The Deadly Dance - M. C. Beaton [76]
The turkey was delivered. It was too large to go in the fridge, so Agatha hung it outside the back door. It did not cross her mind that if it was too large for the fridge, it might be too large for her oven.
That was a fact she discovered only on the morning of the dinner party.
She could go and buy another smaller one from the supermarket, but this one was free-range and good quality.
Then she remembered there was a large oven in the kitchen in the village hall. She phoned up Harry Blythe, the chairman of the parish council, and he said, yes, she could use it.
She stuffed the bird, which seemed to take an enormous amount of sausage stuffing. Then she covered the breast with strips of streaky bacon. Finally it was done. She put it in the car and drove to the village hall.
The gas taps on the oven were worn with age and she could not gauge the temperature, so she took a guess.
Agatha slammed the oven door shut just as her mobile phone rang. It was Charles. “Oh, Charles,” said Agatha, “I’m so glad you are coming. I thought you’d never speak to me again.”
“How many are going to be there?”
“About thirteen of us.”
“I hope no one’s superstitious. Getting a caterer in?” “I’m doing all the cooking myself.” “Aggie, are you going to microwave thirteen Christmas dinners?”
“Not a bit of it,” said Agatha proudly. “I’ve this great big fresh turkey. It’s so big I had to put it in the oven in the village hall.”
“Look, would you like me to come early and help?”
“Thanks, but I can cope.”
Agatha returned home and set about preparing the starters on her best china. She had caved in and bought the sauce, so she found the preparation no problem at all. She had already cooked the sprouts, thinking she could heat them up in the microwave. She baked the stuffed mushrooms and then set them aside. They could be warmed up as well.
The kitchen was beginning to look a mess, with dirty dishes and pots and pans.
Agatha decided to go upstairs and change. She put on a long red velvet gown with a slit on one side and very high heels. A gold necklace was the finishing touch.
She went back to the kitchen and tied a long apron over her dress. Surely time to sit down and have a drink. She was feeling exhausted.
Agatha poured herself a large gin and tonic. Then she heard the sound of a siren racing through the village. She stiffened and then relaxed. Everyone who might have threatened her was now dead or locked up.
The phone rang. It was Mrs. Bloxby. “I just called to make sure you were coping all right.”
“Fine,” said Agatha proudly. “Got everything in hand. The bird was too big for my oven, so I took it up to the oven at the village hall.”
“Oh, Mrs. Raisin. Someone just called me and said there was a fire engine at the hall and smoke pouring out of the building.”
“Got to go.”
Agatha rushed out to her car and drove to the village hall. Harry Blythe was standing outside, looking furious.
He hailed her with “You turned the gas jet too high and that bird of yours began to burn up. The smoke alarms went off and I phoned the fire brigade. It’s only smoke, I grant you, but the smoke damage is awful. The walls will all need to be repainted.”
“I’ll get the decorators in,” said Agatha desperately. “What about my bird?”
A fireman emerged from the smoke carrying a roasting pan in his gloved hands. It held a large blackened mound.
Agatha was desperate. She had to stand there and explain herself to the fire chief. She had to mollify Harry Blythe by promising to get decorators in the very next day. Harry began to look almost cheerful. The village hall had been badly in need of redecorating anyway.
“Do you want this?” asked the fireman, holding out the charred turkey.
“No, thank you,” said Agatha bleakly. “Throw the damn thing away.”
She glanced at her watch. Her guests were due to arrive in an hour.
She went to the delicatessen counter at the general stores and bought up all their sliced turkey. Then she hurried back to her cottage.
She opened the door to the sound of the smoke alarm in the