She poured herself a stiff gin and looked at the empty quiche box in the bin. Retirement was turning out to be much more work than she had anticipated.
She had moved to the tiny village of Carsely to live the dream of a retired PR executive. But the Cotswolds were proving to be less of a pastoral escape and more of a social minefield. The local Quiche Competition was her ticket to instant prestige, and Agatha wasn't about to let a little thing like "honesty" get in the way. Agatha Raisin Y La Quiche Letal M C Beaton ...
The next morning, the village hall was stiflingly hot and filled with the scent of butter and judgment. Agatha watched as the judge, Reg Cummings, took a generous slice of her entry. He chewed slowly, his eyes widening. "Superb," he whispered. She poured herself a stiff gin and looked
The news hit Carsely faster than a summer storm: Reg Cummings was dead. He had been found slumped over his kitchen table, and the cause was quite clear. The spinach and cowhide-mushroom quiche—Agatha’s quiche—had been laced with a highly effective, very lethal dose of hemlock. But the Cotswolds were proving to be less
As the police sirens wailed toward her cottage, Agatha realized two things. First, her social standing in the village was officially ruined. Second, she was going to have to find the real killer just to prove she was a fraud, not a murderer.