Free Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell by MC Beaton Page A

Sir Charles?’
    ‘Oh, him! He was all over her like a rash.’
    ‘Oh, well.’
    ‘I am not jealous of her,’ snapped Agatha. ‘I do not care what woman Charles fancies.’
    ‘If you say so. Ah, here is Sir Charles. Can I expect you at our ladies’ society meeting tomorrow night, Mrs Raisin?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ muttered Agatha, wishing she had never joined in the first place. She had only signed up when she had first arrived in the village as part of playing some sort of role as a villager, like trying to bake and going to church.
    ‘I wonder if they’ve bugged your phone,’ said Charles, as they headed towards Mircester.
    ‘Would they do that?’
    ‘Seems likely. I mean, they’ll be hoping he’ll get in contact with you.’
    ‘I don’t like that idea. Charles, do you really think James is dead?’
    ‘No. If James was dead, we’d have had a report by now. He can’t hide away forever. And when he comes back, you’ll need to face up to the fact that you should never have married him.’
    ‘We were working things out. It would have worked out. He’ll need nursing, taking care of.’
    ‘I can’t see you as a ministering angel, Aggie.’
    ‘Then you’ve never been in love.’
    ‘I think you fell in love with a dream James who does not exist.’
    ‘I am not a fanciful person!’
    ‘I think you are, under that crusty exterior.’
    ‘Shut up and drive, Charles.’
    They completed the rest of the journey in silence.
    ‘I wonder if he’s handsome,’ said Agatha as she walked across the main car park with Charles.
    ‘Luke Sheppard? You mean because Melissa was an attractive woman?’
    ‘If you like stringy, faded blondes and itsy-bitsy little middle-aged women who dress like schoolgirls.’
    ‘Late thirties isn’t middle-aged these days. If it is, you’re ancient, Aggie.’
    A tear rolled down Agatha’s cheek and she gave a choked sob. ‘Here, now!’ said Charles, alarmed, handing her a handkerchief as Agatha attempted to brush the tear away on her blouse sleeve. ‘You’re falling apart. Do you want to go somewhere for a drink? Something to eat? We’ve only had scones.’
    Agatha blew her nose defiantly. ‘I’m all right. It’s just that I keep wondering and wondering how the hell James could cheat on me like that.’
    ‘Maybe if I thought I were dying, it might affect my morals.’
    ‘Couldn’t. You haven’t got any.’
    ‘That’s more like my Aggie. Come on. Here’s the gents’ outfitters. Oh, God, just look at that awful blazer with the improbable crest on the pocket.’
    A slim dark-haired woman was arranging piles of shirts at the back of the shop. She was dressed all in black – short black skirt, black stockings, and low-cut black blouse. ‘Maybe the third Mrs Sheppard,’ murmured Charles.
    Agatha sailed forward. ‘We’re looking for Mr Sheppard.’
    ‘I’ll get him. You are . . .’
    ‘Agatha Raisin and Sir Charles Fraith.’
    She undulated into the back shop. They could hear the murmur of voices and then Luke Sheppard appeared. He was a small, powerfully built blond-haired man with small red-veined blue eyes and a large thick-lipped mouth. His broad chest was encased in one of the crested blazers that Charles despised.
    ‘How can I help you?’ he asked.
    ‘Are you very busy?’ asked Charles. ‘Is there somewhere we can go and talk?’
    ‘There’s the pub next door. Can you take care of things, Lucy?’
    ‘Of course, Luke,’ said the dark-haired assistant. She gave him a languorous smile.
    They walked together into the beer-smelling darkness of The Green Man next door. The pub was nearly empty. Charles said he had left his wallet, which Agatha did not believe for a moment, but she paid for their drinks and then they all sat down around a table. ‘I assume this has to do with the death of my former wife,’ said Luke Sheppard. ‘What have you heard?’
    ‘Nothing new,’ said Agatha. ‘You see, my husband is under suspicion and I am anxious to clear