Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryham

in front of it and Framp on duty outside, stamping his feet and rubbing his arms to keep the cold at bay.
    Agatha retreated. She did not want to be caught by Hand talking to the policeman. She reached the fork of the road again when a small truck stopped beside her. She recognized the maintenance man. ‘Looking for something?’ he demanded. ‘The police don’t want any press or trespassers around here. Wait a bit, I saw you when Paul was shot.’
    ‘I found the body,’ said Agatha.
    ‘So what’s your business here? Mrs Trumpington-James is sick of snooping busy-bodies.’
    Agatha was about to say she had wanted to ask him a few questions but decided against it, he looked so suspicious and truculent.
    ‘I am a friend of Lucy Trumpington-James,’ she said haughtily. ‘I took the wrong road to the house.’
    ‘That way,’ he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Agatha walked towards the house. She stopped a little way away from the truck and looked back. He was still parked there and watching her in his rear-view mirror. She would need to call on Lucy.
    The windows of the house were red in the sunlight, like so many accusing red eyes staring at her.
    She rang the bell and the door was immediately opened by Lucy. She was wearing a thick Arran sweater and jeans. Her hair was tied up in a chiffon scarf and her face was clean of makeup, making her look younger and softer.
    ‘I saw you coming up the drive,’ said Lucy. ‘I could do with an excuse to stop work and have a drink.’
    Agatha walked into the hall and looked at the packing cases. ‘Are you leaving already?’
    ‘I can’t,’ said Lucy. ‘Not with coppers all over the place refusing to let me until the murder is solved.’ She walked into the drawing-room and Agatha followed her. ‘What’ll you have to drink?’
    ‘Gin and tonic, please.’
    ‘I don’t have ice.’
    ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Agatha. ‘The day’s cold enough.’
    Lucy handed her a drink and then poured herself a large brandy. ‘You can smoke if you like,’ said Lucy. ‘I’ve started again.’
    ‘Great,’ said Agatha, taking out a packet of cigarettes. ‘I just called to see how you were getting on.’
    ‘Not very well, to tell you the truth. I thought it would all be so simple. Sell up here, get out, move back to London. But the rozzers are hellbent on making sure I had nothing to do with the murder.’
    Agatha took a sip of her drink. Then she asked, ‘Why would they think that?’
    ‘Because I inherit. One detective had the cheek to say it was nearly always the husband or wife. Would you believe it?’ Lucy nervously puffed smoke. ‘It was all settling down nicely and then the fools had to go and shoot Paul.’
    ‘The fools?’ asked Agatha.
    ‘Poachers. That’s what I told the police. Paul’s had several of the locals up in court and they don’t forgive easily around here.’
    ‘Did you know Tolly was having an affair with Lizzie?’ Agatha did not feel any longer that she owed Lizzie any loyalty. Besides, Lizzie had left her husband in a police car complete with suitcases, so she must have told them about the affair, or so Agatha justified it to herself.
    ‘No, isn’t that a laugh?’ said Lucy bitterly. ‘Lizzie Findlay, of all people, and I’m expected to go on like a nun. I wondered why Tolly had given up sex with me. Now I know. I never thought he was having an affair.’
    ‘But you did,’ protested Agatha. ‘You asked me to find out.’
    ‘Oh, that. I thought he’d been with Rosie. Damn, I could just have divorced the old bastard and taken him to the cleaner’s. His sister turned up at the funeral, making a scene.’
    ‘I didn’t know the funeral had even taken place!’
    ‘The police kept it quiet and so did I. As fed up with the press as they are. Crematorium in Norwich. Have another drink?’
    ‘I haven’t quite finished this one.’ Lucy rose and took the glass from Agatha. ‘I’ll freshen this up. I don’t like drinking alone.’
    ‘Do you think Lizzie’s husband might have murdered your husband?’
    Lucy handed Agatha a brimming glass and then topped up her own with more brandy.
    She slumped down in her chair again. ‘Who cares?’ she said wearily, her voice now slightly slurred. Agatha guessed that despite Lucy’s protestations that she did not like to drink alone, she had been doing just that.
    ‘But don’t you want to find out who killed him?’
    ‘I s’pose. It would mean I could get the hell out of