Free Dishing the Dirt by M. C. Beaton Page B

it.”
    He was staring into her eyes and his grip on her hand tightened. His voice had held a note of command.
    Agatha could feel the euphoria induced by vodka and heavy food fading away. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on to it.
    “Promise me,” he said. “I am sure if you go on with this investigation, something really nasty could happen to you. He’s already tried to kill you with wolfsbane.”
    Agatha jerked her hand savagely away with such force that a glass went flying. “How did you know it was wolfsbane?” she asked. “That wasn’t in the newspapers.”
    “It stands to reason. Herythe was killed with wolfsbane.”
    “But Jill was strangled and Clive Tremund was clubbed and drowned.”
    “Don’t get mad at me,” pleaded Tris. “It was an educated guess. It was—”
    “Hullo, darling. Not watching your waistline again?”
    “Oh, Charles,” said Agatha weakly. “What are you doing here?”
    “Came to find you. The police want to talk to you again, so I thought I’d come and hold your hand. Maybe I’d better drive you. Been swilling the vodka, have you?”
    Agatha made the introductions. “I’d better go,” she said to Tris.
    “When will I see you again?” he asked.
    “I’ll phone you,” said Agatha.
    *   *   *
    “How on earth did you find me?” asked Agatha, as they walked to Charles’s car.
    “James told me about your interviewing Tristram Davent and knowing your predilection for unsuitable men, I went to the address James gave me and his sister told me where you were. Leave your car. I’ll take you to pick it up in the morning.”
    When Agatha was seated in the passenger seat, Charles turned to her and asked curiously, “Why aren’t you livid with me for breaking up your date with fancy pants back there?”
    “Drive on. He has to pass the car park to get to his home. I don’t want to see him again.”
    “Okay.” Charles left the car park and swung round onto Port Street.
    “It’s like this,” said Agatha. She told him what had happened in the restaurant. “It wasn’t just what he said,” she explained. “I’ve been a bag of nerves since the attempt on my life and he actually scared me.”
    “Why on earth did you agree to a date with him?”
    “I’m a detective! Remember!” howled Agatha. “I thought he might come up with some more interesting information on Jill.”
    “Be honest, Aggie. He asked you for a date and you jumped at it. Raise your standards. A man with highlights in his hair.”
    “It could be natural.”
    “Rubbish.”
    A tear ran down Agatha’s cheek. “J-just take me home and b-bugger off,” she sobbed.
    Charles swung into a lay-by and switched off the engine.
    “I didn’t mean to be so rude. Don’t cry. I’ve never seen you so rattled before. Cheer up. We’ll go to your cottage, have a drink and watch something silly on television. I know you won’t give up. So what’s your next move?”
    Agatha dried her eyes and sniffed loudly. “I’m going round the Carsely gardens tomorrow. They’re open to the public. I want to see if anyone’s got wolfsbane.”
    “If they had the stuff, they’ve probably uprooted it by now. Don’t worry. I’ll come with you. Do you know how to recognise it?”
    “I’ve Googled lots of photos. It’s sometimes called monkshood and the poison is aconite.”
    “Right. We’re on for tomorrow. But I do think you should tell Bill about your dinner. I mean, the man was threatening.”
    “Maybe,” said Agatha, but feeling she could not bear another questioning as to why she had agreed to have dinner with Davent. She was only in her early fifties. But had she fallen so low, she wondered, that she would consider any man who asked her out attractive?
    *   *   *
    The following day, when they set out to tour the gardens, was sunny. Great fleecy clouds were tugged like galleons across a large blue Cotswold sky by a light breeze. “Not all the gardens are open to the public, surely,” said