“Isn’t that Agatha?”

“Don’t let her see us,” urged Toni. “Bassett doesn’t like her and he won’t talk freely.”

They put their helmets on and raced off down the village street. “Morons,” grumbled Agatha as they roared past, not recognizing either Toni or Harry in their helmets.

The farmer seemed delighted to see Toni again. “The wife’s over in Mircester,” he said. “Who’s this?”

“Harry Beam,” said Toni.

“This your fellow?”

“Harry used to work for Agatha Raisin. He’s now studying at Cambridge,” explained Toni.

“Got away from the old bat, did you? You should do the same, Toni.”

Toni was about to flare up in Agatha’s defence but stopped herself just in time. Arguing with Hal wouldn’t elicit any information.

“Come into the house,” he said. “And we’ll have some tea, unless you would like something stronger.”

“Tea’s fine.”

They followed him into the kitchen. Harry looked around. “Your kitchen’s cool,” he said.

“It’s the stone flags and the thick walls that keeps it that way,” said Hal, not recognizing the slang. “Sit down. What brings you?”

Toni remembered studying Agatha’s notes on the case. Hal had his back to them as he plugged in the electric kettle.

“I wondered if you had thought about what happened at the fête and come up with any ideas,” said Toni.

“Are you sure it wasn’t one of the visitors?”

“I’ve got a feeling it was someone in the village.”

“Then it must have been someone mad. And if you want someone mad, try Sybilla Triast-Perkins.”

“Why her?”

“I think she had her head turned when she fell in love with George Selby. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that she pushed Mrs. Selby downstairs. Now, George has got his eye on the vicar’s wife, folk say. So jealous Sybilla could have poisoned the jam in the hope that Trixie got some of it. Now, here’s the tea. Don’t use sugar or milk. This is white tea.”