Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist by M. C. Beaton Page B

sagging. She really must pull herself together. She took a deep breath and jumped into the pool, expecting the shock of cold water, but the sea-water in the pool was warm. She swam energetically up and down until she felt calmer. She turned on her back to perform the backstroke and hit someone on the face. She rolled back over and found herself looking into a rather battered, but handsome middle-aged face.
    "Sorry," said Agatha.
    "It's all right," he said with a grin that revealed white teeth. "Couldn't have been hit by a more attractive lady."
    "You're American?"
    "No, Israeli. Here on holiday. You?"
    "British. And on holiday as well."
    "We can't talk very well paddling round each other like this," he said. "Let's sit at the edge of the pool for a bit."
    "I'm Bert Mort," he said, extending a wet hand when they sat together at the edge, their feet in the water.
    "Agatha Raisin," said Agatha, shaking his hand.
    "I was brought up in Brooklyn," said Bert. "But I moved to Israel ten years ago and I've got a clothing business outside Tel Aviv."
    "High-fashion?"
    "No, T-shirts, holiday wear, things like that. Did you hear about the murder?"
    "I was there."
    "Jeez, that must have been awful. Tell me about it."
    So Agatha did, hoping James was noticing her in the company of this good-looking man. She glanced across at James but his back was to her and he was talking to Olivia.
    At last Bert said, "Why not join me for dinner tonight? Or is there a Mr. Raisin with you?"
    "No, and I would like dinner. Where?"
    "I'll meet you in the hotel dining-room at eight."
    Agatha got up and said goodbye to her new friend and strolled back to the table. She felt all her old confidence restored.
    "Olivia's given me some sun-block," said James. "Sit down, Agatha, and I'll put some on your shoulders. They're turning bright red."
    As he stroked on the cream with an impersonal hand, Agatha said to Olivia, "I'm sorry I flared up like that. But I'm still tired. We had a grilling from the police this morning."
    "Yes, so did we," said Olivia. "We're to go to Nicosia tomorrow for the official grilling."
    "So are we," said Agatha. "But they must know none of us can have had anything to do with it."
    "It's those damned foreigners and their knives," growled Harry Tembleton.
    "They don't think it was a knife," said Trevor. "They say it was something much thinner, like a kebab skewer."
    Agatha had a sudden memory of Rose salaciously eating kebab off a skewer at The Grapevine. She wondered if a skewer had gone missing from The Grapevine.
    James said they should leave. By the time Agatha had put her beachdress on, she could feel her shoulders beginning to burn painfully. She told James about her idea of checking at The Grapevine to see if a skewer was missing.
    "I don't think that's much use," said James. "They sell them all over town. And any restaurant here is bound to have bundles of them in the kitchen. But we could go there for dinner tonight if you like."
    "I've got a date."
    They had reached the car. James turned and looked down at her.
    "A date? Who with?"
    "Some fellow I met at the pool."
    He got into the car and slammed the door shut. Agatha went round to the passenger side and got in. They drove back to the villa in silence.
    Agatha went straight to her room when they arrived. She lay down on the bed, suddenly tired and, lulled by the roar of the Mediterranean, fell fast asleep.
    When she awoke, it was dark. She screwed her head around and looked at the luminous dial of her travelling alarm clock. Seven-thirty! She would need to rush.
    There was no water in the bathroom and she felt sticky and grubby. She found a box of something called Fastwipes in her luggage for cleaning off make-up and used the whole box to wipe herself down. Her shoulders burnt like fire, but her face was getting a nice tan.
    She eased a short silk dress over her shoulders. Her legs were red, not brown, and almost as sore as her shoulders, but the thought of putting on tights made her