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first?’
    She was about to turn away. That was the trouble with true Christians like Mrs Bloxby; one never thought of them as having any life of their own.
    But the door opened and Mrs Bloxby smiled a welcome, pushing a wisp of grey hair out of her eyes.
    ‘I saw you coming up the road,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
    ‘And so did your husband,’ said Agatha ruefully. ‘He’s quite right. I should have phoned first.’
    ‘Never mind him. The heat is making us all irritable and he’s got evening service.’
    ‘In that case . . .’
    Agatha allowed herself to be led indoors just as the back door slammed angrily and through the window she could see the vicar striding off through the churchyard.
    ‘The trouble is,’ said Agatha, sitting down in the pleasant living room, ‘that when something is bothering me, I simply come along to see you without thinking you might be
busy.’
    ‘It works both ways,’ said Mrs Bloxby placidly. ‘I never bother calling you first. I’ll make some tea and then we’ll have it in the garden and see if we can get a
breath of air.’
    She never fussed, thought Agatha enviously, as through the window she watched Mrs Bloxby wiping the raindrops from the garden table and chairs. Then she retreated to the kitchen to make tea
before summoning Agatha into the garden.
    ‘Look at that!’ said Agatha. ‘Over at the churchyard. The gravestones are actually steaming in the heat. Looks like some Dracula film.’
    ‘We’re heading towards the end of the month. The cooler weather should be here soon,’ said Mrs Bloxby, pouring tea. ‘Now, what is the matter? James?’
    ‘No, it’s my hairdresser.’ Agatha told of her suspicions and Charles’s idea of setting a trap.
    ‘It could be quite dangerous for you.’ Mrs Bloxby’s large grey eyes looked concerned. ‘Surely this Mr John has heard of your reputation as a detective.’
    ‘He remembers about my husband’s murder. But I have never been credited in the newspapers with solving anything,’ said Agatha. ‘The credit has always gone to the police.
Tell me about the Friendlys.’
    ‘They haven’t been in Carsely long, as you know. Let me see, there was some scene after morning service a few weeks ago. Alf told me.’ Alf was the vicar.
    ‘Alf had been preaching a sermon about how we should have minds above material things and Mr Friendly said something afterwards in the church porch about how he hoped his wife had been
paying attention to the sermon because she was going through money like water. Mrs Friendly protested she had only been buying a few clothes and her husband said something like, “What
clothes? I haven’t noticed.”’
    ‘You think I should leave it alone?’
    ‘One part of me thinks you should. On the other hand, it would be quite dreadful should he prove to be a blackmailer. Just think of the misery he would cause! But why not tell your friend,
Bill Wong?’
    ‘I can’t,’ said Agatha. ‘Bill’s on holiday.’ She was still hurt by Bill’s not phoning her and did not want to say that Bill was holidaying at home.
    ‘What about his boss, Wilkes?’
    ‘He thinks I’m an interfering pain. No, I would need proof. There’s no harm in trying. At the worst he’s going to blackmail me. Not kill me.’
    ‘So what do you plan to do?’
    ‘I meant to ask him out but think I’ll make a hair appointment and this time watch and listen. See if I can suss out any other customers he might be putting the squeeze
on.’
    ‘Be careful. Now about the concert at Ancombe. It’s very good of you to take over the catering. Do you want me to help you?’
    ‘No, I’ll manage.’ Agatha had already decided to hire a catering firm to make cakes and savouries. Worth every penny to put Mrs Darry’s nose out of joint.
    ‘You know, I’m beginning to wish I had never recommended Mr John. But he has such a good reputation. Mrs Jessie Black over at Ancombe, the chairwoman of the ladies’ society,
she used to sport a