Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death Read Online Free Page A

Darry is an awful cat,’ said Miss Simms.
    ‘There’s one in every village,’ said Agatha gloomily. ‘I shouldn’t have risen to her remarks.’
    ‘Look, Mrs Raisin . . .’
    ‘Call me Agatha. Why is it we always seem to call each other by our second names?’
    ‘I like that,’ said Miss Simms. ‘More genteel, like. Are you going to investigate? Will Mr Lacey be helping you?’
    ‘I don’t know what James is doing these days and I don’t care,’ said Agatha. ‘But I will probably find out more about the whole set-up because I will be doing
public relations for the new water company on a freelance basis.’
    ‘Pity it’s water,’ said Miss Simms. ‘Now if it was gin or whisky, you could get us all some free samples. My current boyfriend is in bathroom equipment. I can get you a
toilet seat.’
    ‘That’s kind of you, but my toilet seats are all right. Do you know any of the members of the parish council?’
    ‘Ancombe, you mean. The ladies’ society did a concert over in Ancombe when you was away abroad. Old fuddy-duddies. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Probably it’ll turn out the old
geezer just fell over.’
    The conversation moved to village gossip and Agatha finally left, feeling better. There was a message on her answering machine from Roy. She was to meet the two directors of the Ancombe Water
Company the following day at three in the afternoon.
    Comforted by the thought of work, and by a long walk in the afternoon, Agatha managed at last to get a good night’s sleep.
     
Chapter Two
    Misery had its compensations. Agatha found she could get into a tailored skirt which had been too tight at the waist when she had last tried it on a few months ago. She also
put on a shirt blouse and tailored jacket, packed a writing-pad and pens into a Gucci briefcase, and decided she was ready for her new job.
    One of the pleasures of being independently wealthy, she thought, was she did not care very much whether she got the job or not.
    She stopped on her way out of the village at the general store and bought the newspapers. Nothing much yet. Only small paragraphs in each to say the police were continuing their investigations
into the death of Mr Struthers.
    She drove to Mircester and then through the main town and out to an industrial estate on the fringe where the new water company was situated.
    Her practised eye took in the sparse furnishings of the entrance hall. Low sofa, table, glossy magazines, green plants in pots. Good appearance but not that much money spent.
    The receptionist with a smooth brown skin and large doe-like eyes had a Jamaican accent and shoulder-pads like an American football player. She took Agatha’s name, rang someone and then
said, ‘The secretary will be with you presently.’
    Now let’s see how long they keep me waiting, thought Agatha. Successful company directors did not play at being important.
    After two minutes a tall, willowy Princess Di look-alike swanned in. ‘Mrs Raisin? Follow me, if you please.’ Following a waft of Givenchy’s Amarige, Agatha trailed behind the
vision along a corridor of offices. There didn’t seem to be much sound coming from behind those office doors. Agatha wondered if they were empty.
    The secretary opened a door at the end of the corridor marked ‘Boardroom’ and stood aside to let Agatha enter.
    Agatha cast a quick eye around the boardroom. Long oak table, six chairs, venetian blinds at the two windows, table in the corner with coffee machine, cups, milk, sugar and biscuits.
    ‘If you will sit here, Mrs Raisin.’ The secretary drew out a chair at the end of the table. ‘Coffee?’
    ‘Black, please, and an ashtray.’
    ‘I don’t think we have an ashtray.’
    ‘If I am going to work for you, you’d better find one,’ said Agatha, made tetchy with all the guilt the smoker feels these days.
    The secretary had wide blue eyes fringed with black lashes. A little flicker of dislike flashed in the blue shallows of her eyes and then was