Read Online Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death by MC Beaton - Free Book Online

still wonder why you came?’
    He drained the last of his coffee and stood up.
    ‘Perhaps I like you, Agatha Raisin.’
    Agatha blushed for about the first time in her life. He gave her an amused look and let himself out.

 
Chapter Four
     
    Agatha felt quite nervous as she waited for the Cotswold Express to pull in at Moreton-in-Marsh station. What would this friend of Roy’s be like? Would she like him? Agatha’s main worry was that the friend might not like her, but she wasn’t even going to admit to that thought.
    The weather was calm but still cold. The train, oh, miracle of miracles, was actually on time. Roy descended and rushed to embrace her. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt which bore the legend I HAVE BEEN USED. Following him came a slight young man. He had thick black hair and a heavy moustache and wore a light-blue denim jacket, jeans, and high-heeled cowboy boots. Butch Cassidy comes to Moreton-in-Marsh. This then was Steve. He gave her a limp handshake and stood looking at her with doggy eyes.
    ‘Welcome to the Cotswolds,’ said Agatha. ‘Roy tells me you’re Australian. On holiday?’
    ‘No, I am a systems analyst,’ said Steve in the careful English accents of an Eliza Doolittle who hadn’t yet quite got it. ‘I work in the City.’
    ‘Come along, then,’ said Agatha. ‘The car’s parked outside. I thought I would take you both out for dinner tonight. I’m not much of a cook.’
    ‘And neither you are, ducks,’ said Roy. He turned to Steve. ‘We used to call her the queen of the microwave. She ate most of her meals in the office and kept a microwave oven there, awful stuff like the Rajah’s Spicy Curry and things like that. Where are we going to eat, Aggie?’
    ‘I thought maybe the Red Lion in the village.’
    She unlocked the car door but Roy stood his ground. ‘Pub grub?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Steak and kidney pie and chips, sausage and chips, fish and chips and lasagne and chips?’
    ‘Yes, so what?’
    ‘So what? My delicate little stomach cringes at the thought, that’s what. My friend Jeremy said there was ever such a good restaurant in the Red Huntsman at Bourton-on-the Hill. Don’t you just love these place names, Steve? See, he’s drooling already.’ Steve looked impassive. ‘They’re Basque and do all those sort of fishy dishes. I say, Aggie, have you heard the one about the fire at the Basque football game? They all rushed to get out of the stadium and all got crushed in the exit and do you know what the moral of that is, my loves? Don’t put all your Basques in one exit. Get it?’
    ‘Stop wittering,’ said Agatha. ‘All right. We’ll try the place, although if it’s that good they may not have a table left.’
    But it turned out the Red Huntsman had just received a cancellation before they arrived. The dining-room was elegant and comfortable and the food was excellent. Agatha asked Steve to tell her about his work and then regretted it bitterly as he began a long and boring description of his job in particular and computers in general.
    Even Roy grew weary of his friend’s monologue and cut across it, saying, ‘What’s all this about you being involved in a death, Aggie?’
    ‘It was an awful mistake,’ said Agatha. ‘I entered a spinach quiche in a village competition. One of the judges ate it and died of poisoning.’
    Roy’s eyes filled with laughter. ‘You never could cook, Aggie dear.’
    ‘It wasn’t my cooking,’ protested Agatha. ‘I bought a quiche from The Quicherie in Chelsea and entered that.’
    Steve looked at her solemnly. ‘But surely in these sort of home-baking competitions you’re supposed to cook the thing yourself?’
    ‘Yes, but –’
    ‘But she was trying to pull a fast one as usual,’ crowed Roy. ‘Who was the judge and what did he die of?’
    ‘Mr Cummings-Browne. Cowbane poisoning.’
    ‘Struck down by a bane of cows? What is it? One of those peculiar agricultural diseases like swine fever or violet-root