Free Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death by MC Beaton Page A

suddenly lost colour and meaning. Her fling with Guy Freemont began to seem to her distinctly sordid.
    She had again lost interest in any investigation. When they had finished their – typically English – pub meal of lasagne and chips, Agatha said, ‘I’d like to go to Gerry’s in Evesham first. It’s that new supermarket.’
    ‘Why?’ asked Roy. ‘One of the councillors work there? I thought they were all pretty well-heeled.’
    ‘No, it’s just I have no food in the house and need you to carry the bags.’
    ‘If you must. Do you know there is a circle in hell where I will probably end up which is one huge supermarket? The shopping trolleys always go sideways, the children always scream, I always have at least one item of shopping which doesn’t have the bar code on it and so I wait and wait until someone goes and finds one with the bar code and the people in the lengthening crowd behind me hate me. Or when I get to the check-out at the Express Lane, Nine Items Only, three people in front of me have at least twenty items and I haven’t the courage to protest. Or the woman at the till who knows everyone in the line except me indulges in long and happy chit-chat and when it gets to me she decides to change the roll of paper in the till. Or the woman in front of me watches all her groceries sliding along and stares at them without packing them, and then she slowly takes out her cheque-book and slowly proceeds to write a cheque and then insists on carefully packing her plastic shopping bags according to type of grocery. And then, when it’s all over and I get to the revolving doors and see daylight outside, I suddenly find myself back at the beginning of the whole process.’
    ‘Let’s go anyway,’ said Agatha, who had not been listening to him.
    Gerry’s was jammed with shoppers. Roy suddenly decided that he would do the cooking and so proceeded to look for esoteric herbs and spices. ‘Keep away from the frozen food, Aggie,’ he warned. ‘I can see from the gleam in your eye that you’re just dying to microwave something.’
    ‘You, for a start,’ said Agatha. ‘Are we ever going to get out of here?’
    When they eventually got to the check-out, the trolley which, yes, slewed to one side, was piled high. The line moved forward and soon the end was in sight, only one thin woman in front of them.
    ‘Hazel!’ cried this woman to the check-out assistant. ‘I didn’t know you did Saturdays.’
    ‘Need the money, Gladys,’ said Hazel, one fat red hand hovering over the first item.
    ‘Isn’t that a fact,’ said Gladys. ‘I put in for my hip operation.’
    ‘You’ll need to wait awhile.’
    ‘It’ll be worth it. My Bert said, he said, no creature should have to endure the pain I’ve had. But you know what the National Health Service is like. My turn’ll come round when I’m in me grave.’
    ‘Maybe this new government . . .’ began Hazel, that hand still hovering.
    ‘Oh, get on with it!’ shouted Agatha loudly.
    There was a sudden silence. Agatha turned to Roy for back-up but he had disappeared. The people in the line behind her avoided eye contact.
    ‘Well, really ,’ said Gladys. But Hazel began to slide her groceries over the scanner at great speed while Gladys began to pack, darting angry little looks at Agatha.
    Gladys was at last packed and served. She threw a fulminating look at Agatha and said in a high shrill voice, ‘I’m sorry for you, Hazel. If I had to deal with some people I would go mad.’
    ‘Bye, Glad. Love to Bert.’
    And then Hazel proceeded to open the till and change the roll of paper.
    Agatha was incandescent with rage by the time she had packed up the trolley and wheeled it out to the car park as it veered crazily to the left.
    Roy was waiting at the car.
    ‘Where the hell were you?’ shouted Agatha.
    ‘I went to get cigarettes,’ said Roy shiftily.
    ‘You chickened out. Oh, help me get this stuff in the boot.’
    They drove round Evesham’s new one-way