Agatha Raisin and the Vicious Vet (Agatha Raisin Mysteries, No. 2)
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"A glorious cross between Miss Marple, Auntie Mame and Lucille Ball with a tad of pit bull tossed in. She's wonderful." St. Petersburg Times
Feisty Agatha Raisin, until recently a public-relations executive in London, has retired to peaceful Cotswold, where a romance is budding with the attractive new village vet, Dr. Paul Bladen. But Bladen accidentally kills himself while attending to Lord Pendlebury's horse, and Agatha must turn to her distinguished neighbor, the retired military man James Lacey, for comfort. Together, the odd couple begin to investigate Dr. Bladen's death . . . and the curious lack of sorrow shown by his divorced wife. But will they succeed in unmasking a killer before suffering an "accident" of their own?
agreed to try the disco. Back along Blackbird Street they went. They heard the thud, thud, thud of the disco music as they approached. The disco was called Rave On and was a club, but they got inside easily after paying a modest entrance fee. ‘Enjoy yourself, Grandma,’ said the bouncer to Agatha, who glared at him and said, ‘Get stuffed,’ and then realized that James’s face had taken on that shuttered look again. Inside it was full of bodies writhing under strobe lights. Following closely
‘Burglar alarm of course,’ said James. ‘We’ll take a look round the back if we can get there.’ They found a lane which ran along the back of a row of shops and the bank. There were a series of lock-ups, garages, and tall wooden fences, all having a closed, impregnable air. James counted along. ‘This is the back of the bank,’ he said, ‘what used to be the garden. Surely they wouldn’t wire up this wooden door in the wall.’ He took a small wallet of credit cards out of his pocket. Agatha bit back
darkness. Wearily, she turned the car and headed back down to the village again. Back indoors, she phoned the Chinese restaurant. No, came a voice at the other end, Mr Bladen had not turned up. Yes, he had booked a table. No, he had definitely not arrived. Feeling very flat, Agatha phoned Directory Enquiries and got a Mircester number for the vet. A woman answered the phone. ‘I am afraid Mr Bladen is busy at the moment.’ The voice was cool and amused. ‘This is Agatha Raisin,’ snapped Agatha.
questions. Glad to see Hodge is happy. Looking very fit.’ ‘Oh, Hodge is in the best of health.’ The almond-shaped eyes studying her so intently glittered slightly in the white light from the snow coming in the kitchen window. ‘Then why did poor Hodge have to go to this vet?’ ‘Have you been spying on me?’ ‘No, I just happened to be passing yesterday and I saw you carrying Hodge in a basket to the surgery. You should wear more sensible footwear in this weather.’ ‘I just wanted to check the
an instinct for danger. But in sleepy Carsely, where she often did not bother to lock her car at night, such instincts had gone. She walked on purposefully, striding out with a confident step which declared, don’t mug me, I’m loaded for bear, the step of the street-wise. At the end of a week, she headed back to Carsely, carrying two cat baskets this time. For the first time, she had an odd feeling of coming home. It was a sunny day, with a faint hint of warmth in the air. Snowdrops were