Agatha Raisin sat in her favorite armchair, nursing a large gin and tonic and glaring at her two cats, Hodge and Boswell. Retirement in the Cotswold village of Carsely was supposed to be a dream of rolling hills and tea parties, but at the moment, it felt more like a prison sentence of boredom.
"Going somewhere, Mr. Vane?" Agatha barked, blocking his path. "Just... securing my own exhibits," he stammered. Agatha Raisin
She also noted the suspicious behavior of the village's newest resident, a slick Londoner named Julian Vane, who claimed to be an "art consultant." He was currently trying to sneak out the back door with a heavy-looking briefcase. Agatha Raisin sat in her favorite armchair, nursing
"I'm afraid so," Mrs. Bloxby sighed. "It's poor Mr. Henderson, the retired horologist. He’s slumped over his display of grandfather clocks." She also noted the suspicious behavior of the
Agatha’s PR-trained brain started whirring. "And 10:15 was when the exhibition opened. He was fine at 10:10 when Mrs. Boggle saw him."