As the Pig Turns - By M.C. Beaton Page 0,36

I had lunch at the George and there was too much salt in the food.’

‘There’s a new café just next to the abbey,’ said Phil.

‘Lead the way.’

Over a pot of tea and toasted tea cakes in a shady garden at the back of the café, Fiona visibly relaxed as Phil prattled on about the unseasonably warm weather.

‘Are you originally from Mircester?’ asked Phil.

‘No, I’m a London girl. I think when the kids are old enough, I’ll move back. Never really settled here.’

‘But the countryside is so beautiful!’ exclaimed Phil.

‘It’s not even real countryside. Neat little fields. Manicured rubbish to keep rich farmers in their four-wheelers.’

‘I don’t know that the farmers have all that easy a time of it,’ ventured Phil. ‘I mean, they’re so dependent on the weather.’

‘And government subsidies,’ said Fiona.

Phil decided to quickly abandon that subject.

‘Are you married?’ he realized Fiona was asking.

‘No. Are you?’

‘Was. But we have friendly relations because of the children. Do you know his wife was found murdered the other day?’

‘Good heavens!’ said Phil. ‘I read about a murder at Tesco’s in Stow.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Why her? Is it because she was at one time married to that policeman who was murdered as well?’

‘Probably. I don’t know why she was murdered of all people. She was a silly, common little thing. My ex was married to her.’

‘No wonder you want to leave the countryside,’ exclaimed Phil. ‘You must be frightened to death.’

‘Why?’

‘Some psycho is going around murdering people.’

‘Ah, but I didn’t know the horrible Gary Beech.’

‘If you didn’t know him, how do you know he was horrible?’

‘His penchant for ticketing everyone was legendary. You do ask a lot of questions.’

‘Comes from being retired,’ said Phil. ‘I live a pretty lonely life, and I get curious about people. More tea?’

‘No thanks. I’d better be getting home. Wolfgang’s due back from school, and the younger ones are with the nanny.’

‘How old are they?’

‘Wolfgang’s thirteen, Josie’s five and Carol is four. Carol goes to a kindergarten twice a week. That’s all. She’s not very strong.’

‘What’s the matter with her?’

‘Nobody knows. She seems to be physically healthy, but she cries a lot. Look, I’ve enjoyed talking to you. Give me your card. Maybe we’ll meet up again.’

‘I’d like that.’ Phil carefully extracted a card that had only his home number and address.

‘Carsely.’ Her eyes sharpened. ‘Now why does that ring a bell?’

‘Been in the papers,’ said Phil easily. ‘That woman detective had a head delivered to her.’

‘God, how awful. Agatha Raisin, isn’t it? Well, she’s in a man’s world, so she’ll just have to learn to take it.’

When she had left, Phil thoughtfully ordered more tea and phoned Toni. ‘I’d leave her to me,’ he finished, then asked, ‘What happened in that shop?’

Toni told him. ‘Her ex-husband probably warned her off,’ said Phil. ‘I’ve established some sort of friendship. Why is Agatha so interested? Fiona seems an ordinary housewife.’

‘Agatha is suspicious of Richards despite his clean bill of health from the police. She feels Fiona might know something without being aware of it. She feels there is something seriously wrong with a man who wants women to go and get face-lifts.’

Phil finally finished drinking his tea and made his way out. He had an odd feeling of being watched, so to be on the safe side, he did not go back to the office.

That evening, Agatha was settling down to a solitary meal at the George, wondering bitterly why James had not tried to contact her, when a tall, well-groomed man approached her table. He was dressed in smart casual. He had silver hair and a tanned face, hooded pale eyes and a fleshy mouth.

‘Mrs Raisin?’

‘Yes?’ demanded Agatha suspiciously.

He slid into a chair opposite her. ‘My name is Guy Brandon. I’m the main judge in the Woman of the Year.’

‘I was very flattered to be nominated,’ said Agatha eagerly. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yes, but I’ll have a coffee and brandy if that’s all right with you.’

Agatha waved the waiter over and gave the order.

‘I really think you should get the prize,’ he said. ‘You’re quite a legend.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Oh, I’m behind you, but the other two judges, well, they favour Cressida Jones-Wilkes.’

‘Who the hell is she? Never heard of her.’

‘She runs a very successful garden centre on the Stow road.’

His brandy and coffee arrived. ‘Of course, the other two judges could be made to change their minds. But it costs money.’

Agatha opened her handbag and surreptitiously switched on a powerful little tape recorder. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I was looking for my