Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

"They're still playing Scrabble," marvelled Agatha. "People get murdered, people fall out of windows, and they still play Scrabble. Oh, by the way, would you believe it, I've got the wrong cat."

"What?"

"Scrabble isn't Francie's cat."

"Then maybe Daisy came to your room to do you wrong. Animals sense danger."

Mr. Martin approached them. "This is terrible, terrible," he said. "We're ruined."

"Oh, let the press in," said Agatha wearily. "They'll drink a lot and spend a lot. And when the Season starts, you'll have a full house, People are very ghoulish. Your hotel will be famous."

"But our residents won't like the press here."

"There's only the three of them left," said Charles. "Why shouldn't you make some money out of all this tragedy? The press are big spenders. They'll drink your bar dry."

Mr. Martin brightened. "I suppose they won't be here that long."

"Exactly," said Agatha.

She and Charles went upstairs.

"No funny business tonight," said Agatha severely.

"You do have a way with words, Aggie," said Charles.

But Agatha Raisin felt rather peeved when he finally got into bed and started to read one of her paperbacks and was still reading when she went to sleep.

By morning, before they left the hotel, there was a telephone call from the police telling them that the inquest would be on Wednesday at the coroner's court at ten in the morning.

"Cheer up, Aggie," said Charles as they drove out of Wyckhadden, "you'll only need to see the wretched place one more time."

Agatha tried very hard on the road home to banish thoughts of James Lacey from her mind. But she imagined over and over again the pair of them sitting in some Cotswold restaurant while she told her story.

Finally Charles parked outside her cottage and helped her in with her suitcase and cat box.

"I won't stay, Aggie. I'll call round next Wednesday about six-thirty in the morning and pick you up for the inquest. Or, if you like, we could go down the night before."

Agatha repressed a shudder. "No, I don't mind an early start."

When Charles had left, she let the cat out of its box. To her relief her other two cats, Boswell and Hodge, seemed to accept the newcomer. She fed them and turned them out into the garden.

Then she picked up the phone and called James Lacey. There was no reply, nor had his car been outside his house.

She walked along to the vicarage. "Oh, good, you're back," said Mrs. Bloxby. She called to her husband, "Agatha's back."

The vicar rose and bolted out of the door. "Going to the church," he called.

"Come in," said Mrs. Bloxby, "and sit down. It's all over the newspapers."

"Do they say it was me who found out the murderess?" asked Agatha.

"No, they say something about the hotel manager having overheard Daisy Jones telling one of the residents she had done it. Was it you? How clever. Tell me about it."

So Agatha told her story and as she talked in the quiet calm of the vicarage living-room, it all began to seem very strange and far away.

"And what about your inspector? You haven't mentioned him."

"It's all off. He found me in bed with Charles."

"How awful. But you are not heart-broken."

"Just very ashamed. Jimmy's a good man. I regret losing him. I could have made it work."

"But you don't love him, and if you married him, you would have to live in Wyckhadden."

"God forbid. I've never known a place with such changes in weather. There'll probably be a tornado on the day of the inquest."

"We had bad weather here. Terrible floods. The rescue boats were out in the streets of Evesham and even Moreton-on-Marsh was flooded."

"So where's James?" asked Agatha abruptly.

"He left his key with Fred Griggs." Fred Griggs was the village policeman. "He told Fred he was going to stay with some people in Sussex."

"So he'll be back soon?"

"It seems like that."

So Agatha watched and waited, hoping always to see James Lacey's car drive up to his cottage.

James arrived home late on the evening before the inquest. He did his laundry and then packed his suitcase again. He had made arrangements to go to Greece. He thought briefly of calling on Agatha in the morning to say goodbye. But he didn't want to hear her burbling on about her inspector.

The sound of a car stopping outside Agatha's cottage early in the morning awoke him. He struggled out of bed and went to the side window on the half-landing and looked down at the entrance to Agatha's cottage. She emerged with Charles. They got in Charles's car. They looked very happy.

He went back to bed.

He was part of Agatha Raisin's past now, so he would make damn sure she stayed part of his.

The inquest was less harrowing than Agatha had imagined. She and Charles told their stories.

The press were waiting outside. But Agatha had been too subdued by the sight of Jimmy in the court to grab her moment of glory. She got in Charles's car, deaf to the questions and ignoring the flashes going off in her face.

"Goodbye forever," she said as Charles drove out of the town.

TEN