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

father, were you?” asked Gerald.
    â€œHe could be tiresome. I had a poem published in The Spectator when I was only sixteen. I was so proud. I showed it to him. He punched me in the face and called me a poofter. He said if he caught me writing poetry, he would cut off my allowance. So that was the end of that.”
    â€œIf you disliked him so much,” said Agatha, “why are you so keen to find out who murdered him?”
    He giggled. “Oh, you are a one, duckie. To shake the man by the hand. Seriously. I’m prime suspect, and I want you to get the police off my back.”
    â€œDoes Andrea inherit anything?” asked Gerald.
    â€œHer allowance, which is madly generous, has to go on being paid. But I wish she’d stop mooning about here and go somewhere, and stop moping around the place.”
    â€œWe would like to speak to her,” said Agatha.
    â€œWhatever floats your boat, sweetie.” He leaned back and shouted, “Mrs. Dinky!”
    The name conjured up visions of a pretty little maid, but it was a small, aggressive-looking woman who appeared through the French windows. “Fetch Andrea, would you?” ordered Damian.
    â€œIs that your housekeeper?” asked Agatha.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut it’s not the one I first interviewed.”
    â€œSacked her. Malicious gossip. Dinky’s from the village and knows how to keep her mouth shut, particularly as I own her cottage.”
    â€œDoesn’t the sacked housekeeper live in your village?”
    â€œMrs. Bull? Yes, Ivy Cottage. Ah, here is my beloved sister. I’ll leave you to it.”
    â€œOh, so it’s you.” Andrea glared at Agatha and Gerald. “I was told a lady and a gentleman were waiting to see me. Mistake.”
    Despite the fact that her poor background had recently been spread about the village of Carsely, Agatha still had the fear that people might see through the façade she had built up of good clothes and posh accent to her origins in a Birmingham slum. She forced down a burst of bad temper and said, “We are trying to find out who murdered your father, and we would appreciate it if you could tell us if you can think of anyone who might have wanted to kill him.”
    Andrea started to walk away. “I know who killed him,” she said over her shoulder.
    â€œWait!” cried Agatha. “Who is it?”
    â€œDamian, of course.”

 
    Chapter Four
    â€œWait!” called Agatha, but Andrea ran off into the house.
    Damian appeared through the French windows, and from the mocking smile on his face, Agatha guessed he had heard every word.
    â€œSo did you really kill your father?” asked Agatha.
    â€œNo, but Andrea would like to think so. The pair of you look quite shocked. Don’t listen to her, or you’ll never find who really bumped my father off.”
    â€œWhy would Andrea want you to be the murderer?”
    â€œBecause all the inheritance would then go to her, wicked me not being able to profit from crime.”
    â€œI would like to talk to the housekeeper you sacked,” said Agatha.
    â€œHoping that a disgruntled ex-employee will dish the dirt? As I told you, her name is Mrs. Bull, and she lives in Ivy cottage. It’s right on the green. You can’t miss it.”
    â€œIs there any chance of speaking to your sister again?” asked Gerald.
    â€œNot a hope in hell. Run along and detect elsewhere.”
    Mrs. Bull looked like a gargoyle. Her ears stuck out a right angles, and she had a large nose and a curved-up mouth. Her eyes were green, the colour of sea-washed glass and just as opaque. She was very tall and thin. Agatha made the introductions.
    â€œYou’d best come in,” she said. “I can tell you a thing or two about that lot.”
    She led the way into a dark parlour. Ivy Cottage lived up to its name. Ivy blocked most of the light from the windows. The room was cluttered with china ornaments,