M Beaton - A Spoonful of Poison

“Most men would. She gets prettier by the minute.”

Agatha felt a stab of jealousy. She had promised Toni to hold a dinner party to further the girl’s hopes with Harry Beam. Now she meanly decided not to do anything about it.

Agatha parked at the entrance to the village, just before the vicarage. A great lake of water lay across the road, fed by angry little streams rushing down from the hills.

“We’ll need to paddle,” said Charles. “I wouldn’t risk driving through that if I were you.”

“I’ll see if I can see the ground underneath the water.” Agatha got out of the car. She stared down at the water gloomily and then returned to Charles.

“We’ll need to paddle.”

“Right.” Charles got out of the car, took off his socks and shoes and then his trousers. Agatha took off her shoes and hitched up her skirt.

Charles, holding his trousers, socks and shoes above his head, walked into the water. “Not too bad,” he said. “It’s only just up past my knees.”

“There’s the postal van outside the vicarage,” said Agatha, fighting to keep her balance in the swirling water. “I’ve always come this way. The road in from the other end must be clear.”

“He’s unloading sacks of mail. The vicar’s distress must have caused a lot of people to send money. Dry ground at last,” said Charles. “We’ll nip into the church and I’ll put my trousers on. Don’t want to shock the vicar’s wife.”

“You’re kidding. Nothing could shock that one.”

The church was cold and damp. Buckets full of rainwater lay on the floor and balanced on the altar and the pews.

Agatha shivered as she pulled on her shoes. “This is misery,” she moaned.

“Never mind,” said Charles. “Think of those poor bastards in Cheltenham and Tewksbury. No drinking water and up to their armpits in sewage.”

“I can never feel grateful because of other people’s misery,” said Agatha piously. “Let’s go. Hope the police aren’t there or it’ll be a wasted journey.”

They were just about to emerge from the church when Agatha saw Wilkes and Collins leaving the vicarage. She retreated, colliding into Charles. “The police are just leaving,” she hissed. “Wait a minute. I wonder where their car is. I didn’t see a police car.” She peered round the church porch. A police car and driver drove in from the other end of the village. Wilkes and Collins got in and the car drove off.

“All clear,” said Agatha. “Let’s go.”

It was George Selby who opened the door to them. Does he never work? wondered Agatha.

“Oh, it’s you,” said George. “This is hardly a good time. Everyone is grieving.”

A merry peal of laughter sounded from the study.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” said Agatha. “Let us in.”

George reluctantly stood aside. Agatha felt a little sexual tremor as she brushed past him and opened the door of the study. Arthur Chance and Trixie were slicing open envelopes, their faces radiant.

“Come in!” called Arthur when he saw them. “People are amazingly generous.”

“I’m happy for you,” said Agatha. “But I really want to find out who murdered poor Arnold Birntweather.”

“The police are looking into that,” said Trixie, slicing open another envelope and extracting a cheque. “Oh, George, darling, come and help me.”

“I’ve got work to do. Mrs. Raisin…”

“Agatha, please.”

“Agatha, may I have a word with you in private?”

Agatha followed him outside.

“They really are upset and grieving,” said George, fastening those hypnotic eyes of his on Agatha’s face.

“Doesn’t sound like it. What can I do for you, George?”

“If you start asking them questions about Arnold’s murder, it will really distress them.”

“But the police have just left and they don’t seem a bit distressed.”

“Look, let’s go for dinner tonight and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Agatha brightened. “All right. Where and when?”

“The Cantonese restaurant in Mircester? Say at eight o’ clock?”

“Right.”

He suddenly smiled down at her and Agatha felt weak at the knees. Must get rid of Charles, she thought frantically.

Toni had invited a former school friend, Sharon, round to her flat that evening. She felt uneasily that she had been blackmailed into the invitation by Sharon complaining that Toni never saw any of her old friends.

Thanks to Agatha’s generous salary, Toni had been at work on her flat since Harry had seen it. She had ripped up the carpet and polished the boards until they shone. They were now covered in brightly covered rugs she had bought at Mircester market. A new set of bookshelves ornamented one wall.

“This is ever so nice,” said Sharon. She was a plump girl with masses of dyed red hair. Her crop top and low-slung jeans revealed a roll of fat and a fake ruby in her navel. “You’ve got a lot of books.” There was one lying on the coffee table. Sharon picked it up. “Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust. Didn’t we get that at school?”

“No, none of us read much at school. We got the university notes on books and read them instead.”

“So why are you reading a book by some Frenchie? Marcel. Sounds like a hairdresser.”

Toni’s desire to talk about Harry overcame her. He hadn’t been able to come to Mircester because of the floods, but he had e-mailed her on her new computer and texted her regularly. In his messages, he suggested which books she should read and the type of music she should listen to.

“It’s my new boyfriend,” said Toni. “He’s studying at Cambridge. He’s awfully clever. I did ask him for suggestions as to what I should read and I’ve been out buying piles of books.”

Sharon, whose idea of a good read was the sort of magazine which described the private lives of celebrities along with other important female essentials like the type of vibrator to use, said, “I dunno if I’d like a chap like that.”

“Why?” demanded Toni, immediately on the defensive.

“Well, it’s like Kylie, remember her?”

“What about her?”

“She’s tied up with Wayne. Remember Wayne?”

Toni conjured up a memory of a gangling spotty youth who’d been in her class.

“What about him?”

“He and Kylie are an item. Got a flat out on the Evesham road. No sooner have they moved in together than he starts telling her what to wear. Dowdy clothes. He’s even got her to wear a cardigan and flat heels.”

“I don’t see the connection,” complained Toni.

“He’s making her over, don’t you see? And that’s what your fellow’s doing. Either the fellows like you for what you are or tell ’em to get stuffed.”

“It’s not the same. He knows I want to improve my mind.”

Sharon tossed back her thick hair. “Listen, babes, there isn’t a fellow out there who’s interested in a girl’s mind. If they start making you over, it’s because they want to control you and keep you feeling inferior so you’ll end up thinking no other boy will want you.”

“Oh, let’s talk about something else,” said Toni. “How’s your love life?”

Agatha told Charles that she had to go back to the office to catch up on work. “Don’t you want to go home and get some dry shoes?” asked Charles.

“I’ve got a change of clothes in the office, Charles. Are you staying tonight? I have to warn you I might be late.”

“Don’t sound so frantic, Agatha. Has George asked you out?”

Mulish silence.

“Aha. Okay, I’ll clear off. What’s he after?”

“He’s going to give me everything he can think of that might give me a clue as to who murdered Arnold.”