The Blood of an Englishman by M. C. Beaton Read Free Book Online

walked in again in time to hear him say, “Get rid of her all right?”
    â€œWhy, Mr. Southern,” cooed Agatha. “I thought I heard your voice.”
    â€œOh, what is it?” he demanded. “I want to get home before the roads are blocked.”
    â€œDid you murder Bert Simple?”
    â€œGet the hell out of here and never speak to me again,” roared George.
    â€œI was just…,” began Agatha, and then ducked as a mug bearing the legend WELCOME TO WINTER PARVA went sailing over her head. She beat a hasty retreat.
    Agatha decided to go home to Carsely to look after her cats. It was a slow, treacherous journey. What if it’s worse on Saturday? fretted Agatha. What if I can’t meet him for lunch?
    She let herself into her thatched cottage. Her cats, Hodge and Boswell, wound their sinuous bodies round her ankles, nearly tripping her up. She prepared their meal of fresh fish and then cooked a microwavable vindaloo curry for herself.
    When she had finished eating, Agatha phoned Toni and asked how the various investigations were going on.
    â€œI might have a bit of gossip for you,” said Toni. “A friend of mine was telling me that the widow, Gwen Simple, is the star of the Mircester Players, along with a schoolteacher called John Hale. There are rumours of a romance there. Would you like me to pop round to the theatre and see if I can find out more?”
    â€œNo!” shouted Agatha. She could not bear the idea of beautiful Toni even breathing the same air as John. “I mean, you’ve got a lot to do. Get on with it and leave the Winter Parva case to me.”
    When Toni rang off, Simon, who was about to leave the office, said, “What’s up with Aggie? I could hear her shouting no, right across the room.”
    â€œI think she might be in love again.”
    â€œWho with?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œComing for a drink?”
    â€œI’ve got a date,” lied Toni.
    Simon went out, slamming the door behind him. Toni sighed. If only Simon would find a girlfriend and stop pestering her.
    *   *   *
    The Cotswolds lay under a pristine coating of snow when Agatha set out the next day, hoping her snow tyres would grip the road. A white disk of a sun shone overhead. Scenes straight out of a Christmas card lay round every corner. Agatha marvelled at how innocent everything seemed. And yet someone had been driven to murder Bert Simple in an extremely brutal way.
    Perhaps it was all to do with amateur dramatics and the fact that everyone wanted to be famous these days. That might cause murderous spite and a desire for revenge.
    A man was walking his dog, children were building a snowman in a garden—the school must be closed—and a woman was hurrying home with a basket of shopping. Agatha suddenly felt weary of detective work. People needed to be interviewed again. She had a sudden longing to stop the car and go up to a cottage and ask to sit by the fire and forget about the whole blasted business.
    Then she thought that perhaps she should make a U-turn, go to the vicarage and use her friend, Mrs. Bloxby, as a sounding board. She slowly eased the car round on the icy road and headed back into Carsely.
    *   *   *
    Ten minutes later, Agatha was ensconced in the vicarage drawing room in front of a log fire with a cup of tea in one hand and a buttered scone in the other.
    Mrs. Bloxby sat quietly with her hands folded in her lap, listening intently. When Agatha had finished, she said, “It seems to be a crime caused by sex and jealousy. If the murder had been performed in a murderous rage, it would be different. But someone plotted not only to kill him but to destroy his manhood in the process. Mrs. Simple is a very attractive woman.”
    â€œIf you like that sort of thing,” said Agatha sourly.
    â€œMen do like that sort of thing. She has the looks to rouse protective feelings in men and also