There Goes The Bride by M.C. Beaton

Author:M.C. Beaton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 2008-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

7

Agatha called on Mrs Bloxby the following morning. The vicar’s wife had heard about the death of Bert on television. “I really don’t see what the police are up to,” complained the vicar’s wife. “You cannot have three murders around the Bross-Tilkingtons without them being involved in some way not to mention their French friend.”

“What about the French friend?” asked Agatha defensively.

“He’s always on the scene. Have you thought of that? He is house-sitting for the Bross-Tilkingtons and then a body is found under a jetty on the property right after the boy said he had information for you.”

“Bert might just have fallen in and smashed his head on something,” said Agatha.

“The police are treating it as murder. For your own safety, Mrs Raisin, I would keep well clear of any of them.”

Agatha realized with a sinking heart that when Sylvan called at her cottage that evening, the faces behind the twitching lace curtains of Carsely would register his presence in the village.

“As a matter of fact,” said Agatha in what she hoped was a casual way, “he’s taking me out for dinner tonight.”

“Is that wise?”

“He’s an attractive Frenchman, I’m sure he’s not involved, and I haven’t had any fun in ages.”

“Do you mean sex?”

“You shock me.”

“Just a thought. Please don’t let your hormones cloud your usually sharp mind, Mrs Raisin.”

“I do owe him a favour.” Agatha told Mrs Bloxby about Toni’s adventure.

“I would make sure that dinner is all he gets,” said Mrs Bloxby with unusual severity. “It may be a chance, however, to extract some more information from him. Where do you plan to take him for dinner?”

Agatha had really planned to serve a candlelit dinner at home but she said airily, “I’ll think of somewhere.”

♦

But Mrs Bloxby’s remarks had caused her to think it might be better to take him out to a restaurant. And she was sure a Frenchman would not appreciate her microwave cuisine. She booked a table at the hotel in Mircester and then did little work that day, fitting it in between visits to Evesham to go to the beautician’s and then round to the hairdresser’s, Achille. Her favourite hairdresser, Jeanelle, was on holiday, so the manager, Gareth, took over, pointing out that her roots were showing. Tinting meant more time than Agatha felt she had to spare, but it just had to be done.

She eventually arrived home in a panic and tore everything out of her wardrobe looking for the perfect outfit. At last dressed in a slinky black velvet gown and high heels, and with a cashmere stole over her arm, she descended to await Sylvan’s arrival.

The day had been exhausting and she fell asleep, only to be awakened later by the ringing of the doorbell. She started up. The cats had been sleeping on her lap and her gown was covered in cat hairs.

Seizing a clothes brush, she hurriedly brushed down her dress and then opened the door. Sylvan stood there smiling broadly, and holding a large bouquet of red roses.

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