As the Pig Turns - By M.C. Beaton Page 0,26

a thin layer of tinted moisturiser instead. She could hear water dripping from the thatch on her cottage roof. A thaw had set in.

Wearing a pink cotton blouson over cashmere slacks, she started down the stairs, remembering only on the bottom step that she hated pink.

Bill and Alice were in the kitchen. Doris had served them coffee and biscuits.

‘Sit down, Agatha,’ said Bill.

‘Of course I’m going to sit down,’ said Agatha crossly. ‘It’s my own bloody house. I can sit on the damned chimney if I feel like it.’

‘I know you’re tired,’ said Alice soothingly. ‘But we would like to go over a few points again.’

‘Wait until I get a black coffee and a cigarette,’ said Agatha grumpily.

‘By the way,’ said Bill, ‘Toni’s dropped the charges against Paul Finlay.’

Toni was already awake and getting carefully dressed for an interview with Mixden, a rival detective agency. Dressed in a neat tailored trouser suit, worn under a scarlet puffa jacket, she set out.

Mixden was located on the outskirts of Mircester. She drove out through the slushy roads, trying to fight down an odd feeling of disloyalty to Agatha. Agatha had behaved disgracefully, she told herself as she parked in front of a square pebbledash building with the legend MIXDEN over the front door.

She recognized the receptionist as a girl she had gone to school with – Chelsea Flitter – although Chelsea had become a blonde and was wearing such thick make-up, she looked like a character from a Japanese Noh production.

‘Hiya, Tone,’ she said. ‘Coming to join us?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re to go right in. Mr Mixden is through that door on the right. Have a chat when you come out. We should get together.’

Toni nodded and walked through into Mr Mixden’s office. He was a very small man with thin hair combed over his bald patch, where it lay in oiled streaks like seaweed on a rock at low tide. He had gold-rimmed glasses, a large nose and a wide mouth turned down at the corners. He smiled at Toni, revealing a pair of dazzlingly white dentures, and waved her into a chair opposite his desk.

‘You’re as pretty as your photos,’ he said. ‘You’ve had quite a bit of publicity for so young a lady. Why do you want to join us?’

‘I feel I’ve been getting stale working for the one agency,’ said Toni. ‘Agatha Raisin has been very good to me, but she feels she has a right to control my private life as well as my work.’

‘I see.’ He made a rapid note on a pad in front of him. Then he looked across at her. ‘The Raisin agency is very successful. So you could be of great use to us and earn a lot of money into the bargain. First of all, how do I know you are not here just to act as a spy and report the cases we have and then try to get the Raisin woman to take them away from us?’

‘I would not even dream of it,’ said Toni evenly, to hide her rising temper.

He tapped the pencil on the pad. ‘We could look at it another way. You could go on working for La Raisin and report to us on her cases. That way you could earn double. What do you say?’

Toni simply rose to her feet and walked straight out the door, slamming it behind her. She got into her car and sat there for a moment, feeling small and grubby.

The wind howled about her small car. She could hardly believe that Mixden had suggested such a thing. Well, courage! There was one other detective agency, FindIT, in the centre of town. Surely with her record they would be glad to get her.

She parked her car in the main square, trying to fight off the uneasy feeling that she was being watched.

James Lacey had gone into Mircester that morning to shop for some new winter boots. Along the narrow street in front of him, he recognized Toni’s blonde head. Then he noticed that as she occasionally turned, as if suspecting she was being watched, a man with a beard dived into a doorway.

James followed and phoned Agatha, keeping an eye all the time on Toni. Agatha had just reached her office when she got James’s call on her mobile. ‘It’ll be that sod Paul Finlay,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right over.’

‘No, stay where you are,’ said James. ‘He’ll recognize you.’

James remembered Agatha telling him about Paul Finlay the night before. But surely the man