The Quiche of Death Read Online Free Page B

Agatha, his little eyes shrewd. "You
     know you'll have made an enemy there," he said.
    "Pooh," said Agatha Raisin, "she'll just need to get over it."
    As Agatha was fumbling for her door key a half-hour later, Mrs. Barr came out of her cottage and stood silently, glaring across
     at Agatha.
    Agatha gave a huge smile. "Lovely evening," she called.
    She felt quite like her old self.

TWO
    Plumtrees Cottage, where the Cummings-Brownes lived, was opposite the church and vicarage in a row of four ancient stone houses
     fronting onto a cobbled diamond-shaped area. There were no gardens at the front of these houses, only narrow strips of earth
     which held a few flowers.
    The door was answered late the next morning to Agatha's knock by a woman whom Agatha's beady eyes summed up as being the same
     sort of species of ex-patriot as Mrs. Barr. Despite the chilliness of the spring day, Mrs. Cummings-Browne was wearing a print
     sun-dress which showed tanned middle-aged skin. She had a high autocratic voice and pale-blue eyes and a sort of "colonel's
     lady" manner. "Yes, what can I do for you?"
    Agatha introduced herself and said she was interested in entering the quiche competition but as she was new to the village,
     she did not know how to go about it. "I am Mrs. Cummings-Browne," said the woman, "and really all you have to do is read one
     of the posters. They're all over the village, you know." She gave a patronizing laugh which made Agatha want to strike her.
     Instead Agatha said mildly, "As I say, I am new in the village and I would like to get to know some people. Perhaps you and
     your husband might care to join me for dinner this evening. Do they do meals at the Red Lion?"
    Mrs. Cummings-Browne gave that laugh again. "I wouldn't be seen dead in the Red Lion. But they do good food at the Feathers in Ancombe."
    "Where on earth is Ancombe?" asked Agatha.
    "Only about two miles away. You really don't know your way about very well, do you? We'll drive. Be here at seven-thirty."
    The door closed. Well, well, thought Agatha. That was easy. Must be a pair of free-loaders, which means my quiche stands a
     good chance.
    She strolled back through the village, mechanically smiling and answering the greetings of "Mawning" from the passers-by.
     So there were worms in this charming polished apple, mused Agatha. The majority of the villagers were mainly working- and
     lower-middle class and extremely civil and friendly. If Mrs. Barr and Mrs. Cummings-Browne were anything to go by, it was
     the no doubt self-styled upper-class of incomers who were rude. A drift of cherry blossom blew down at Agatha's feet. The
     golden houses glowed in the sunlight. Prettiness did not necessarily invite pretty people. The incomers had probably bought
     their dinky cottages when prices were low and had descended to be big fish in this small pool. But there was no impressing
     the villagers or scoring off them in any way that Agatha could see. The incomers must have a jolly time being restricted to
     trying to put each other down. Still, she was sure if she won that competition, the village would sit up and take notice.
    That evening, Agatha sat in the low-raftered dining-room of the Feathers at Ancombe and covertly studied her guests. Mr. Cummings-Browne—"Well,
     it's Major for my sins but I don't use my title, haw, haw, haw"— was as tanned as his wife, a sort of orangy tan that led
     Agatha to think it probably came out of a bottle. He had a balding pointed head with sparse grey hairs carefully combed over
     the top and odd jug like ears. Mr. Cummings-Browne had been in the British army in Aden, he volunteered. That, Agatha reflected,
     must have been quite some time ago. Surely the British had left Aden in the sixties. Then it transpired he had done a "Little
     chicken farming," but he preferred to talk about his army days, a barely comprehensible saga of servants he had had, and "chappies"
     in the regiment. He was wearing a sports jacket with leather