As the Pig Turns - By M.C. Beaton Page 0,48
the Ladies’ Society,’ shouted Mrs Benson.
Mrs Bloxby’s voice floated back to her as she turned the corner. ‘Good!’
Agatha’s cottage was a hive of activity. Police cars blocked Lilac Lane, and white-suited men were carefully dusting Agatha’s front door for fingerprints. A policeman volunteered the information that Mrs Raisin and her friend had gone to the pub.
Mrs Bloxby found Agatha and Charles in the pub garden. Agatha was smoking furiously, a carton of Bensons she had bought in the village store in front of her.
Charles explained what had happened. When he had finished, Agatha said, ‘I am the number one suspect. I took him the tea. Nobody saw a soul outside my cottage. Miss Simms, you know, the secretary of the Ladies’ Society, well, her latest gentleman friend had given her a present of a nasty little yappy dog. She walked it along Lilac Lane, called hello to Tulloch, went to the end where it meets the fields, turned back and saw what she thought was Tulloch asleep. She didn’t meet anyone either going or coming. So I’m sitting here, drinking gin and smoking myself to death with nerves. I’m supposed to be on my way to headquarters with Charles to make a complete statement. But I told them I needed a short break first, and do you know what the bastards did? They confiscated my passport. Every time they don’t know what to do with me, they take away my passport and I usually have to hire a lawyer to get it back.’
‘They can’t possibly think you had anything to do with it. Would you like me to come with you?’
‘That’s kind of you,’ said Agatha. ‘But they’ll want to interview Charles as well, so we may as well suffer together.’
Mrs Bloxby walked thoughtfully back to the vicarage. She sat down at her computer and began to type out a poster. It said: ‘From the Vicarage. Ladies’ Society meetings will no longer be held in the vicarage. If you wish to continue, you will need to find somewhere else. I am resigning. Margaret Bloxby.’
I am not going around on this hot day, shoving separate notes through letterboxes, she thought. I’ll take this to the shop and put it up on the notice board.
She was just pinning it up when Miss Simms came to join her. ‘Well, if you ain’t going to be around, I’m handing in my resignation as well,’ she said. Miss Simms was still damned with the title of Carsely’s unmarried mother, which Mrs Bloxby found grossly unfair considering that being unmarried seemed to be a growth industry. Young girls in Mircester got pregnant knowing the council would supply them with a flat and allowances. Often it was a way of escaping from brutal parents. Other times, it was prompted by laziness.
‘It’s not as if there are any ladies any more, know what I mean?’ said Miss Simms. ‘It’s all pushy newcomers now like Mrs Benson. They come and they go. House prices go up and they sell and a new lot comes in. They want the village dream, so they join the Ladies’ Society and we all sit around eating cakes an’ bitching. Oh, jeez, I am sorry.’ For her little dog had peed into Mrs Bloxby’s shoes.
‘It’s said to be lucky,’ said Mrs Bloxby. Mrs Tutchell, the shop owner, produced a roll of kitchen paper, and Mrs Bloxby dried her ankles and shoes. ‘Are you sure there was no one in or near Lilac Lane?’
‘Swear to God. I felt like inventing someone just so as to help Mrs Raisin, but that was afterwards. I didn’t know she’d get into trouble.’
‘They cannot possibly think she would be so mad as to dope that sergeant’s tea,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
‘Maybe someone sneaked in and put something in the tea caddy.’
‘Mrs Raisin uses teabags.’
‘Well, what about that security firm that changed the locks an’ all that?’
‘Vetted thoroughly by the police.’
‘Oh, well, she’s tough. She’ll stand up to the police. So it’s goodbye to the Ladies’ Society?’
‘As far as I am concerned. Such an old-fashioned name.’
‘Don’t them over in Ancombe still call it a ladies’ society?’
‘No. They’ve changed the name to the Forward Women’s Group.’
‘I’d better get on and take this pet rat with me.’
‘I see it’s a Chihuahua,’ said Mrs Bloxby.
Miss Simms giggled. ‘Is it really? Funny, that. That’s what one of my gentlemen friends called my . . .’ Her voice trailed off before Mrs Bloxby’s clear gaze. ‘Oh, gotta go.’
‘Do you want me to stay the night?’ asked