Dishing the Dirt by M. C. Beaton Read Free Book Online Page B

search of all the debris below that window at last revealed the little envelope blown up against a wire fence.
    This Simon was also able to tell Agatha because he was in constant touch with Ruby, although, so far, he had not persuaded her to come out on a date with him.
    The leaf was at last identified as coming from monkshood, a deadly killer of a plant. It was once used to kill wolves and mad dogs and was then called wolfsbane. All parts of the plant are poisonous and it doesn’t even need to be taken by mouth; the poison can be absorbed through the skin. It looks like a delphinium and the most common colour is purple.
    “So are they going to exhume Herythe’s body?” asked Agatha one morning as he staff were gathered in the office.
    “No point,” said Patrick. “It’s the perfect killer and the poison doesn’t stay in the body. But the police are regarding it as murder and Charles has been pulled in for questioning.”
    “Why Charles, of all people?”
    “Someone tipped off the police that he was heard threatening to kill Herythe in the bar of the George.”
    “I’d better get round there and see if there’s anything I can do,” said Agatha.
    She was about to leave when there came a tentative knock on the door. Agatha opened it and found herself faced with a small boy carrying a bouquet of flowers. “Are you Mrs. Raisin?” he asked.
    “That’s me.”
    “These are for you.”
    Agatha was just reaching for the bouquet when Toni shrieked, “Don’t touch it. You, boy, drop it on the floor.”
    Startled, the boy did as he was told.
    “Look at the flowers,” said Toni. “That looks like monkshood.”
    “Who gave you those flowers?” asked Agatha.
    The boy was small and fair-haired. “It was a big chap. He gave me ten pounds to deliver them.”
    The flowers were wrapped in gold paper. “Did you touch the flowers anywhere?” Patrick asked the boy.
    “N-no.”
    “The stems are wrapped up so he should be all right,” said Patrick. “I’ll call the police.”
    “What’s your name?” Agatha asked the boy.
    “Jimmy Martin, miss.”
    “Look, Jimmy, go into the toilet over there and wash your hands thoroughly. That bouquet may be poisonous. You’ll need to wait here. The police will want to interview you.”
    “Like in the fillums?”
    “Just like that.”
    “Wicked!”
    *   *   *
    There was a long delay, waiting for the boy’s mother to arrive before he could be interviewed. His description of the big man who had given him the flowers was vague. But it had taken place at the corner of market square, which was covered by a video camera. Not for the first time, Agatha fretted at not having the powers of the police. She would dearly have loved to have a look at the videotape.
    When it was all over, and the boy had been taken home by his mother, Charles strolled in.
    Agatha told him about the latest development. The usually urbane and unflappable Charles looked worried. “So you’re the killer’s new target. You’d better take a holiday, Agatha.”
    “Not me,” said Agatha. “Patrick, take money out of the petty cash and stand drinks for your old police buddies and find out what’s on that video.”
    “Too soon,” said Patrick. “Give it a few hours. I’ll get on with that divorce case and then I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”
    “So, Charles,” said Agatha, “how did you get on?”
    “Wilkes was really nasty,” said Charles. “The press are breathing down his neck. He all but accused me outright. Come on, Aggie. I could do with a drink.”
    “Too early.”
    “The sun is over the poop deck or whatever.”
    “Wait until I arrange things here. What have we got, Toni?”
    “Simon and I have that missing girl. Patrick’s got his divorce case and Phil is going with him to take pictures. And you forgot about yourself. So you have some free time.”
    “All right, Charles,” said Agatha. “One drink and then I’ll get back here and go through my