Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye
Read Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye Online
Authors: M. C. Beaton
The Agatha Raisin series
(listed in order)
Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death
Agatha Raisin and the Vicious Vet
Agatha Raisin and the Potted Gardener
Agatha Raisin and the Walkers of Dembley
Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage
Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist
Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death
Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham
Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden
Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfam
Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell
Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came
Agatha Raisin and the Curious Curate
Agatha Raisin and the Haunted House
Agatha Raisin and the Deadly Dance
Agatha Raisin and the Perfect Paragon
Agatha Raisin and Love, Lies and Liquor
Agatha Raisin and Kissing Christmas Goodbye
Agatha Raisin and a Spoonful of Poison
ROBINSON
London
Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters
162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the USA 2007 by St Martin’s Press
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
First UK edition published by Constable,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd 2007
This paperback edition published by Robinson,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd 2008
Copyright © 2007, 2008 M. C. Beaton
The right of M. C. Beaton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in
any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication data is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-1-84529-533-2 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-84529-576-9 (hbk)
Printed and bound in the EU
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Agatha Raisin was born in a tower block slum in Birmingham and christened Agatha Styles. No middle names. Agatha had often longed for at least two middle names such as Caroline
or Olivia. Her parents, Joseph and Margaret Styles, were both unemployed and both drunks. They lived on benefits and the occasional bout of shoplifting.
Agatha attended the local comprehensive as a rather shy and sensitive child but quickly developed a bullying, aggressive manner so that the other pupils would steer clear of her.
At the age of fifteen, her parents decided it was time she earned her keep and her mother found her work in a biscuit factory, checking packets of biscuits on a conveyer belt for any faults.
As soon as Agatha had squirreled away enough money, she ran off to London and found work as a waitress and studied computing at evening classes. But she fell in love with a customer at the
restaurant, Jimmy Raisin. Jimmy had curly black hair and bright blue eyes and a great deal of charm. He seemed to have plenty of money to throw around. He wanted an affair, but besotted as she was,
Agatha held out for marriage.
They moved into one room in a lodging house in Finsbury Park where Jimmy’s money soon ran out (he would never say where it came from in the first place). And he drank. Agatha found she had
escaped the frying pan into the fire.
She was fiercely ambitious. One night, when she came home and found Jimmy stretched out on the bed dead drunk, she packed her things and escaped.
She found work as a secretary at a public relations firm and soon moved into doing public relations herself. Her mixture of bullying and cajoling brought her success. She saved and saved until
she could start her own business.
But Agatha had always been a dreamer. Years back when she had been a child her parents had taken her on one glorious holiday. They had rented a cottage in the Cotswolds for a week. Agatha never
forgot that golden holiday or the beauty of the countryside.
So as soon as she had amassed a great deal of money, she took early retirement and bought a cottage in the village of Carsely in the Cotswolds.
Her first attempt at detective work came after she cheated at a village quiche baking competition by putting a shop bought quiche in as her own. The judge died of poisoning and shamed Agatha had
to find the real killer. Her adventures there are covered in the first Agatha Raisin mystery,
The Quiche of Death,
and in the series of novels that follow. As successful as she is in
detecting, she constantly remains unlucky in love. Will she ever find happiness with the man of her dreams? Watch this space!
Agatha Raisin was bored.
Her detective agency in the Cotswolds was thriving, but the cases were all small, niggling and unexciting, and yet took a great deal of time to solve. She sometimes felt if she had to deal with
another missing cat or dog, she would scream.
Dreams and fantasies, that cushion she usually had against the realities of life, had, to her astonished mind, disappeared entirely. She had dreamed so long about her neighbour and ex-husband,
James Lacey, that she would not accept the fact that she did not love him any more. She thought of him angrily as some sort of drug that had ceased to work.
So although it was only early October, she tried to fill her mind with thoughts of Christmas. Unlike quite a number of people, Agatha had not given up on Christmas. To have the perfect Christmas
had been a childhood dream whilst surviving a rough upbringing in a Birmingham slum. Holly berries glistened, snow fell gently outside, and inside, all was Dickensian jollity. And in her dreams,
James Lacey kissed her under the mistletoe, and, like a middle-aged Sleeping Beauty, she would awake to passion once more.
Her friend, the vicar’s wife, Mrs Bloxby, had once pointed out that Christmas was to celebrate the birth of Christ, but Agatha’s mind shied away from that. To her, Christmas was more
Hollywood than church.
Christmas advertisements were already appearing on television, and supermarket aisles were laden with Christmas crackers, mince pies and puddings.
But something happened one crisp morning early in the month to take her mind off Christmas.
She was sitting in her office in Mircester, going through the files with her secretary, Mrs Freedman, wondering whether to handle another dreary job herself or to turn it over to one of her two
detectives, Phil Marshall and Patrick Mulligan. Her erstwhile detective, young Harry Beam, was now studying at Cambridge, and Agatha missed his hardworking energy.
‘I nearly forgot,’ said Mrs Freedman, ‘but this letter arrived for you. It’s marked “personal”, so I didn’t open it.’
Agatha picked it up. The handwriting on the envelope was spidery and there was no return address. She opened it. She read:
Dear Mrs Raisin,
I have learned of your prowess as a detective through the local newspapers and I wonder if you might find time to call on me. I think a member of my family is trying to kill me. Isn’t
the weather warm for October?
Yours sincerely,
Phyllis Tamworthy
The paper was expensive. The address, in raised italic script at the top, gave the address of The Manor House, Lower Tapor, Gloucestershire.
‘Nuts,’ said Agatha. ‘Barking mad. How are our profits?’
‘Good,’ said Mrs Freeman. ‘It is amazing how grateful people are to get one of their pets back.’
‘I miss Harry,’ sighed Agatha. ‘Phil and Patrick don’t mind the divorces, but they do hate searching for animals. They think it’s all beneath them, and I think
it’s beneath me.’
‘Why don’t you employ a young person to cope with the missing animals? A girl, perhaps. Girls are very keen on animals.’
‘That’s a very good idea. Put an ad in the local paper and we’ll see if we can get anyone. Say we want a trainee.’
A week later, Agatha, after a long day of interviews, felt she would never, ever find someone suitable. It seemed as if all the dimmest girls in Mircester fancied themselves as
detectives. Some had come dressed in black leather and stiletto-heeled boots, thinking that a Charlie’s Angel image would be appropriate. Unfortunately, with the exception of one anorexic,
the rest were overweight with great bosoms and buttocks. Weight would not have mattered, however, if any of them had shown the least spark of intelligence.
Agatha was about to pack up for the day when the door to her office opened and a young girl entered. She had blonde hair that looked natural and pale-blue eyes fringed with thick fair lashes in
a neat-featured face. She was conservatively dressed in a tailored suit, white blouse and low-heeled shoes.
‘Yes?’ asked Agatha.
‘My name is Toni Gilmour. I believe you are looking for a trainee detective.’
‘Applicants are supposed to apply in writing.’
‘I know. But you see, I’ve just made up my mind to try for the job.’
Actually, Toni had been lurking in the street outside for a good part of the day, studying the girls who came out after their interviews, examining their faces and listening to what they said.
She gathered that no one had got the job. She deliberately calculated that if she turned up last, then a desperate Mrs Raisin might take her on.
But Agatha was anxious to get home to her cats and relax for the weekend.
‘Go away and write your application,’ she said. ‘Send in copies of your school certificates plus a short description of why you think you might be suited for the
job.’
Agatha half-rose from her seat behind her desk, but sat down again as Toni said, ‘I have brought my school certificates with me. I am well educated. I work hard. People like me. I feel
that is important in getting facts.’
Agatha scowled at her. Agatha’s way of getting facts was usually by either lying or emotional blackmail or outright bullying.
‘It’s not glamorous,’ said Agatha. ‘Your job will be to try to find missing dogs and cats. It’s tedious work and you will often find that the animal has been killed
on the road or has probably been stolen. When did you leave school?’
‘Last June. I’m seventeen.’
‘Are you employed at the moment?’
‘Yes, I work at the pharmacy counter at Shalbey’s.’ Shalbey’s was one of the local supermarkets. ‘I work the late shift.’
‘The difficulty is that I need someone to start right away.’