As The Pig Turns

confiscated my passport. Every time they don’t know what to do with me, they take away my passport and I usually have to hire a lawyer to get it back.’
    ‘They can’t possibly think you had anything to do with it. Would you like me to come with you?’
    ‘That’s kind of you,’ said Agatha. ‘But they’ll want to interview Charles as well, so we may as well suffer together.’
    Mrs Bloxby walked thoughtfully back to the vicarage. She sat down at her computer and began to type out a poster. It said: ‘From the Vicarage. Ladies’ Society meetings will no longer be held in the vicarage. If you wish to continue, you will need to find somewhere else. I am resigning. Margaret Bloxby.’
    I am not going around on this hot day, shoving separate notes through letterboxes, she thought. I’ll take this to the shop and put it up on the notice board.
    She was just pinning it up when Miss Simms came to join her. ‘Well, if you ain’t going to be around, I’m handing in my resignation as well,’ she said. Miss Simms was still damned with the title of Carsely’s unmarried mother, which Mrs Bloxby found grossly unfair considering that being unmarried seemed to be a growth industry. Young girls in Mircester got pregnant knowing the council would supply them with a flat and allowances. Often it was a way of escaping from brutal parents. Other times, it was prompted by laziness.
    ‘It’s not as if there are any ladies any more, know what I mean?’ said Miss Simms. ‘It’s all pushy newcomers now like Mrs Benson. They come and they go. House prices go up and they sell and a new lot comes in. They want the village dream, so they join the Ladies’ Society and we all sit around eating cakes an’ bitching. Oh, jeez, I am sorry.’ For her little dog had peed into Mrs Bloxby’s shoes.
    ‘It’s said to be lucky,’ said Mrs Bloxby. Mrs Tutchell, the shop owner, produced a roll of kitchen paper, and Mrs Bloxby dried her ankles and shoes. ‘Are you sure there was no one in or near Lilac Lane?’
    ‘Swear to God. I felt like inventing someone just so as to help Mrs Raisin, but that was afterwards. I didn’t know she’d get into trouble.’
    ‘They cannot possibly think she would be so mad as to dope that sergeant’s tea,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘Maybe someone sneaked in and put something in the tea caddy.’
    ‘Mrs Raisin uses teabags.’
    ‘Well, what about that security firm that changed the locks an’ all that?’
    ‘Vetted thoroughly by the police.’
    ‘Oh, well, she’s tough. She’ll stand up to the police. So it’s goodbye to the Ladies’ Society?’
    ‘As far as I am concerned. Such an old-fashioned name.’
    ‘Don’t them over in Ancombe still call it a ladies’ society?’
    ‘No. They’ve changed the name to the Forward Women’s Group.’
    ‘I’d better get on and take this pet rat with me.’
    ‘I see it’s a Chihuahua,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
    Miss Simms giggled. ‘Is it really? Funny, that. That’s what one of my gentlemen friends called my . . .’ Her voice trailed off before Mrs Bloxby’s clear gaze. ‘Oh, gotta go.’
    ‘Do you want me to stay the night?’ asked Charles.
    ‘Yes, thanks,’ said Agatha as they at last emerged from police headquarters into the fading sunlight.
    ‘I’d better go home first and get my togs for tomorrow,’ said Charles.
    ‘Tomorrow?’
    ‘Simon’s wedding.’
    ‘Snakes and bastards! I’d better find something to wear.’
    ‘Go to the office when you’ve found something,’ said Charles, ‘and wait for me. We’ll go to your cottage together.’
    ‘Thanks.’ A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek.
    ‘Come on, old girl, this isn’t like you. Where’s your stiff upper lip?’
    ‘As The Goon Show once memorably said, it’s over my loose wobbly lower one,’ said Agatha, taking out a crumpled tissue and dabbing her eyes. ‘I wonder what drug was given to Tulloch and how it got there?’
    ‘Forensics, like the mills of God, grind slowly. We won’t hear for a bit.’
    Once in her office, Agatha got a call from her cleaner, Doris Simpson, to say she had taken Agatha’s cats home with her. ‘Men in white suits all over the place,’ said Doris. ‘And they could have been trodden on with those policemen and their big boots.’
    Agatha thanked her, wondering how on earth she had managed to forget the welfare of her cats.
    Sitting down with a pile of files covering both murders, Agatha began to read through them, looking for any sort of