The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [31]
Charles was sprawled on the sofa watching a rerun of Frasier. He heard the bell but decided not to answer it. Probably some boring woman from the village.
Emma retreated, baffled.
Frasier being finished, Charles decided to visit Mrs. Bloxby to pass the time until Agatha returned.
Emma, now downstairs, saw him pass the window. She rushed towards her front door, but tripped over a footstool and went sprawling. When she had picked herself up and opened her door, there was no sign of him. She set off in pursuit, out of Lilac Lane and past the general stores. There, ahead of her, turning off from the main street down the cobbled lane which led to the church, was Charles.
There’s no service today, thought Emma, so he must be going to call on Mrs. Bloxby.
She drew back a little. Let him get inside the vicarage and then she could stroll casually up and ring the bell. Mrs. Bloxby would not think it strange. Everyone in the village called on Mrs. Bloxby. She would wait for five minutes.
“It’s good of you to let me in,” Charles was saying. “Why should I not let you in?”
“It was just when I rang your doorbell,” said Charles, “that I suddenly realized how irritating people can be when they just land up on your doorstep without telephoning and expect a welcome.”
“Were you thinking about anyone specific?’’’
“That Emma Comfrey who works for Agatha. Rolled up this
morning at my home.”
“Oh dear. You haven’t encouraged her in any way, have
you?”
“I took her out for lunch a couple of times. But she’s old enough, just, to be my mother.”
“Come into the garden. We’ll have coffee there.”
Charles relaxed in the pleasant vicarage garden under the shade of an old cedar. The sun blazed down. As Mrs. Bloxby prepared the coffee, there was a comforting tinkle of china from the kitchen and a smell of warm scones. Up on the hill a tractor crossed a field, looking like a toy.
The doorbell rang.
Charles stiffened as he heard the door open and Mrs. Bloxby say loudly, “Why, Mrs. Comfrey.”
Charles shot to his feet, feeling suddenly hunted. He vaulted nimbly over the garden wall into the churchyard and hid behind a sloping gravestone.
“He was here a minute ago,” he heard Mrs. Bloxby say. “He must have remembered something and just left. I’m sure you can catch him if you hurry.”
Charles stayed where he was until he heard Mrs. Bloxby calling, “You can come out now.”
Charles climbed back over the garden wall and brushed down his trousers.
“Coffee’s ready,” said Mrs. Bloxby placidly.
Charles grinned as he sat down at the garden table. “I didn’t know you were capable of lying.”
“I didn’t lie. I said you had left and so you had. Mrs. Comfrey has blonded her hair and is wearing full make-up. What have you done?”
“I was only being kind to the old bird. She’s had a rough life. Never mind her. I’m waiting for Aggie to get back to tell me all about the shooting.”
Emma waited on her chair on the landing. She saw Roy and Agatha return, and then Charles came strolling along Lilac Lane.
Once more she decided to wait five minutes and then go and join them.
She kept glancing down at her watch. How slow the second hand crawled around the dial! At last, she straightened up, went downstairs and marched next door.
Agatha opened the door. “Why, Emma. What can I do for you?”
“I thought I might join you for a coffee.”
“I’m afraid now is not a good time,” said Agatha firmly. “You’ve got the whole weekend off, Emma. Make the most of it. I’ll see you in the office on Monday.”
Emma marched back to her own cottage, back ramrod-straight, and two spots of angry colour burning in her cheeks.
She hated Agatha Raisin. Agatha must have sensed Charles’s growing interest in her and was jealously keeping him to herself.
“That was Emma,” said Agatha, joining Roy and Charles in the garden. “But I couldn’t ask her in because I want to tell you about the case and Emma mustn’t know about us finding the body before the police. So where was I? Oh, yes, the more I think about that suicide, the more worried I get.”
“Say it wasn’t suicide,” said Roy. “Who’s the