.
    Eventually Charles turned up.
    He burst out laughing when he saw Agatha’s hair. ‘Oh, shut up,’ snarled Agatha. ‘I’ll never go there again. Take her for lunch while I sat here and starved?’
    ‘No, our Jessie was very frightened. Said she had not known our Mr John, refused to talk about him.’
    ‘So what kept you?’
    ‘I went for lunch.’
    ‘Why didn’t you come looking for me?’
    ‘I didn’t think. I was hungry.’
    ‘I’m going straight home to brush out this wretched style and eat. You can do what you like.’
    ‘Since you’re driving,’ said Charles mildly, ‘whither thou goest, I goest.’
    Agatha grumbled the whole way back to Carsely about the sheer selfishness of men.
    Once home, she was restored to good temper by two chicken sandwiches and a cup of soup and by brushing her hair smooth.
    ‘Now what?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps I should have been the one to have a go at Jessie Lang.’
    ‘You can have a try. What about Mrs Darry?’
    ‘God, I’d forgotten about her. Let’s take a walk up there. She’s probably regretted telling us anything.’
    ‘All right. You know, Aggie, if that ricin was put into his vitamin pills, it could have been done at any time. All the poisoner had to do was wait. You know what I mean? Poison two of them and you could be out of the country by the time he got to them.’
    Agatha sighed. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever find out who did it.’
    ‘Anyway, let’s see what Mrs Darry has to say for herself.’
    The day was cold and grey as they walked through the village. The first leaves of autumn twirled down at their feet. ‘All that heat seems so far away now,’ said Agatha. ‘I don’t like the winter in the country. You really never notice it in town. Afternoon, terrible weather, isn’t it?’
    ‘Who was that woman you just spoke to?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha. ‘Apart from the women who go to the ladies’ society, I don’t really know that many people in the village. In Carsely, we all say “Morning” or “Afternoon” to each other, whether we know each other or not.’
    ‘What about the community spirit?’
    ‘I think it went when everyone got cars,’ said Agatha. ‘The children are bussed out to schools and a lot of the parents work up in Birmingham or Worcester and commute. Here we are now. I can’t help hoping she’s not at home.’
    The little cottage lay dark and silent. ‘That’s her car,’ said Agatha. ‘She’s probably walking the dog. Don’t peer in the window, Charles. I tell you, she’s out. Charles!’
    He turned round and looked at her, his face strangely pinched and drawn.
    ‘Aggie, there’s a pair of feet sticking out from behind the sofa.’
    ‘She must be ill. Let’s try the door.’
    Agatha turned the brass handle on the front door. It swung open. Agatha rushed into the living-room. Mrs Darry lay stretched out behind the sofa. Blood from a terrible wound on her head spread out on the carpet. Beside her lay the corpse of her little dog, and beside both lay a blood-stained brass poker.
    Charles knelt down beside Mrs Darry, feeling for a pulse and finding none.
    He shook his head dismally. Agatha dialled 999 and asked for the police and an ambulance.
    She turned to Charles. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
    ‘Better go outside on the road.’
    Agatha fled. She was thoroughly sick. She tried to brace herself to return to Charles but found she hadn’t the courage to go back into the house of death. Somehow it was the memory of the little dog