Dishing the Dirt Read Online Free PDF Page A

attractive, so, she thought, why not kill two birds with one stone. She knew he commuted to London from Oxford.
    He listened patiently to her furious tirade and then to her relief, he said he was actually in Oxford and would be right over. David knew that Agatha had a knack of getting into situations which drew in a lot of publicity and David loved to see his own photograph in the newspapers.
    He arrived half an hour later and walked with Agatha to the interview room. He was a tall man with silver hair and a high-bridged nose. He was famous for his waspish remarks in court.
    He quickly established that Agatha had not been charged with anything, that she had already made a full statement to the Oxford police, suggested they read the report and stop wasting his client’s time, smiled all round and ushered Agatha out.
    “Let’s have dinner,” he said. “The George?” And without waiting for a reply, he set off with long rangy strides. Agatha raced to keep up with him.
    *   *   *
    As the evening was fine and warm, the earlier miserable weather having cleared, they found a table on the terrace overlooking the hotel gardens.
    Agatha lit a cigarette and studied her companion’s face. He was examining the menu as if reading a brief. His face was lightly tanned.
    “Been on holiday?” asked Agatha.
    “Yes, Monaco, at a friend’s place. Be with you in a minute. Food is a serious business. I’m going to be very conventional. I’ll have the lobster salad followed by tournedos Rossini. Oh, how grand. They have a bottle of Chateau Montelena Sauvignon 2010.”
    Agatha blinked rapidly, recognising the wine as the most expensive on the menu.
    Not another cheapskate, she thought. He’s going to stiff me with the bill. She realised she was very tired and that her make-up needed repair. But what did it all matter, she grumbled to herself, with dead bodies following me around like wasps?
    “I’ll have the same,” she said.
    He waved an imperious hand to summon the waiter and gave the order.
    Agatha could only be thankful that he had not ordered another bottle of wine to accompany the first course.
    “Now,” he said, “tell me all about it.”
    Agatha gave him a succinct report without her usual exaggerations.
    When she had finished, he said, “So we have a therapist with dicey credentials, who, nonetheless, must have had a strong personality to draw in quite a few clients. Can you think of anyone in the village amongst the people who consulted her who might be a murderer?”
    “It can’t be my cleaner, Mrs. Simpson. Too decent and honourable. I would like it to be Victoria Bannister because she’s a malicious old cow. Mrs. Tweedy, I don’t know, but she is elderly. But my money’s on Gwen Simple. Remember her? Son put people in meat pies?”
    The first course arrived and they both concentrated on eating it, Agatha finding that she was very hungry.
    Then he surprised her by saying, “I could be of help to you. I have seen so many criminals. I have not yet finished my holiday. If you like, I could visit the four clients that you know of and see what conclusions I come to.”
    Agatha hesitated. “I would not charge you a fee,” he said. “It would be a sort of busman’s holiday.”
    Looking at him with new eyes, Agatha realised he was an attractive man. Was he married?
    When the main course arrived, he turned all his attention to the food and wine, leaving Agatha to eat her dinner automatically and dream of being married to him. And wouldn’t that put Charles’s nose out of joint!
    By the end of the meal, he had taken a note of the names and addresses of the three women who had consulted Jill. He had a good contact in the police in Oxford and felt sure he could find out a lot about Clive Tremund.
    More than that, he paid the bill!
    He escorted Agatha back to her car in the square and said he would call on her in her office on the following afternoon.
    *   *   *
    When she arrived home, Agatha patted her