The Day the Floods Came by M.C. Beaton

Author:M.C. Beaton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 2001-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

6

Agatha awoke next morning to a sunny day and restored spirits. She would forget about the case and phone Roy in London and see if there was any free-lance work on offer to keep her busy. She looked out of her kitchen window. The garden seemed to be one green mass of weeds. Normally, she would have asked Joe Blythe, a village local who charged high rates for painfully slow work, but the realization – if Roy had nothing for her – that she was facing a prospect of inactivity, spurred her to find a hoe, put on gardening gloves and get down to the task of doing the weeding herself.

Her cats curled around her legs in the warm sunlight in a rare show of affection. Perhaps if I turned into a real village woman, pottering around the house and garden all day, my cats would appreciate it, thought Agatha. She should never have become involved in trying to solve Kylie’s murder. Somehow, John’s very lack of response to her as a woman had undermined her confidence and she felt that when it came to detective work she was nothing more than a bumbling amateur. She was just working the tough roots of a dandelion out of the soil when she heard her doorbell ring.

Agatha sat back on her heels, debating whether to answer it. In the days of James Lacey, she would have run to the door, her heart bursting with hope. But even the thought that it might be John did not move her. The bell went again, and faintly she heard a voice shouting, “Police!”

Now what? Agatha got to her feet and made her way quickly through the house. She opened the door just as the bell shrilled again. Detective Inspector Brudge stood there, flanked by a policewoman and a plain-clothes officer.

Agatha led them into the living-room. “Where were you last night?” demanded Brudge.

“Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’ve often seen this on television and I didn’t believe it happened in real life,” said Agatha. “No, I won’t just answer the question until you tell me what this is about.”

They locked eyes for a long moment, then he shrugged. “Mrs. Anstruther-Jones was found dead in the early hours of this morning.”

The wig, the glasses, thought Agatha desperately. Did someone mistake her for me?

“How was she killed?”

“Hit and run.”

“Where?”

“On Waterside. May we have your movements for last night?”

“I came back here late afternoon,” said Agatha. “I went to visit Mrs. Bloxby, the vicar’s wife.”

“At what time?”

“Oh, around seven o’clock. I’m not sure. We talked for a bit. Then I came back here.” Agatha steeled herself. “Mrs. Anstruther-Jones called on me.”

“Time?”

“Again I’m not sure. Ten, maybe.”

“And what did she want?”

“She was meeting an old flame. She wanted to borrow my blond wig and glasses. She said he was married and she was meeting him for a late drink at the Evesham Hotel and didn’t want to be recognized. I gave them to her.”

“So what was she doing walking along Waterside? Why

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