Agatha Raisin looked at the quiche on her kitchen counter and felt a rare prickle of guilt. It was golden, flaky, and smelled divine—mostly because it had been baked by an expert at a high-end London deli, not by Agatha herself.
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. 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. Agatha Raisin looked at the quiche on her