Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon - M. C. Beaton [60]
“Tell me all about it from the beginning.”
“Would you like coffee?”
“No, I would like a sherry. I am feeling tired.”
“Here! Sit down at the garden table and I’ll get you a sherry.” Agatha looked at her anxiously. “You do too much. Can’t you leave the parishioners to get on without you until you get a rest?”
“Maybe.” Mrs. Bloxby leaned back in her chair and raised her face to the sun.
Agatha came back with a decanter of sherry and two glasses. “You don’t usually drink.”
“This is a special occasion.”
“What’s that?” asked Agatha, pouring two glasses.
“I rarely take time off from my duties. But this is one of those times. Go on, tell me all about it.”
“You know a lot of it already,” said Agatha, “but I’ll begin at the beginning.
Mrs. Bloxby sipped her sherry and listened intently.
When Agatha had at last finished, she asked, “Did you ever read Kipling?”
“No. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“He wrote: ‘When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride/ He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside,/ But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail/ For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.’”
“I’ve heard the last bit. I didn’t know it was Kipling.”
“Oh, the man’s full of quotations. You see, you said that Trixie and Fairy were bullying Jessica. She was a bright student. Maybe they were jealous and wanted to bring her down to their level. Then it may be that Burt was genuinely in love with Jessica. Surely the fact that she was still a virgin bears that out. But he had been having a fling with Joyce. Joyce could have felt bitter and rejected. Mabel Smedley turns out to be computer-literate. Maybe she found something in her husband’s emails showing he was having an affair with Joyce.”
“And yet,” said Agatha slowly, “I still have a feeling that these murders are all linked.”
“You’ve been thinking too hard. Why don’t you take a train up to London and walk about the city or go to a gallery?”
Agatha squinted at her watch. “It’s two o’clock and I haven’t had lunch.”
“You could still make the train.”
“I’ll do that. Finish your sherry. I’ll just run up the stairs and get a few things.”
But when Agatha returned to the garden, the vicar’s wife was fast asleep. Agatha slowly lowered herself into a chair next to her. Somehow, she did not have the heart to wake her.
So she sat beside her while the cats climbed on her lap, feeling the peace that Mrs. Bloxby seemed able to exude even when asleep.
Jealousy, mused Agatha. Now there was a thought. She remembered when she had come across her ex-husband, James Lacey, entertaining a blonde in the pub, and how she had thrown a terrible scene. She remembered also how corrosive her jealousy had been, how it had taken her over completely. One murder fuelled by jealousy, she could understand. But three! And what did poor Jessica have to do with Smedley? If there had been any record of him visiting that Web site, then Mabel might have done it in a rage. But Patrick had checked carefully and Smedley had never been one of the subscribers. She wondered what Mabel had said to the police about her computer diploma.
The sun sank lower in the sky and Agatha’s stomach rumbled. Mrs. Bloxby let out a snore and Agatha smiled. Nice to know the saintly vicar’s wife could make vulgar human sounds.
Mrs. Bloxby snored again, choked and came suddenly awake and looked around startled. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Couple of hours.”
“Mrs. Raisin, you should have awakened me. You’ve missed your train.”
“It’s all right. You needed the rest. I’d changed my mind about going to London anyway.”
Mrs. Bloxby struggled up. “No, you didn’t. You let me sleep out of the kindness of your heart. I feel so much better. I’d better get back. My husband will wonder what’s become of me.”
Agatha looked at her curiously. “Have you ever been jealous?”
“Oh, many times. It’s an ordinary human feeling. But it’s when ordinary human feelings run riot that the danger starts. Thank you so much.”
When she had gone, Agatha