Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage by MC Beaton

the homeless at a charity event. No photograph. Agatha felt cheated until James pointed out that the publicity would be the one thing to flush out Mrs Gore-Appleton.
    There seemed nothing left to do but allow themselves to be entertained to lunch, return to Carsely, and find out what the article in the following morning’s paper would bring.
    Agatha struggled awake the next morning out of a heavy sleep. Someone was banging on her bedroom door. She put on her dressing-gown and then stood, irresolute. The someone would be James, of course. The article must be in the paper. She debated whether to ask him to wait until she changed, but then shrugged. The days of dressing up for James had gone.
    She opened the door. He was brandishing a copy of The Bugle. ‘Would you believe it!’ he raged. ‘Not a bloody word!’
    ‘Come down to the kitchen,’ said Agatha. ‘Are you sure you didn’t miss it?’
    ‘Not a word,’ he repeated angrily.
    Agatha sat down wearily at the kitchen table and spread out the newspaper. The headline screamed, FREDDIE COMES OUT OF THE CLOSET! A comedian, the pet of British audiences for his clean humour, had declared he was gay. The other story on page one was about a Bugle reporter who had been shot by the Bosnian Serbs.
    ‘We never heard a word about these stories when we were in the office,’ said Agatha. ‘They must have broken in the afternoon and knocked our story out of the paper.’
    ‘Maybe they’ll run it tomorrow.’
    Agatha shook her head, wise in the way of newspapers. ‘They won’t use it now,’ she said gloomily. ‘If they had had the story right at the time of the murder, they would have used it no matter what. But now it’s sort of yesterday’s news.’
    ‘I’ll phone up that editor and give him a piece of my mind.’
    ‘Wouldn’t do any good, James. We’ll need to think of something else.’
    He paced up and down the kitchen. ‘I feel frustrated,’ he said. ‘I want to do something now.’
    ‘That health farm,’ said Agatha. ‘The one Jimmy went to. We could go there and perhaps get a look at the records and see who was there at the same time, pick out the people Jimmy might have thought of blackmailing.’
    James brightened. ‘Good idea. What’s the name of the place?’
    ‘I’ve got Roy’s notes in the living-room. Look there. They might be cagey about letting us see their records, so perhaps we’d best check into this health farm as guests and under false names.’
    ‘We’ll check in as man and wife. Mr and Mrs Perth, that’ll do.’
    James hurried off, leaving Agatha to marvel at the sheer insensitivity of men. Husband and wife, indeed, and without a blush!
    Agatha went back upstairs to wash and dress. She longed to be in her own home again. Perhaps she should call on Mrs Hardy one more time.
    Mrs Hardy answered the door to Agatha half an hour later. She was as muscular and tweedy as ever, and a truculent look lit up her eyes when she saw Agatha.
    ‘Look,’ said Agatha, ‘I wondered if you would reconsider letting me have my cottage back. I would pay you a generous sum.’
    ‘Oh, go away,’ said Mrs Hardy. ‘I am working to settle in here and could do without these tiresome interruptions from such as you. I hear you were once a businesswoman. Behave like one.’
    She slammed the door in Agatha’s face.
    ‘Stupid old trout!’ raged Agatha to James when she returned to join him and told him about Mrs Hardy’s continued refusal to sell the house.
    ‘Why bother?’ said James. ‘There are other houses, you know. I heard in the village that the Boggles are thinking of moving to an old folks’ home. That means you could buy their house.’
    Agatha gazed at him, aghast. ‘But the Boggles live in a council house.’
    ‘What’s wrong with that? Some of these council houses are very well built. And the Boggles’ place would be quite roomy once you got the junk out.’
    Agatha wondered if he thought a council house was all she was good enough