Pushing Up Daisies by M. C. Beaton Read Free Book Online

private detective on her and got enough evidence so that I didn’t have to pay out oodles of cash when I divorced her.”
    â€œBut was she someone who might be what we call a murderee? You know, did she frequent bad company? Drugs? Jealous lovers? Anything like that?”
    â€œI was too busy with an election by the time she started being unfaithful. Tell you what, Agatha—I may call you Agatha?”
    â€œPlease do.”
    â€œWhy don’t we get together for dinner one evening? By that time, I’ll have raked my poor brains for any stuff that might be useful to you.”
    â€œFine,” said Agatha.
    Before they got into her car, Agatha slipped on the flat shoes she used for driving and tossed her high heels in the back.
    â€œYou know he only wants to get into your knickers,” said Gerald.
    â€œIt happens from time to time,” said Agatha. “But by the time he finds he’s on a loser, I might get something useful out of him.”
    Gerald, in the passenger seat, looked sideways at Agatha as if seeing her for the first time. He eyed her long legs displayed under short skirt, her glossy hair, and was aware of the faint smell of French perfume which surrounded her.
    â€œI didn’t kiss Peta,” he said. “She kissed me. She sat on my lap and kissed me before I knew what she meant to do.”
    â€œAnd did you cast her off, saying, ‘I am not that kind of man?’”
    â€œI didn’t. I didn’t see it coming. What man would?”
    â€œI’ve got one friend who would see it coming a mile off,” said Agatha, thinking of Charles. Where was Charles? She realised she would rather have Charles with her than Gerald and then gave herself a mental slap on the wrist. Charles came and went in her life, often as cool and detached as a cat.
    â€œWe’ll see if Damian is at home,” said Agatha. “Surely he must have heard some gossip about Peta. And I’d really like to interview the daughter.”
    To her surprise, when she parked the car, Gerald ran round to open the door for her.
    They rang the bell and waited. The door was eventually opened by Lady Bellington. She greeted Agatha with, “Oh, you tiresome woman. First the police, now you. Still, if Damian wants you, I’ll need to put up with it.” She walked away from them, leaving the door open.
    â€œWhere is Damian?” called Agatha to her retreating back.
    â€œGarden,” Lady Bellington shouted over her shoulder before disappearing into a door and slamming it behind her.
    Said Agatha to Gerald, “Instead of searching through this rabbit warren of a place to find a door leading to the garden, let’s go out and walk round the building.”
    When they emerged, fitful sunlight was flickering through the ivy leaves covering the building. A chill breeze had sprung up. Agatha wished she had worn a coat. Then she realised she was still wearing the flat shoes she used for driving. She felt diminished and not only in height. But the gravel path around the house leading to the back would have been difficult to negotiate in high heels, so she walked on, trying not to feel dumpy.
    They found Damian seated in a lounge chair on a terrace at the back of the house. A gust of wind sent a flurry of red and gold autumn leaves swirling about him. He caught one and held it up. “One of the lost children of the dying year,” he said.
    And what do you reply to that? Agatha wondered. “Come and sit down,” he said.
    Agatha chose an upright metal garden chair, and Gerald perched on the edge of a lounger on the other side of Damian.
    â€œSo who’s the murderer?” he asked.
    â€œEarly days,” said Agatha. “Where is your sister, Andrea?”
    â€œGot back yesterday. The funeral is tomorrow. What’s left of dear old Dad, that is, after they’ve cut him up and extracted his bodily fluids.”
    â€œYou weren’t very fond of your