And yet the pop group was a relatively late booking, thought Agatha. And when Fred had thought that Jane Harris was to open the fete, it had not stopped him.

"You don't think Mary Owen could have had anything to do with it?" asked Agatha. "I mean, it turns out as far as I can gather that she's not broke after all. She paid those protesters."

"She's big enough, strong enough and nasty enough," said Fred. "But Andy Stiggs is my choice."

"You thought it was Mary Owen at one time."

"Did I? I can't remember that."

"So let's try Andy Stiggs," said James when they left the shop.

"What's our approach?"

"Same as with Fred. Just want to get it cleared up."

Andy Stiggs's cottage was a mellow building of Cotswold stone with a newly thatched roof. There was a pleasing jumble of oldfashioned flowers: stocks, impatiens, delphiniums, lupins, and roses, roses all the way.

Andy Stiggs was weeding a flowerbed. He straightened up as they came through the garden gate.

"What?" he demanded.

Oh, to be from the police and be able to say, "Just a few questions," with an air of authority, thought Agatha.

"We were in the village," said James, "and we thought we would drop in and see you."

"Why?" He brushed earth from his large hands.

"As vice-chairman of the council, soon to be chairman, you must know a lot about what goes on in the village."

"And what's that got to do with you? You don't live here."

"You surely want these murders cleared up."

"Of course I do, and the answer is staring you in the face. It's that water company. It's my belief that poor Robina changed her mind and so they b.u.mped her off."

"I think it's only on TV that companies go around b.u.mping people off," said Agatha.

"You can't see what's under your nose because that Guy Freemont has been romancing you," said Andy.

"That's got nothing to do with it!" Agatha's face flamed.

"To my mind it has. What else would a young man like that be doing with a woman of your age?"

"That's enough of that," said James coldly. "You are just as suspect. I gather that Robert Struthers pinched the love of your life from under your nose."

"That was years and years ago."

"Sometimes resentments grow with the pa.s.sing of time."

Andy picked up a hoe and brandished it at them. "Get out of here. Just get out and don't come round again or I'll..."

"Or I'll what?" asked James. "Murder us? Come along, Agatha."

"I think I've got a headache coming on," said Agatha as they walked back to the car. "If you don't mind, I would like to go home and lie down for a little."

"I think we've done enough for one day anyway," said James.

Half an hour later, Agatha crawled under the duvet on her bed and drew her knees up to her chin. She felt she could not go on investigating the murders. The council members with their insults had finally been able to intimidate her.

Despite the warmth of the duvet and the warmth of the day, she shivered. All the Ca.r.s.ely security, all the safety, all the comfort seemed to have been ripped away and she was alone once more in a hostile world.

The phone rang, loudly and imperatively. She heaved herself up on one elbow and looked at it. What if it was James? No, probably Roy trying to get her back into PR, or something like that. Let it ring and she would check the answering service in a few minutes and find out who had called.

She waited and then dialled 1571. "There is one message," said the prissy voice. "Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes," muttered Agatha.

"I am afraid I didn't quite get that. Would you like to hear your message?"

"Yes!" shouted Agatha, exasperated.

She waited. Then a harsh voice said, "This is Mary Owen. Come and see me as soon as possible."

Oh, dear, thought Agatha bleakly. She's heard about us questioning the corner shop. I'd better get James.

But there was no reply. Agatha climbed out of bed and washed and dressed. She suddenly did not want to wait for James. She wanted to get it over and done with.

She drove steadily to the manor-house in Ancombe, wondering all the while if Mary meant to take her to court for hara.s.sment or invasion of privacy or something.

Mary answered the door. "Follow me," she said curtly. She led the way into a dark drawing-room: beamed ceiling, thick curtains, stuffed creatures in gla.s.s cases, a bra.s.s urn of pampas-gra.s.s, a drawing-room out of a Hammer horror movie.

"Sit down," barked Mary.

"I'd rather stand." Agatha felt she might have to make a quick getaway.

"Very well. You have been spreading scandal in my sister's neighbourhood, questioning her local shopkeeper. If you do anything like that again, a nasty accident could happen to you."

Mary had walked up close to Agatha as she said this. Agatha took a step backwards.

"We were just trying to clear up loose ends," she protested. "If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear."

"Just who the h.e.l.l do you think you are?" She grabbed Agatha by the shoulder and pulled her towards a large mirror over the fireplace. "Look at yourself! You are a middle-aged woman and no lady. You poke your nose into things that don't concern you." She gave Agatha another shove. "Just get out of here and remember: Any more interference and I'll come looking for you!"

Thoroughly demoralized, Agatha stumbled for the door. She drove off, not even looking in the driving mirror to see if Mary was watching her. She never wanted to see her again.

She was getting out of her car outside her cottage when Mrs Darry came scuttling along, the small bundle of yapping hair which pa.s.sed for a dog trotting in front of her.

"Mrs Raisin!" she called.

Darry, Darcy, b.i.t.c.hes all, thought Agatha, and whipping out her keys, let herself into her cottage and slammed the door.

She leaned her back against the door and breathed deeply.

The doorbell rang. "Go away!" shrieked Agatha.

"Are you all right, dear?" The voice of Mrs Bloxby came faintly from the other side.

Agatha opened the door and promptly burst into tears.

"Oh, come along into the kitchen," said Mrs Bloxby, putting an arm around Agatha's shaking shoulders.

Rubbing her eyes on the back of her sleeve, Agatha allowed herself to be led through to her kitchen and gently thrust down into a chair.

"I'll make some strong sweet tea," said the vicar's wife, plugging in the electric kettle and then handing Agatha the box of tissues which had been lying on the kitchen counter.

Agatha blew her nose and said weakly, "I'm sorry. Everything got too much for me."

"Wait until I make us some tea and you can tell me all about it."

Soon, with her hands wrapped around a mug of tea, Agatha poured out everything, about her shame at her affair with Guy, about not knowing where she stood with James, and finally about the threat from Mary Owen.

"That's very interesting," said Mrs Bloxby. "About Mary Owen."

"Do you mean if she could threaten me, she could have murdered them?"

"Not exactly. If Mary Owen and her sister were the straight and outraged people they claim to be, why did they not complain to the police?"

"Maybe they did."

"Can you find out?"

"Wait a minute. I'll try to get Bill."

To Agatha's relief, Bill Wong was at police headquarters.

"What is it now, Agatha?" he asked sharply. "What have you been up to?"

Agatha told him about Mary's threat and then said, "Has either Mary or her sister complained to the police about me and James?"

"No, thank goodness."

"Don't you see, that's what so odd about it? If she and her sister were as innocent as they claim to be, they'd simply have gone to the police."

There was a silence. Then Bill said slowly, "But you are making a complaint about Mary Owen threatening you."

"I don't know, Bill. No witnesses. But she phoned and left a message on my answering service asking me to come and see her."

"Do you still have that message?"

"Yes."

"Keep it. I'd like to listen to it. But I'll go and have a talk to her."

"Are you sure she isn't in need of money, Bill?"

"Oh, that. No, we checked her bank statements. She's pretty wealthy."

"So why did Fred Shaw say she wasn't?"

"I asked him. He said since she did all the gardening and cleaning herself, with only a bit of occasional help, he a.s.sumed she had gone broke. Leave it to me."

He rang off. Agatha rejoined Mrs Bloxby in the kitchen. "Neither Mary nor her sister complained to the police."

"Very odd, that," said Mrs Bloxby. "I don't like to see you so distressed."

"It's all the insults and cracks about my affair with Guy. I've been made to feel like a vulgar trollop."

"You must not take it all to heart. The fact is that you are dealing with a lot of frightened people. Everyone is suspect and they know it and so they take their fright out on you because they see you as some enemy stirring up the muddy waters."

"I hadn't thought of it that way. I slammed the door in Mrs Dairy's face before you came. She's a horror."

"I'm afraid she is. Cheer up. She whines that she is very disappointed in Ca.r.s.ely and that it is not a very nice place at all. I feel she will be leaving us soon."

"I do hope so. That woman has halitosis of the soul."

After Mrs Bloxby had left, Agatha went upstairs and washed her face and put on makeup. She would call on James and tell him about Mary. If only he would put his arms about her and hold her close.

Bracing herself, she went next door and rang his bell.

James answered the door, looking fl.u.s.tered. "What is it, Agatha?"

"Aren't you going to ask me in?"

"I'm actually very busy packing."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going up to London for a few days."

"Why?"

"Private business."

Agatha felt so rejected, so forlorn, that she did not tell him about Mary. "Bye," she said weakly and walked away.

James looked after her impatiently, at the droop of her shoulders. He opened his mouth to call her back and then shut it again and went, back inside to finish his packing.

Agatha, in her own cottage, dialled Roy's office.