M. C. Beaton - Busy Body: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Busy Body

Also by M. C. Beaton

AGATHA RAISIN

There Goes the Bride: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

A Spoonful of Poison: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Kissing Christmas Goodbye: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Love, Lies and Liquor: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Perfect Paragon: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Deadly Dance: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

Agatha Raisin and the Haunted House

Agatha Raisin and the Case of the Curious Curate

Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came

Agatha Raisin and the Love from Hell

Agatha Raisin and the Fairies of Fryfram

Agatha Raisin and the Witch of Wyckhadden

Agatha Raisin and the Wizard of Evesham

Agatha Raisin and the Wellspring of Death

Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

Agatha Raisin and the Murderous Marriage

The Walkers of Dembley: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Potted Gardener: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Vicious Vet: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Quiche of Death: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

The Skeleton in the Closet

HAMISH MACBETH

Death of a Bore

Death of a Poison Pen

Death of a Village

Death of a Celebrity

A Highland Christmas

WRITING AS MARION CHESNEY

Our Lady of Pain

Sick of Shadows

Hasty Death

Snobbery with Violence

An Agatha Raisin Mystery

M. C. BEATON

MINOTAUR BOOKS
NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

BUSY BODY. Copyright 2010 by M. C. Beaton. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Beaton, M. C.

Busy body : an Agatha Raisin mystery / M.C. Beaton. 1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-312-38701-3

1. Raisin, Agatha (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. Women private investigatorsEnglandCotswold HillsFiction. 3. City and town lifeEnglandFiction. 4. Cotswold Hills (England)Fiction. 5. Christmas stories. I. Title.

PR6053.H4535B87 2010

823'.914dc22

2010030459

First Edition: October 2010

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Hope Dellon,

with love

Busy Body

Having found that her love for her ex-husband, James Lacey, had more or less disappeared, Agatha Raisin, middle-aged owner of a detective agency in the English Cotswolds, decided to hit another obsession on the head.

For the past two years she had been determined to create the perfect Christmas, the full Dickensian dream, with disappointing results. So she decided to flee Christmas by taking a long holiday in Corsica. Her second in command, young Toni Gilmour, was more than capable of dealing with the usual run of dreary divorce cases and missing pets, the bread and butter of the agency.

Agatha had booked a room in a hotel in the town of Porto Vecchio at the south of the Mediterranean island. She had Googled the information and found that it was an old Genoese town with a winter temperature in the low sixties Fahrenheit.

She arrived at the hotel late because it took her more than an hour to find a taxi at Figari Airport. Agatha looked forward to celebrating Christmas with a lobster dinner. No more turkey.

The receptionist at the hotel greeted her with, I see youve booked in with us for three weeks. Why?

Agatha blinked. Why? Im on holiday.

But what are you going to do? asked the receptionist. Most of the shops and restaurants are closed. You dont have a car. There arent that many taxis, and the ones that there are dont like short trips.

Ill think about it, said Agatha wearily. Im hungry. Do you have a restaurant?

No, but if you go out of the hotel and turn right and then next left it will take you up to the citadel and there are a few restaurants there.

Agatha left her luggage and set off on the steep climb up to the citadel. The Christmas decorations were the most beautiful she had ever seen, but the streets were deserted. She reached the square in the centre of the old citadel. There were two restaurants open and, in the middle of the square, an empty skating rink where men were pouring water on the surface of the ice so that it would freeze overnight. Agathas spirits sank even lower. She had not imagined Corsica ever getting cold enough for ice to freeze.

There was a heated area for smokers facing one restaurant. She sat down and ordered a meal which turned out to be nothing special and came to forty-two euros, which, thanks to the falling sterling, meant it cost her the equivalent of forty-two pounds.

She sat and puffed on a cigarette and debated whether to hire a car or not. The trouble was Agatha could not parallel park. In fact, she felt happy only when there was an empty parking space that could take the size of a truck. The cars she had seen parked were all tight together. How on earth did they manage to get out without damaging the cars parked up against them, front and back?

Agatha did not want to admit failure. She did not want to return home and say she had made a mistake. A good nights sleep was all she needed. She trudged back to the hotel through the deserted streets under the sparkling golden halo of Christmas decorations around every street lamp.

The next day was sunny. After a good breakfast, Agatha asked directions to the port, where she was sure there must be delicious seafood. Theres a quick way down from the citadel, said the receptionist, but its terribly steep. Agathas arthritic hip gave a nasty twinge. What about round by the road? she asked. How long would that take?

About half an hour.

So Agatha set out. And walked and walked and walked until an hour and a half later, she found herself at the port. There was a restaurant open, but no lobster. She ordered a salmon steak, the special of the day, reflecting that she could easily have got the same thing back home in England. At the end of the meal, she hopefully asked the waitress to phone for a taxi. But the result was no taxi would take her. They only like long trips from town to town, said the waitress.

So Agatha decided to try the shortcut up to the citadel. It was incredibly steep. At one point, she could have sworn the pavement was staring her in the face. The pain in her hip was severe and she panted for breath the whole way up. When she reached the square in the citadel, she sank down into a chair in a restaurant and ordered a beer. She took out a packet of cigarettes and then put them away again. She was still gasping from the climb up.

I have to get out of here, she thought. Bonifacio is supposed to be beautiful. Dammit. Ill hire a car and go there. Theres bound to be lobster there.

Back at the hotel, she checked Bonifacio on her laptop. She read that the harbour was exclusive and sophisticated with many good restaurants. There was an old medieval town on the cliff above the harbour. There did not seem to be many hotels open but she found one that looked promising and booked a room, saying cautiously she did not know how long she would be staying.

As she drove off at dawn the following morning in her rented car, she was glad of the deserted roads and the fact that the route to Bonifacio was well signposted. As the sun rose on another perfect day and her car climbed up into the mountains, Agatha felt happy. It was all going to be all right.