As The Pig Turns

does it belong to?’
    ‘It’s a derelict building out in the fields of a farm that’s been on the market for the past six months. The farmer is in an old folks’ home, and his heirs don’t want to continue with the farm and so no one lives there. No fingerprints. The storm scrubbed everything pretty clean when part of the roof caved in. By the way, that vicar who gave Roy a lift to Chipping Norton Police Station would like to be paid for the phone calls.’
    ‘Which calls?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘Roy asked if he could borrow the man’s mobile to call his mother.’
    ‘She’s dead!’
    ‘Anyway, he used it to phone a lot of the media.’
    Agatha sighed. ‘I’ll make sure Roy pays him back.’ She suddenly felt low as she looked at Bill’s pleasant face. Bill was the only normal man she knew. James was a cold fish, Charles was flighty, and Roy, a publicity-grabbing pain in the fundament. At that moment, Bill exchanged a smile with pretty Alice, and Agatha felt a stabbing pang of jealousy.
    ‘Now,’ said Bill. ‘We will put a guard on your cottage and one on your office. But we cannot guard the homes of all of your staff. For your own safety, you should close your business, let everyone go off somewhere safe and leave the detection to the police.’
    ‘In the middle of a recession!’ exclaimed Agatha.
    ‘You would not like anything to happen to Toni, for example,’ said Bill. ‘I want you to announce in the press that you are dropping all your investigations into this case to protect your staff. At least will you do that?’
    Their conversation had been periodically interrupted by rings at the doorbell. ‘The press are still outside, Agatha. Go and do it now.’
    ‘Oh, all right,’ said Agatha. ‘I must admit, whoever they are, they’ve really got me scared.’
    They waited while she made her statement.
    She eventually returned in a bad temper. The press had seen her capitulation as possibly the end to more horror stories and had tried to goad her about ‘giving in’.
    After Bill and Alice had left, James stayed on guard with Agatha, pointing out that she was at risk until her story appeared in the news. Agatha was waiting for workmen to come and beef up her security, change the locks and change the burglar-alarm code and for a local man to put bars on all the downstairs windows.
    James made an omelette for lunch and then waited with Agatha until the workmen had finished.
    ‘I think you should move in with me,’ he said again.
    Agatha gave a reluctant smile. ‘May I smoke?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then no thanks. But thanks all the same for sticking by me and looking after my cats. I’ll go to the office now, and tell everyone to leave the investigation into Beech’s death alone.’
    ‘Including you?’
    ‘Yes, including me,’ said Agatha.
    Everything seemed to go very quiet in Agatha’s life after her statement appeared on television and in the press.
    May came in, cold, blustery and rainy, but then cleared up into long, sunny days.
    Agatha had prepared herself carefully for the Woman of the Year banquet. Her favourite hairdresser, Jeanelle, had recoloured her hair to a rich, glossy brown, and her beautician, Dawn, had performed a series of nonsurgical face-lifts. Agatha felt ready for what she privately considered the battle ahead.
    Wearing a soft white chiffon blouse, her good pearls and a black silk chiffon skirt with a slit up the side and high heels, Agatha drove to the George Hotel, looking always in her driving mirror to check any cars behind her that might look suspicious. She had not lost her fear of the murderers of Gary Beech.
    The restaurant, which had been taken over for the evening for the event, was already crowded when she arrived. She was directed to a table that held three other nominees: Cressida Jones-Wilkes, the woman who owned a garden centre; Joanna Tripp, local poetess, and Fairy Mather, a stocky woman who painted angry abstracts.
    ‘You’re that detective woman who chickened out of a case out of fear,’ said Fairy truculently.
    Agatha’s small eyes narrowed. ‘What were your parents thinking of to give you a name like Fairy?’ she said. ‘You look more like a troll.’
    ‘Why, you bitch!’
    ‘Yes, that’s me. Pass the wine.’
    The three contestants looked uneasily at Agatha.
    ‘I have never been so insulted in my life,’ said Fairy at last.
    ‘Time you were, then,’ said Agatha. ‘Oh, snakes and bastards, mulligatawny soup, and on such a hot evening.