Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

"He's got a lot of new staff to pay," said Mary. "I say, we're going to a dance on the pier tonight. Want to come?"

"Why not?" said Agatha.

But when she went up to her room after dinner, she suddenly began thrusting all her clothes back into her suitcase. She carried it down to the desk and paid her bill. "Family troubles," she said to the surprised receptionist. "Got to go."

As she drove out of Wyckhadden, she repressed a superstitious shiver. Janine had cursed them all. Daisy and the colonel were dead. Which one next?

She drove along the promenade, now hung with fairy lights. And coming along arm in arm were Jimmy and Gladwyn. Gladwyn was wearing the mink coat. I hope some animal libber murders her, thought Agatha fiercely. Why can't I get away with being unpolitically correct? People even swear at me for smoking.

How weary and how lonely and how long the road back to Carsely seemed.

When she finally let herself into her cottage, she checked her answering service. No one had phoned, no Charles, no James, no one from the village.

She went wearily to bed surrounded by cats.

"So," said Mrs. Bloxby, sympathetically the next day. "It was a disaster."

"Total humiliation," said Agatha who had called the following day to tell the vicar's wife all about it.

"It wouldn't have worked, you know," said Mrs Bloxby. "He wouldn't ever have trusted you and every time you had a marital quarrel, Charles's name would be thrown in your face. It's this craving for excitement that emanates from you. You'll always stir things up."

"Not any more," said Agatha. "I'm weary. I'm settled. Me and my cats."

"I hope so. There's a meeting of the ladies society here tomorrow."

"I'll come. I'll help you with the catering."

"That is good of you." Mrs. Bloxby then prattled on about village affairs and the latest fund raising project. At last Agatha rose and took her leave.

"Has that awful woman gone?" asked the vicar, popping his head round the study door.

"You're very hard on her, Alf," said Mrs. Bloxby. "She's got a good heart."

The vicar kissed his wife on the top of her head and smiled down at her fondly. "You love everyone."

"And you forget that's supposed to be part of your job."

"What does she think of James's blonde moving in?"

Mrs. Bloxby looked uncomfortable. "I hadn't the heart to tell her."

"Coward!"

Agatha walked back to Lilac Lane where her cottage was. It was then she saw a long, low, red sports car parked outside James's cottage and smoke rising from the chimney.

He was home! All her misery fled. They would sit and talk and she would tell him all about the murders. She knocked on his door.

It was opened by a tall slim blonde, about thirty-something, wearing cut off jeans and one of James's shirts knotted at the waist.

"Is James at home?" asked Agatha.

"No, he's in Greece. I met him there. He said I could use the cottage until he got back."

"When will that be?"

"Don't know. Isn't he a sweetie?"

"Yes. See you."

Agatha clumped off to her own cottage. She fed the cats and let them out into the garden.

There was an aching pain where her heart should be.

CONTINUE READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

M. C. BEATON'S NEXT BOOK

AGATHA RAISIN AND THE

FAIRIES OF FRYFAM

NOW AVAILABLE FROM

ST. MARTIN'S PAPERBACKS

AGATHA Raisin was selling up and leaving Carsely for good.

Or rather, that had been the plan.

She had already rented a cottage in the village of Fryfam in Norfolk. She had rented blind. She neither knew the village or anywhere else in Norfolk. A fortune-teller had told her that her destiny lay in Norfolk. Her next-door neighbour, the love of her life, James Lacey, had departed without saying goodbye and so she had decided to move to Norfolk and had chosen the village of Fryfam by sticking a pin in the map. A call to the Fryfam police station had put her in touch with a local estate agent, the cottage was rented, and all Agatha had to do was sell her own cottage and leave.

But the problem lay in the people who came to view the house. Either the women were too attractive and Agatha was not going to have an attractive woman living next door to James, or they were sour and grumpy, and she did not want to inflict such people on the village.

She was due to move into her rented Norfolk cottage at the beginning of October and it was now heading to the end of September. Bright-coloured autumn leaves swirled about the Cotswold Lanes. It was an Indian summer of lazy mellow sunny days and misty nights. Never had Carsely seemed more beautiful. But Agatha was determined to get rid of her obsession for James Lacey. Fryfam was probably beautiful as well.

Agatha was just stiffening up her weakening sinews when the doorbell rang. She opened the door. Two small round people stood there. "Good morning," said the woman brightly. "We are Mr. and Mrs. Baxter-Semper. We've come to view the house."