Agatha Raisin and the Busy Body by MC Beaton Read Free Book Online Page B

her arthritic hip felt fine although she had been warned that she could not have any more
injections and would soon need to have an operation.
    The vicar’s wife, Penelope, stood there, huddled in an old tweed coat. ‘I was coming along the road when her car went past me speeding in the opposite direction. I’ve told the
police. They’ve set up roadblocks. But I told them she couldn’t have anything to do with the fire because as I was walking along, I saw her drive up before she turned around and drove
away again.’
    ‘I wonder who benefits from her death, if she’s dead,’ said Charles. ‘She’d been married three times.’
    ‘I think she mentioned a son and daughter.’
    ‘That’s right,’ said Carrie Brother, joining them. ‘Said they were both in America.’
    Charles stifled a yawn. ‘Come on, Aggie. They’re not going to let us get nearer or give us any information tonight.’
     
Chapter Four
    Agatha, who liked watching fictional forensic programmes on the television, was often amazed at how slow the real-life forensic process was. Christmas came and went. She spent
a solitary Christmas, persuading herself that it was just another day. Then came a blustery January, an icy February and so into March and the timid beginning of the English spring.
    In January, she had endured that long overdue hip operation. Thanks to her active life, she made a speedy recovery, but then put the whole business of the operation out of her mind. She did not
want to admit, even to herself, that she had needed it. The very words ‘hip operation’ screamed old.
    Patrick Mulligan reported from his sources that Miriam had been killed by a blow to the head with something like a hammer. The fire investigators found that the electricity had been switched
off. The fire had started at the Aga cooker in the kitchen.
    There was no sign of forced entry. The maid had been found, questioned, cleared of suspicion and deported. Agatha had been very busy with other cases and her interest in the case had died,
mainly for monetary reasons. No one was paying her to investigate, Britain was in a recession, and the agency needed all the paying cases they could get.
    On a blustery Sunday in late March, when the Cotswolds were full of more daffodils than anyone could remember having seen before, she opened her door and found a tall, handsome man standing on
her doorstep. Agatha was immediately aware of the fact that she hadn’t a bit of makeup on.
    ‘Mrs Raisin?’
    ‘Yes. You are . . . ?’
    ‘I’m Tom Courtney, Miriam’s son.’
    ‘Do come in.’ Agatha stood aside to let him past. ‘Go straight through to the kitchen.’ Agatha did not want to put her guest in the living room because the chairs were
soft and she found it awkward to struggle out of them.
    ‘You have a charming cottage,’ he said.
    He was tall with a lightly tanned face, black hair and brown eyes. Agatha guessed his age to be somewhere in his early forties.
    ‘Do sit down,’ said Agatha. ‘I am sorry for your loss.’
    ‘Don’t be. I was very close to my father, but I didn’t see much of my mother.’
    ‘You live in the States now?’
    ‘Yes, in New York.’
    ‘I believe you have a sister.’
    ‘Amy She’s still in the States. She’s married to a doctor in Philadelphia.’
    ‘I didn’t see either of you at the funeral,’ said Agatha.
    ‘I couldn’t bring myself to come over. I paid for it, of course, and made the arrangements long distance.’
    ‘Dear me. Why did you dislike your mother so much?’
    He shrugged. ‘She bitched my poor father to hell and gone. He died of a heart attack when we were small. Amy and I were brought up by a succession of nannies and then we were both sent to
schools in Switzerland. Then universities in the States. We went home as little as possible. Believe me, it was a relief when she moved over here. I work as a lawyer.’
    ‘So why have you come to see me?’
    ‘Unfinished business. My mother left everything