Dishing the Dirt Read Online Free PDF Page B

saying you killed her,” said Mrs. Tweedy.
    “Well, I didn’t,” said Agatha. “What did you make of her?”
    “Good listener. No one listens to the old these days. In fact, nobody listens to anyone these days. While you’re talking to them, all they do is wait for you to finish so they can talk about themselves.”
    “Is that the only reason you went to her?” asked Charles. “To get someone to listen to you?”
    “And what’s up with that, may I ask?”
    “Not a thing,” said Charles. “What did you make of her?”
    “Silly bitch!” said Mrs. Tweedy venomously.
    “What? Why do you say that?” asked Agatha.
    “Last session, I was talking about my life. I miss my brother, who died in an accident. I was living in Oxford and decided to move to the country because cities can be lonely places. Well, I was talking and her phone rang. She took it out into the hall and shut the door. I went to the door and listened. She must have been talking to a fellow because it was ‘darling this’ and ‘darling that.’ Then she came back in and said the session was over and tried to charge me. I told her to get stuffed. Never went back. I wish I had never come here. This village is creepy and you, Agatha Raisin, are one of the creepiest things about it—entertaining your fancy man here at nights.” She glared at Charles.
    “You ought to make an honest woman of her.”
    Before Agatha could say anything, Charles smiled and said, “You are one truly horrible woman.”
    Mrs. Tweedy let out a cackle of laughter. “I like a man who speaks his mind.”
    “And I hate old frumps who speak theirs!” yelled Agatha. “I’m getting out of this dump!”
    As they left, they were followed by roars of laughter from the old lady.
    “Ah, the dignity and grace of old age,” said Charles as they walked through the village. “Let’s visit Mrs. Bloxby and see if she’s picked up some gossip. Also, you should let Bill know about that ‘darling’ phone call. Pity we haven’t the means to trace it. I mean, if she carried the phone out it must have been on her mobile and that’ll be in the evidence locker.”
    “Not necessarily,” said Agatha. “It could be one of those hands-free phones and it might still be there. If only we could break in and have a look. You can find out recent phone calls. I wonder who inherits? Wait a moment and I’ll phone Patrick and see if he’s found out anything.”
    Charles wandered up to the road. People were coming and going from the village shop. It all looked like a rural idyll. In the old days, he thought, Agatha would be blamed for attracting murder and burnt at the stake.
    “That’s interesting,” said Agatha, coming to join him. “Her brother inherits. He’s called Adrian Sommerville and he lives in Mircester. He’s an interior decorator and I’ve got the address.”
    “Oh, well, bang goes tea and sympathy at the vicarage,” said Charles. “We’ll take your car.”
    “Meaning, you’ll take my petrol, cheapskate.”
    *   *   *
    “You’re slipping, Aggie,” commented Charles as they approached Mircester. “You should have looked up Sommerville in the phone book.”
    “Don’t tell me how to do my job,” said Agatha huffily. “I’ve got the address. I don’t need to phone. Let’s see. He’s got a business address in The Loans. That’s the lane by the abbey. We’ll park in the main square and walk.”
    *   *   *
    There was a brass plaque outside the door with the legend SOMERVILLE INTERIORS . A small sign said, PRESS BELL AND ENTER .
    Inside, a blonde was sitting behind a reception desk. She put down a copy of House & Garden , smiled at them and asked how she could be of assistance.
    Agatha performed the introductions, wishing not for the first time that she was in the police force and could just flash a warrant card.
    The secretary disappeared into an interior office. They waited.
    Agatha was just saying, “Do you think he’s escaped out the back?”