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  “Agatha!” Claudette squealed, throwing her arms around her and kissing her on both cheeks. “I am so happy that you are here again!”

  “I’m very pleased to be here. How is Pascal?”

  “He is very well and looking forward to seeing you this evening. He is out touring the vineyard with a friend. Now come inside, I think it may be starting to rain.”

  They hurried inside and Claudette organised tea for them in the drawing room. They settled into chairs with a view through the tall windows over the vineyards that stretched off to the far horizon. The first spots of light rain peppered the glass.

  “It is so nice to be back,” said Agatha, “but there is something I must talk to you about, Claudette.”

  “You sound so serious. What is it that is troubling you?”

  “Do you know anything about CPD Developments?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “CPD Developments is part of CPD Holdings, an investment company. CPD is Claudette-Pascal-Duvivier, isn’t it? Both companies are owned by you and your uncle.”

  “That is correct,” said Claudette, sounding a little defensive. “We have many companies involved in property investments.”

  “You must be aware that CPD Developments bought Deborah and Jacob Lexington’s house for a vastly inflated sum.”

  “They needed money.” Claudette shrugged. “I felt sorry for them. They had been through so much. My uncle and I decided to help them. I know what it is like to lose your parents so young, and then there was the incident with Mary Brown-Field…”

  “Did you know that Deborah was able to walk again?”

  “I visited them once or twice. I could see that she was getting better.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of the two of you as friends.”

  “How is it that you say in English … the enemy of my enemy is my friend!”

  “I thought your fight with Mary was just a storm in a teacup, so to speak.”

  “You do not know it all. No one except Uncle Pascal and Pierre knows. No one saw. I caught her in our transporter with the horses. What I told you about her trying to kick me and me hitting her with my hat was true, but then…”

  Claudette lifted her T-shirt to show Agatha a livid scar running diagonally across her abdomen from just below her left breast to just above her right hip. Agatha caught her breath.

  “She did that?”

  “She took a steel bale hook—we use for lifting hay bales—from a wall rack and swipe me. I was lucky. It is not too deep, no major damage, but when it happen, there was a lot of blood. I was in much pain and collapsed. I could not move. She did not call for help. She took a rag, wiped clean the bale hook of her fingerprints, then left. Pierre found me.

  “I could not compete, could not ride for months. Now I am well again, but this,” she ran a finger down the scar, then smoothed her T-shirt back into place, “this is for keeps, and not so good in bikini weather, no?”

  “You could have had her thrown in jail.”

  “With no witnesses, I think not. We say it was an accident and I look for a way to pay her back.”

  “So you paid the Lexingtons to kill her?”

  “Kill?” Claudette shrugged again. “How do I know they would do that? We make sure they have enough money to move abroad, start a new life, that is all.”

  “How did that help you to pay Mary back?”

  “Every little bit helps…”

  “I’m afraid I don’t believe you, Claudette,” said Agatha, standing, “but I doubt I will ever be able to prove that you were involved in the murder plan. I’m not entirely sure that I even want to try, but I don’t think I can stay here either. I’m going to head back to Carsely. I will see myself out.”

  “I am sorry you feel this way, but of course you must do as you wish. Au revoir, Agatha.”

  “No,” said Agatha. “Adieu, Claudette.”

  * * *

  Agatha had made it as far as one of the sweeping staircases outside the front door when she saw two figures walking up the other side. Two men. She knew both of them. One was Pascal, the other was Sir Charles Fraith. She turned and took up position at the top of their staircase.

  “Aggie!” called Charles, beaming a smile up at her. “What a fantastic surprise. How lovely to see you—”

  “YOU!” shrieked Agatha, jabbing a finger at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “He has come to research the vines,” explained Pascal, “perhaps make English wine and—”

  “A likely story!” Agatha snapped. “You have no interest in vines. You might, of course, have an interest in Claudette!”

  “Well, naturally, Claudette and I—”

  “How long have you been seeing her? Wait a minute … you were in on it, weren’t you?” Agatha roared, taking a neatly logical step to entirely the wrong conclusion. “You were in on the murder right from the beginning—with them, and with the Lexingtons! You have played me for a fool all along!”

  “Aggie, sweetie, I—”

  “Don’t call me that!” she shrieked. “Don’t say another word! I never want to see you again! Stay away from me! Stay out of my life! You hear me? STAY OUT OF MY LIFE!”

  She ran down the stairs, leapt into the hire car and sped off along the road through the vineyard.

  “What … what was all that about, Pascal?” gasped Charles.

  “I have no idea.” Pascal shrugged, casting a furtive glance at Agatha’s departing car.

  “But she mentioned the murder, and the Lexingtons. You don’t know the Lexingtons, do you?”

  “I know no one of that name,” Pascal lied.

  “She was so upset…”

  “I think it is what women do best,” said Pascal, taking Charles gently by the arm. “Perhaps she has been working too hard. Too much stress. Too much murder on her mind. Now come, let us try some of our wine…”

  * * *

  Agatha caught an early-evening train from Bordeaux to Paris. She considered finding a hotel room to break her journey, go for a stroll and find somewhere nice for dinner. The idea was short-lived. She loved the sounds, the smells and the feel of Paris. It was such a romantic city … and that was her problem. She was on her own. Had she been able to share an evening in the City of Light, walking along the banks of the Seine, even in the drizzly rain that was now falling, would have been a huge pleasure. On her own, it was a damp, miserable prospect.

  Studying her timetables, she worked out that she could make it to Paddington for the late train back to Moreton. Instead of a romantic dinner in the French capital, she would grab a sandwich from the Eurostar buffet on the way to London.

  It was almost one o’clock in the morning by the time she reached Carsely and parked her car in Lilac Lane. Her cottage was in darkness. There was a light on in James’s dining room. Agatha knew that he often worked late, finding it easier to write when most of the rest of the village was sound asleep and there were no other distractions. She climbed out of her car and the click of the door closing brought him to his study window. She walked up his path rather than hers, knowing that he would come to the door.

  “What’s happened?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a chateau somewhere in France?”

  “I am, or I was, but … I just wanted to come home, James.”

  “I see,” said James, hearing exhaustion and despair in her voice. “French men not fruity enough?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” he said, smiling. “You look dead beat. That’s quite a round trip you’ve had.”

  “I know, and … Oh James, I feel like such a fool … a complete idiot…”

  “You’re not,” he said, putting his arms around her. “You’re just tired. The whole murder thing has worn you out.”

  She looked up at him and he kissed her gently.

  “Don’t be on your own tonight,” he whispered. “Stay with me.” He held his arms up in mock surrender. “No rumpy-pumpy, I promise. Just sta
y with me.”

  She hugged him tight. “I would love that,” she said. They went inside together and the light in the study window clicked off.

  Also by M. C. Beaton

  AGATHA RAISIN

  Beating About the Bush: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  The Dead Ringer: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  The Witches’ Tree: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  Pushing Up Daisies: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  Dishing the Dirt: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  The Blood of an Englishman: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  Something Borrowed, Someone Dead: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  Hiss and Hers: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  As the Pig Turns: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  Busy Body: An Agatha Raisin Mystery

  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

  EDWARDIAN MYSTERY SERIES

  Our Lady of Pain

  Sick of Shadows

  Hasty Death

  Snobbery with Violence

  About the Author

  M. C. BEATON, hailed as the “Queen of Crime” by The Globe and Mail, was the author of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Agatha Raisin novels—the basis for the hit series on Acorn TV and public television—as well as the Hamish Macbeth series and the Edwardian Murder Mysteries featuring Lady Rose Summer. Born in Scotland, Beaton started her career writing historical romances under several pseudonyms as well as her maiden name, Marion Chesney. She passed away in 2019. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Foreword by R. W. Green

  An Introduction from M. C. Beaton on the Agatha Raisin Series

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Also by M. C. Beaton

  About the Author

  Copyright

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

  First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group

  HOT TO TROT. Copyright © 2020 by M. C. Beaton. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  Cover design by Rowen Davis and David Baldeosingh Rotstein

  Cover hand lettering by Sara Wood

  Cover images: woman on horse © anilinn/123RF; distant riders © Bokica/Shutterstock.com; barn © John David Bigi III/Shutterstock .com; tree © Didou/Shutterstock.com; field and sky © Spicy Truffel /Shutterstock.com

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-1-250-15775-1 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-250-15777-5 (ebook)

  e-ISBN 9781250157775

  Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].

  Originally published in the United Kingdom by Constable Books

  First U.S. Edition: 2020