Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

"I'm afraid the magistrate, Mrs. Beale, is a vegetarian and does not approve of fur coats. You can pick your coat up at the police station"

Agatha shuddered. "I don't want to see it again. You can have it, Jimmy. Give it to some charity."

"I had a look at it. All it needs is the paint cleaned off and the slashes sewn up."

"Not worth it. Someone else would probably have a go at me. That coat did mean a lot to me once. I saved and saved for it."

"You could always use the fur to line a coat."

"No, you have it. Give it away."

"All right. What about Sunday? I don't know if I can get the time off with all this murder. But now the super's in charge, I'm taking a back seat."

"Doesn't that bother you?" asked Agatha curiously.

"No, these things happen in a big case like this. With all the press breathing down our necks, I'm glad in a way not to be totally responsible for solving the case. I'd better be getting back."

Agatha walked down to the promenade. The tide had receded. She walked to the sea-wall and looked over. The shingly beach was a mess of driftwood and debris: Coke cans, plastic cups, plastic wrappers, and even less savoury items of modern civilization, as if the whole sea had regurgitated all the unnatural mess on the beach.

And picking its way through the debris came a battered-looking white cat. Was that Francie's cat? Agatha made her way to a flight of stone steps leading down to the beach.

The cat came towards her and stopped. It was painfully thin and its white fur was matted and dirty.

"Oh, you poor thing," said Agatha. She crouched down and held out her hand. "Kitty, kitty."

The cat gave a dry, rusty mew. Agatha tentatively stroked the wet fur.

Then she gathered the cat up in her arms and headed for the hotel.

Mr. Martin met her as she walked into the reception area and said severely, "No pets allowed."

"It's only for a little while," said Agatha defensively. "Look, I'll make sure it doesn't mess anything and I'll pay the fall hotel bill."

Mr. Martin hesitated. He had been regretting his offer to pay her bill in compensation for the coat. And now, with this second murder, who knew when Agatha Raisin would leave?

"Very well," he said. "But do tell the others this is a one-off situation."

Agatha carried the cat up to her room. She picked up the phone and ordered milk and a dish of canned tuna fish.

When it arrived, the cat ate greedily. I'd better go out and get a litter tray and stuff, thought Agatha.

She went down to reception and asked for the name of a car-rental company, and having secured it, ordered a taxi which drove her to the car-rental firm. She chose a small black Ford Fiesta, drove into the centre of the town and asked around for the whereabouts of a pet shop and was told there wasn't one, but that she could get most things at the supermarket. She bought cans of pet food, a litter tray, bags of litter and a brush.

When she had carried all the stuff up to her room, it was to find the cat in the middle of her bed, busy washing itself. "I wonder what you are called?" said Agatha. "I'll have to call you something. And what am I going to do with you? I'll need to find a home for you. It's not fair on Boswell and Hodge if I take you home. And aren't you mild and friendly? Not at all like the horror who flew at me." Talking away, she sat down and began to brush the cat, which stretched languidly and purred. "I know, I'll call you Scrabble. I'll always think of Scrabble when I think of Wyckhadden."

As she brushed the cat, Agatha's thoughts turned to Jennifer. How was she to get her alone? She always seemed to be with Mary.

* * *

The following day, it was Jennifer herself who offered the solution. She was alone, eating breakfast when Agatha walked into the dining-room.

"Where's Mary?" asked Agatha.

"Got a bit of a migraine. She hasn't had one in ages. I've given her pills. She'll have a bit of a sleep and then she'll be all right."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Please."

Agatha sat down. "You're in the morning papers," said Jennifer. "All about you getting trapped on that Ferris wheel. The fairground people are sticking to their story that the wheel got stuck."

Agatha walked over to the sideboard where the morning papers were spread out and picked up the Hadderton Gazette. She carried it back to the table and scanned the news item.

"They make light of it," said Agatha, putting the paper down. "Jimmy had to climb down from the top in that storm. He could have slipped and been killed. I could have frozen to death."

"They're all frightened of the gypsies around here," said Jennifer. "The police usually don't do much. Jimmy Jessop was the only one who occasionally went after them. They'll probably get off with it. Some safety inspector will look at the Ferris wheel and then they'll get a smack on the wrist and told to be more careful, that's all. Agatha, I wonder if you'd come to Marks with me. There's a trouser suit I want you to look at."

"That'll suit me fine. I'm not doing anything this morning."