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handsome, but in rather a weak way.
    â€œI’m glad to see you,” said Gareth. “Oh, the police are looking for you, Mrs. Raisin.”
    â€œAgatha, please. Why?”
    â€œThey came back to interview me again. They said that Mrs. Crosswith claimed you assaulted her.”
    â€œShe threw a clod of earth at me and I threw it back,” said Agatha.
    â€œWell, they’re just setting up a mobile unit next to the market hall,” said Gareth. “Maybe you should drop in there and clear the matter up.”
    â€œAll right,” said Agatha irritably. “Why did the police want to see you again?”
    â€œOh, all that old history of me wanting to marry Gwen. If her husband had thought there was anything going on, he wouldn’t have let her perform for me.”
    â€œPerform?” asked Agatha. “Do you mean he wanted to watch while you had sex with his wife?”
    â€œGet your mind out of the sewer,” snapped Gareth, turning red. “Gwen is the leading lady in the Mircester Players. We are going to put on a production of The Mikado . John Hale plays the Mikado’s son and Gwen plays Yum-Yum. Gwen phoned me and said she wished to carry on with rehearsals. She is such a trouper. The police say the body will be released shortly. Everyone will feel better once the funeral is over.”
    â€œWhere is the funeral to take place?” asked Charles.
    â€œIt’s to be a non-religious service at Mircester crematorium.”
    â€œI don’t know how everyone can feel better with a murderer at large,” said Agatha. “Is anyone else carrying a torch for Gwen?”
    â€œAny more remarks like that and I shall regret employing you, Agatha. If you mean, was anyone so much in love with her that they would kill her husband—no.”
    Except you, thought Agatha.
    *   *   *
    They were just getting back into the car when Charles’s mobile rang. Agatha heard him say soothingly, “I’ll be right along.”
    Agatha looked at the rather smug smile on Charles’s face. “Who was that?”
    â€œThe merry widow. She wants to talk to me.”
    â€œGood! Let’s get going.”
    â€œI have been ordered to leave you behind.”
    â€œSnakes and bastards,” howled Agatha. “Who’s the detective? You or me.”
    â€œYou, detective. Me, marriageable man. Geddit?”
    â€œGot it,” said Agatha sourly. “I may as well report to the police.”
    *   *   *
    Agatha drove the short distance to the mobile police unit. She reflected that she was falling into the villager’s lazy way of driving everywhere instead of walking.
    To her relief, Bill Wong was there with two constables.
    â€œI gather you’ve had a complaint about me,” said Agatha.
    â€œYes, pull up a chair, Agatha. What happened?”
    â€œI had spoken to her and was just leaving when she threw a clod of earth that hit me on the head.” Agatha bent her head over the desk and combed her hair with her fingers. Several little bits of earth fell onto the white pages of a report. “See? So I threw it back.”
    â€œHere’s paper and pen. Write down what happened. I don’t think we’ll be taking it further. We have been called out several times in the past by Mrs. Crosswith, claiming her husband had attacked her, but she always backed down.”
    Agatha wrote busily and passed the report over to Bill.
    â€œIt’s all getting more and more complicated,” said Agatha. “It’s always the same. Someone dies or gets murdered and, at first, everyone says what a great person the deceased was and then nasty things begin to seep out. What do you think of Mrs. Simple?”
    â€œSeems an ordinary sort of housewife to me.”
    â€œOh, Bill. I do love you.”
    â€œThen don’t get under our feet,” warned Bill. “I don’t want you messing up a police