Free Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye by M. C. Beaton

Phyllis’s plan
to sell the house and estate also to fund the technical college and how the villagers were riled up.
    Wilkes then asked her what they had eaten. ‘We had individual bowls of salad,’ said Agatha. ‘Maybe someone prepared a special bowl for Mrs Tamworthy. When she rose from the
dining table it was as if she were drunk. She could hardly walk. Does it cause a form of paralysis?’
    ‘I gather from the pathologist,’ said Wilkes, ‘that a strong dose of poison hemlock would gradually paralyse the whole body. Her mind would remain acute until the end. There
was no bell beside the bed and no way of summoning help.’
    ‘Couldn’t she shout?’
    ‘No, her vocal cords would have been paralysed. A smaller dose and she might have had fever and vomiting to alert someone.’
    ‘It was a grated salad,’ said Agatha.
    ‘The root of poison hemlock looks a good bit like parsnip,’ said Wilkes. ‘Have you any idea, Mrs Raisin, which one of them might have committed the murder?’
    ‘At the moment, I think it’s possible all of them might have been able to do it. Charles and I went to the pub for a meal but before we went Fran was coming out of Mrs
Tam-worthy’s room. She said she looked all right. Oh, and Fran was furious about being disinherited – well, not exactly disinherited, but Phyllis planned to build a technical college
using the money from the sale of the estate and leave the college to the state – and chucked her bowl of salad into the fireplace. Two women from the village had served dinner. Dinner was in
the middle of the day. Mind you, I think they went off after they had cleared up. Mrs Tamworthy seemed proud that she had created the salads herself. And where did she get the plant root? I swear
there was nothing in her hands when she left the dining room.’
    ‘And daughter Sadie’s family left after lunch?’
    ‘Yes, and Annabelle, as well.’ Agatha hesitated. She wondered whether to tell Wilkes about listening at the window but decided against it. She was aware of Bill Wong, her friend,
watching her impassively.
    ‘That will be all for now,’ said Wilkes, ‘but I may want to talk to you later.’ He turned to a waiting constable. ‘Tell Sir Charles Fraith to step over.’
    Agatha got hurriedly to her feet. She must warn Charles not to say anything about listening at the window.
    But Wilkes said, ‘Just a moment. I noticed none of them seemed particularly grief-stricken. There’s not a chance they could all have been in it together?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Agatha.
    ‘Remember, anything you hear or find out, you must tell me.’
    ‘Yes, yes.’ Agatha hurried out to find Charles being escorted by the constable.
    ‘A word, Charles,’ she said.
    ‘Later,’ said Charles and walked on into the mobile police unit.
    A change had overtaken the family when Agatha returned to the drawing room. Sadie, Sir Henry, Fran, Bert, Alison and Jimmy were all registering grief for the first time.
    ‘Poor Mother!’ wailed Fran as soon as she saw Agatha and put a handkerchief up to her suspiciously dry eyes. Sadie was genuinely crying, as was Jimmy Bert looked white and strained,
as did his wife. Sir Henry was pacing up and down, muttering, ‘Terrible, terrible.’
    ‘It must have been one of those villagers,’ said Alison. ‘They’ve been holding meetings and plotting for ages. Anyone can just walk into the kitchen by the side
door.’
    ‘But Mother didn’t make up the salads until just before tea,’ said Fran.
    ‘How do you know that?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘I went into the kitchen to try to make her see sense,’ said Fran. ‘It’s no use you all looking at me like that. I didn’t touch the salad.’
    The wind had gradually been rising and was now howling around the building.
    Suddenly the lights went out.
    ‘There are candles in the kitchen,’ said Fran, ‘but we’re not allowed to leave the room.’
    ‘There’s an oil lamp over there,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ll