Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death Page #3

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But I'd like to start with

the most prestigious award -

that of the Best Quiche.

And the winner -

this year's pride of Carsely - is...

.. once again, Ella Cartwright.

Oh!

Thank you!

I think we all know

that mine was the best quiche.

I judged otherwise.

Or is everyone in this village

too busy stealing

to know how the world works?

Would you like to take

your quiche home, Agatha?

No, thank you. It's my gift to him.

He can shove it up his...

"He can shove the quiche

so far up his arse,

"you can see it when he burps!"

Don't! The vicar heard every word.

I don't know why you bother

with those silly sods.

Because they fit in, don't they?

They belong. Really?

Yeah! I mean,

look at the houses they live in.

You live here, in this dump.

No offence.

It is a dump.

All my life I've looked at people

who've belonged somewhere.

I still don't know how they do it.

Well, I belong here.

Have another sticky finger. I will.

Tomorrow, after work,

Kyra and I are going shopping.

Do you want to come?

I don't want to intrude.

You won't be. It's not like

I've got a man, is it?

And why not? Look at you!

Big sexy girl like you.

Well, the one I had buggered off.

And the one I really like

doesn't really notice me.

Have another sticky finger.

Will you stop it

with the sticky fingers!

Tomorrow, I'm going to get dressed

up, I'm going to go to church,

and I'm going to apologise.

The male lion has three wives

and lives a life of leisure,

impregnating them all in turn.

What on earth are you watching?

It's educational.

I'm off to rehearsal.

I brought that horrid woman's

quiche back.

I'll say one thing for her, though -

she can cook.

Which one of his pride

will the beast mount tonight?

See you later, son! Have a good one.

Is that policeman on again?

Just now. Yeah.

Why don't you join?

It's money, innit?

It might be worth it.

40 to 50?!

What's he done that for?

What?

Mrs. Josephs' cat has had a litter,

and I wondered if you could

do with some company.

Oh, hello! Look at you!

Teeny-tiny, oh, yes!

He's all yours.

Thank you. You'd better come in.

Come on in. I'll get you a drink.

I've got a lot to do today,

so be a good girl and sit quietly.

OK, Mum.

Tarzan! Tarzan! Come on, Tarzan.

Morning, Tarzan. Are they up yet?

Kyra, go in there and play

with your colouring book, please.

Mummy!

MUMMY!

Sarah!

Sarah. I must apologise

for my language yesterday.

Oh, don't worry! Emotions were high

and you'd made such an effort.

Everyone was saying it looked like

we had a real cook in the village.

Oh! Are you off to a wedding? No.

Careful, Bill! Morning, Agatha.

Is he in training for something?

I don't think so.

Where is he?

Bugger me!

Where's Jo?

What's going on?

I didn't think she was in.

Bill?

Are you sure it was poison?

Next week is the Green Man

Harvest Festival. A pagan event,

where the lustful and lascivious

sinners I see before me

will celebrate our fertile fields

with Morris dances

symbolising sex orgies

and the general pursuit of women.

And at the Green Man Festival,

I will represent Christ himself

in this village, strapped

to this cross, for your sins.

Why are the police here?

I don't know.

That was an ambulance,

not a police siren.

We saw Bill running past earlier.

What are they talking about?

I don't know.

.. and I ask all of you

to support me...

Where are you going?

Sarah! Sarah!

Sarah!

We talked about this!

What?

Right, check everything

and dust everything. Yes, sir.

Got it!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Bill, what's happening?

I'm sorry, it's an ongoing

investigation,

and I can't tell you anything.

Just spit it out,

for goodness sake, boy!

Andy's been poisoned.

What?!

What did he say?

So is the wife

a murder suspect in the murder?

Yes, sir. She fed him his supper.

And can you think of

any other suspects in the murder

who might have murdered him?

Not as yet, sir, no.

OK. Good.

I just want to get this right.

Mrs. Cummings-Murder,

we believe your husband has been

unlawfully killed by your quiche.

It wasn't mine. I didn't make it.

Then... who did?

Get in the car!

What do you think I'm doing?

Go, go, go!

Police!

Police! Is anyone in there?

What's going on?

Have you seen the woman

that lives in this house?

She just left.

On her bike.

She's running for it.

There she is!

Don't go too fast on this

hump-backed bridge...! Oh, no!

Agatha Raisin? Yes?

Did you yourself cook the quiche you

entered in the recent competition?

Of course I did. What was in it?

Why would you think

that I wouldn't know what was in it?

Just answer the question.

Pastry...

spinach...

.. eggy thing...

and bread.

Bread? Bread. Is that a crime?

I'll be the judge of that.

Would you make it for us, please?

N- Now? Yes.

OK.

I'll make a quiche for you.

(Eggs are definitely involved,

aren't they? Yes.)

(And milk. And milk.)

(Thank you.)

Right.

For the pastry, I will need some...

potatoes.

Oh, come on!

It's hardly cheating, is it?

It's just a silly little competition.

Anyway, why aren't you running

over the fields

chasing Andy Cummings-Browne's

killer or something?

Because he was poisoned to death

from eating cowbane

found in your quiche!

Well, that's what we suspect,

but we're not sure.

We're not sure, but we are sure.

We're awaiting confirmation.

Yes, we're awaiting fermentation,

but that was what everyone in that

room thought and knows to be true.

Cowbane?

A plant found in some parts

of Britain.

Here, for example.

Oh! Poor man.

So who did cook the quiche

you entered in the competition?

If I say, you won't tell everyone

in the village I cheated, will you?

If you do, they will never

speak to me again.

Hey! Where is everybody?

So the spinach quiche you submitted

at the village competition

was not baked by you?

No.

And you said to DCI Wilkes,

"It's hardly cheating".

This attempt to wilfully deceive

your neighbours and win 5.

"If I did it in London,

I'd get an OBE,

"you pathetic provincial plod".

Oh, dear!

I think he fancies her. Ssh!

Did you cook the quiche yourself?

We do all the baking, sir.

We buy from the grocer

across the street.

He goes to New Covent Garden

every morning for produce.

The cowbane... must have got in

with the spinach.

I apologise to Mrs. Cummings-Browne

and her husband's friends.

It's a tragic accident.

When I came back from rehearsal,

the television was still on,

which wasn't unusual for my husband

because he was forgetful.

So I switched it off

and went upstairs to bed.

My cleaner found his body

in the morning.

It was me!

Did you sleep in separate bedrooms?

I have a bad back

and I need the space.

I just thought he'd gone down to

the White Horse for his usual pint.

We heard from your family doctor

that because of your husband's

high blood pressure,

the shock of having toxins

like those produced by cowbane

in his body could be very dangerous.

Were you aware of this?

I wasn't, no.

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