Free Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell by MC Beaton

when they are alive. I suppose it comes from some old superstition that one might spoil their chances of getting to heaven.’
    ‘If she’s got there, she’s there by now,’ said Agatha, shifting impatiently on her garden chair.
    ‘I hope so.’ And only Mrs Bloxby, thought Charles, could say something like that and really mean it.
    ‘Your garden is lovely,’ he said, looking about him with pleasure.
    ‘Thank you. The wisteria was a bit disappointing this year, however. Usually, we have a great show but a wicked frost blighted the blooms.’
    ‘Melissa,’ prompted Agatha. ‘The reason we want to know what you think is because we want to know if there was anything in her character that would make her what Scotland Yard calls a murderee – you know, someone who would incite people to violence.’
    ‘Having an affair with someone else’s husband is an incitement,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
    ‘Yes, but that would mean Aggie would have to have done it,’ said Charles, ‘and she didn’t, and I don’t believe for a moment it was the absent James. Besides, married women have affairs the whole time and no one bumps them off.’
    ‘I think married women are a lot more faithful than you give them credit for, Sir Charles. Let me think. Mrs Sheppard. Well, she was quite hard to get to know, considering she was a very chatty lady.’
    Charles reached for another scone. Agatha, despite a tight feeling at her waistline, which she quickly assured herself must be psychosomatic, followed suit.
    ‘What do you mean, chatty?’ asked Charles.
    ‘She would talk a lot about the weather, about recipes, about flowers, about village life – you know, the decline of the small village shop and all that – but nothing personal.’
    ‘Did she have a close friend in the village?’
    ‘No. I would see her about the village, talking to this one and that, but she was not friendly with anyone in particular.’
    ‘Did you like her?’ asked Charles.
    ‘Well, no, I did not.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I felt she was acting the part of the village lady. I felt she was restless and discontented and vain. I felt she was afraid of losing her looks. I felt – oh, I don’t know – that she had a craving for excitement. Now, having an affair with James perhaps was her way of making herself feel like a desirable woman. She may have behaved in the same way with other women’s husbands, but I don’t know if she did. She probably enjoyed the power and excitement of an adulterous relationship.’
    ‘We’ve just been to see the present Mrs Sheppard,’ said Agatha. ‘Funny little woman who dresses like a child.’
    ‘Quite attractive, in fact,’ murmured Charles, and Agatha threw him a filthy look.
    ‘I was not aware he had married again. But then, I did not know him. Mrs Sheppard moved to this village after her divorce from him. Is there any news of James?’
    Agatha shook her head. ‘And I find that very odd. Particularly because of his cancer. You would think he would show up at some hospital somewhere.’
    Charles delicately licked a piece of jammy scone from his fingertips. ‘I think we’d better go to Mircester, Aggie, and see that husband. May I use your bathroom first?’
    ‘You know where it is? Down the corridor and on your right.’
    When he had left, Mrs Bloxby looked seriously at Agatha. ‘Have you considered, Mrs Raisin, that you have been under a great deal of stress lately? That perhaps if you went away on holiday and tried to relax, it might be better for you?’
    ‘Why?’ asked Agatha, surprised. ‘You know I’ve got to find out about this murder. Apart from anything, James is still the prime suspect. I’ve got to keep asking questions.’
    Mrs Bloxby wanted to say that she feared Agatha might find out more about James than she wanted to hear, but she said, ‘Just be careful. You have put yourself in danger before.’
    ‘I’ll be careful. I wish you could meet the present Mrs Sheppard. I didn’t like her at all.’
    ‘Did