Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

"See you later." Agatha turned and walked away. Charles had been right. They were mad.

She decided to go to that pub and see if Jimmy turned up. She was perfectly sure he had not been out on a case. The desk sergeant was simply trying to keep her away from him.

She waited in the pub for an hour but there was no sign of Jimmy. She went back to the hotel and got her car and drove to the police station and waited outside. Wyckhadden seemed to have returned to being a relatively crime-free zone. Hardly anyone came or went. The day wore on. She had made an early start and was beginning to feel sleepy.

Then she saw his tall figure emerging from the police station. She fumbled for the door handle of the car, wrenched open the door and called, "Jimmy!"

He turned and saw her and that old familiar glad smile lit up his face. He still loves me, thought Agatha. Thank God. She hurried towards him.

"This is a surprise," he said. "What brings you back?"

"I felt so badly about the way I treated you. I wanted to see you again."

"Let's go for a drink," said Jimmy, tucking her arm in his. "I've a lot to tell you."

They walked to a nearby pub. How could I ever have disliked this town, thought Agatha happily. I'll live here with my Jimmy for the rest of my life.

"Your usual, Agatha?" Agatha nodded. It was like old times. Jimmy got her a gin and tonic and a half pint of lager for himself.

"Now tell me what's happening?" asked Agatha. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror opposite: shining brown hair, well made up, neat linen suit, she felt secure and content.

Jimmy put his hand over hers and looked into her eyes.

"I'm getting married, Agatha, and it's thanks to you."

Agatha stared at him. Then she looked at the mirror. A tired middle-aged woman looked back.

"It's like this," said Jimmy eagerly, "I was shocked rigid at your behavior with that baronet. I thought I'd never look at another woman again. And then Gladwyn walked into the police station.

"Gladwyn Evans." Jimmy flushed slightly and removed his hand from Agatha's. "She's a young widow. Only thirty-five. There had been a burglary at her home, and do you know what, she lives practically next door to me, but what with work and the murders, I hadn't had time to notice her. She'd only moved here recently. We got friendly. I found myself telling her all about you."

Agatha groaned inwardly.

"She was most sympathetic and with her living so near, we began to see a lot of each other and then she began preparing meals for me. I couldn't believe that such a pretty young woman would want to look after me. I didn't dare make a move until she said, just like that, 'Why don't we get married?' It was the talking about you that got us discussing all sorts of intimate things, you see."

"I'm very happy for you," said Agatha. "What about ... er ... the other problem?"

"Impotence? Forget it." He leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Gladwyn's pregnant! And I'm a father-to-be. Me, at my age. I feel I've won the lottery. No, better than winning the lottery."

"Here's to you," said Agatha faintly, raising her glass.

"Let's go and meet her."

"What?"

"You would like to meet her, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, that would be very nice," said Agatha weakly. She wanted to run away, far away.

But she meekly left the pub with Jimmy and they walked back to their cars. "I forget where you live, Jimmy."

"Just follow me."

So Agatha followed his car, although she longed to swing the wheel and head for the Garden, pack up and go home. Wyckhadden now seemed a hostile place, a place full of contemptuous eyes.

Gladwyn was young, yes, but she was probably some sort of housewifely frump with thick glasses and greasy hair. So Agatha consoled herself as she got out of her car and followed Jimmy up his garden path.

The door was opened by a plump, black-haired Welshwoman with smooth white skin and large brown eyes. "You'll never guess who this is!" cried Jimmy. "Agatha Raisin!"

A flash of shock followed by a flash of pure hatred flickered in Gladwyn's large eyes and then she smiled, "Come in."

Agatha went into Jimmy's transformed bungalow. The walls had been painted in warm pastel colors. There was a sewing machine set up in the living room, a cozy clutter of magazines and books and framed prints on the walls.

"I'll get tea," said Gladwyn in a lilting voice, "and leave you to talk."

"You'll need to see the nursery before you go," said Jimmy. "Oh, there's something else. You know that fur coat of yours?"

"Yes."

"Gladwyn knows this furrier and he did a beautiful job of restoring it. It looks like new. You don't mind?"

"No," said Agatha who suddenly found she minded like hell.

"Did you find that rolling pin?" asked Agatha.

"Yes, it was indeed buried in the garden."

"And I suppose from DNA samples you identified any traces of blood on it as Francie's?"