Dishing the Dirt Read Free Page B

for us to find out and for you to keep your nose out of police business,” snapped Wilkes.
    Agatha explained she had not left the office until eight o’clock in the evening. She had stopped for petrol outside Mircester. Yes, she had the receipt.
    Agatha looked to Bill for sympathy but his face was blank.
    By the time she was allowed to go and told not to leave the country, Agatha was in a rage.
    Mrs. Bloxby, who had driven her to police headquarters, got the full blast of Agatha’s tirade on the road back to Carsely. At last, when Agatha had paused for breath, Mrs. Bloxby said mildly, “But what a great incentive to find out who murdered her. I am sure it would be a wonderful idea to get revenge on Mr. Wilkes.”
    “Yes,” said Agatha slowly. “There must be something fishy in Jill’s background. I’ve asked that private detective of hers to detect for me.”
    Mrs. Bloxby looked surprised. “Why did you do that? You have detectives of your own.”
    “True,” said Agatha. “I did it on the spur of the minute, but I will need all the help I can get. You see, there suddenly seems to be a great amount of adultery going on, and much as I hate divorce cases, they pay well and we are all stretched to the limit. Now I know you don’t like to gossip, but I have to start somewhere. Who in Carsely has been consulting Jill?”
    “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. There is your cleaner, Mrs. Simpson.”
    “What! Doris? She’s the sanest person I know. Anyone else?”
    “I believe Miss Bannister went to see her.”
    “That old cow. I could murder her .”
    “Mrs. Raisin!”
    “Well, she’s the reason I have been stuck in the police station half the night. Who else?”
    “Old Mrs. Tweedy.”
    “You mean the old girl who lives round the corner from the vicarage. What’s up with her?”
    “Nothing more than loneliness, I should think,” said Mrs. Bloxby. Then she added reluctantly, “Mr. Lacey spent a great deal of time with Miss Davent. Of course, there were women from the other villages but I don’t know who they are.”
    As Mrs. Bloxby turned the corner into Lilac Lane where Agatha lived, they saw a car parked outside James’s cottage. Bill Wong and detective Alice Peterson were just getting out of it. Bill saw Agatha and signalled to the vicar’s wife to stop. “Don’t go to bed yet,” he said to Agatha. “I want to ask you a few more questions. Mrs. Bloxby, a minute of your time.”
    “Do you want me to come in with you?” asked Mrs. Bloxby as Agatha got out of the car at her cottage.
    “No, you’ve done enough and thank you,” said Agatha. She had a sudden impulse to hug Mrs. Bloxby, but resisted. Agatha Raisin, somehow, could not hug anyone—handsome men excepted.
    Once inside her cottage, she slumped down on her sofa. The cats prowled around her hopefully. Agatha often forgot that she had fed them and would feed them again, but this time, she felt too tired to move.
    Her eyes were just closing when she heard the imperative summons of her doorbell. She struggled to her feet, went to open it and stared bleakly at the two detectives.
    Agatha led the way to the kitchen. “Have a seat and make it quick,” she said.
    “We’ve got to go over it again,” said Bill soothingly. “You should know better than to go around threatening to kill people.”
    “I was exasperated,” said Agatha. “How dare she hire a private detective to dig up my background?”
    “We will be interviewing Clive Tremund,” said Bill. “Begin at the beginning.”
    Agatha did not want to say again that she had initially lied to Jill about her upbringing. Tell a detective that you’ve lied about one thing and they might assume you’re lying about everything else. She detailed the previous day. She had been working on a divorce case and had been out on it with Phil. He had the pictures to prove it. They then had both met with the client’s lawyer and handed over the evidence. Agatha worked late, typing up notes