Free The Quiche of Death by M. C. Beaton Page A

that Roy's chattering and posturing might put Mrs. Cartwright off.
     Agatha began to feel better. Mrs. Cartwright hadn't accused her of cheating, nor had she been nasty.
    But then, after Steve and Roy had rejoined her and as they were leaving the May Day Fair, they came face to face with Mrs.
     Barr. She stopped in front of Agatha, her eyes blazing. "I am surprised you have the nerve to show your face in the daylight,"
     she said.
    "What's got your knickers in a twist, sweetie?" asked Roy.
    "This woman"—Mrs. Barr bobbed her head in Agatha's direction, "caused the death of one of our most respected villagers by
     poisoning him."
    "It was an accident," said Roy, before Agatha could speak. "Bugger off, you old fright. Come on, Aggie."
    Mrs. Barr stood opening and shutting her mouth in silent outrage as Roy propelled Agatha past her.
    "Miserable old cow," said Roy as they turned into Lilac Lane. "What got up her nose?"
    "I lured her cleaning woman away."
    "Oh, that's a capital crime. Murder has been committed for less. Take us to Bourton-on-the-Water, Aggie. Steve wants to see
     it and we don't need to eat yet after that enormous breakfast."
    Agatha, although she still felt shaken by Mrs. Barr, patiently got out the car. "Stow-on-the-Wold," screamed Roy a quarter
     of an hour later as Agatha was about to bypass that village. "We must see it." So Agatha turned round and went into the main
     square, thrusting her car head first into the one remaining parking place, which a family car had been just about to reverse
     into.
    She had never seen so many morris dancers. They seemed to be all over the place and of a more energetic type than the ones
     in Carsely as they waved their handkerchiefs and leaped in the air like so many Nijinskys.
    "I think," said Roy, "that if you've seen one lot of morris dancers, you've seen the lot. Put away your notebook, Steve, for
     God's sake."
    "It is all very interesting," said Steve. "Some say that morris dancing was originally Moorish dancing. What do you think?"
    "I think. . . yawn, yawn, yawn" said Roy pettishly. "Let's go and sample the cosmopolitan delights of Bourton-on-the-Water."
    Bourton-on-the-Water is certainly one of the prettiest villages in the Cotswolds, with a glassy stream running through the
     centre under stone bridges. The trouble is that it is a famous beauty spot and always full of tourists. That May Day they
     were out in force and Agatha thought longingly of the peaceful streets of London. There were tourists everywhere: large family
     parties, sticky crying children, busloads of pensioners from Wales, muscle-bound men with tattoos from Birmingham, young Lolitas
     in white slit skirts and white high-heeled shoes, tottering along, eating ice cream and giggling at everything in sight. Steve
     wanted to see all that was on offer, from the art galleries to the museums, which depressed Agatha, because a lot of the village
     museum displays were items from her youth and she felt only really old things should go into museums. Then there was the motor
     museum, also jammed with tourists, and then, unfortunately, someone had told Steve about Bird-land at the end of the village
     and so they had to go there, and stare at the birds and admire the penguins. Agatha had often wondered what it would be like
     to live in Hong Kong or Tokyo. Now she knew. People everywhere. People eating everywhere: ice cream, chocolate bars, hamburgers, chips, munch, munch, munch went all those English jaws. They seemed to
     enjoy being in such a crowd, except the many small children who were getting tired and bawled lustily, dragged along by indifferent
     parents.
    The air was turning chilly when Steve with a sigh of pleasure at last closed his notebook. He looked at his watch. "It's only
     half past three," he said. "We can make it to Stratford-on-Avon. I must see Shakespeare's birthplace."
    Agatha groaned inwardly. But not so long ago Agatha Raisin would have told him to forget it, that she was bored and