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ONE

AGATHA Raisin was a bewildered and unhappy woman. Her marriage to her next-door neighbour, James Lacey, had been stopped by the appearance of a husband she had assumed-hopefully-to be dead. But he was very much alive, that was, until he was murdered. Solving the murder had, thought Agatha, brought herself and James close again, but he had departed for north Cyprus, leaving her alone.

Although life in the Cotswold village of Carsely had softened Agatha around the edges, she was still in part the hard-bitten business woman she had been when she had run her own public-relations firm in Mayfair before selling up, taking early retirement and moving to the country. And so she had decided to pursue James.

Cyprus, she knew, was partitioned into two parts, with Turkish Cypriots in the north and Greek Cypriots in the south. James had gone to the north and somewhere, somehow, she would find him and make him love her again.

North Cyprus was where they had been supposed to go on their honeymoon and, in her less tender moments, Agatha thought it rather hard-hearted and crass of James Lacey to have gone there on his own.

When Mrs. Bloxby, the vicar’s wife, called, it was to find Agatha amidst piles of brightly coloured summer clothes.

“Are you taking all those with you?” asked Mrs. Bloxby, pushing a strand of grey hair out of her eyes.

“I don’t know how long I will be there,” said Agatha. “I’d better take lots. ”

Mrs. Bloxby looked at her doubtfully. Then she said, “Do you think you are doing the right thing? I mean, men do not like to be pursued. ”

“How else do you get one?” demanded Agatha angrily. She picked up a swim-suit, one-piece, gold and black, and looked at it critically.

“I have doubts about James Lacey,” said Mrs.

“You don’t know him,” said Agatha defensively, thinking of nights in bed with James, tumultuous nights, but silent nights during which he had not said one word of love. “Anyway, I need a holiday. ”

“Don’t be away too long. You’ll miss us all. ”

“There’s not much to miss about Carsely. The Ladies Society, the church fetes, yawn. ”

“That’s a bit cruel, Agatha. I thought you enjoyed them. ”

But Agatha felt that a Carsely without James had suddenly become a bleak and empty place, filled from end to end with nervous boredom.

“Where are you flying from?”

“ Stansted Airport in Essex. ”

“How will you get there?”

“I’ll drive and leave the car in the long-stay car-park. ”

“But if you are going to be away for very long, that will cost you a fortune. Let me drive you. ”

But Agatha shook her head. She wanted to leave Carsely, sleepy Carsely with its gentle villagers and thatched-roof cottages, behind and everything to do with it.

The doorbell rang. Agatha opened the door and Detective Sergeant Bill Wong walked in and looked around.