If only the bossy, beloved Agatha Raisin were as lucky at finding the right man as she is at catching killers in M. C. Beaton's New York Times bestselling mystery series 

Celebrating the twentieth anniversary of everyone's favorite sleuth, M. C. Beaton's Agatha Raisin is as feisty as ever—armed with her famous wit and biting sense of humor. This time, though, there's some biting of a whole other sort going on. Agatha has fallen head over heels in love—again. This time, she has her eye on the local gardener, George Marston, but so do other women in their little Cotswold village. Shamelessly determined, Agatha will do anything to get her man—including footing the bill for a charity ball just for the chance to dance with him. And then George doesn't even show up. Only partly deterred, Agatha goes looking for him, and finds his dead body in a compost heap. Murder is definitely afoot, but this killer chose no ordinary weapon: A poisonous snake delivered the fatal strike.

Rising to the occasion, Agatha rallies her little detective agency to find the killer, only to learn that George had quite a complicated love life. But murderously complicated? Well, if she can't have George, at least Agatha can have the satisfaction of confronting the other women and solving the crime. With Hiss & Hers, once again, "M. C. Beaton has a foolproof plot for the village mystery" (The New York Times Book Review) in the irresistible adventures of the irrepressible Agatha.

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M. C. BEATON, the British guest of honor at Bouchercon 2006, has been hailed as the “Queen of Crime" (The Globe and Mail). She is the author of twenty-two previous Agatha Raisin novels, whose fans range from the actress Elizabeth Hurley to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Born in Scotland, she now divides her time between Paris and the English Cotswolds.

< Chapter One Agatha Raisin, private detective, was in the grip of a great obsession. Her friend, the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Bloxby, reflected sadly that Agatha, a normally shrewd woman, seemed to lose her wits when she fell in love.For Agatha had fallen for the village of Carsely’s gardener and odd-job man, George Marston. He had worked on her garden until it was into shape and then Agatha, to Mrs. Bloxby’s horror, had smashed up her perfectly good bookshelves in order to employ him again doing carpentry.George Marston, ex-army, was over six feet tall with green eyes and thick blond hair streaked with grey.But Agatha had fierce competition from the other women in the Cotswold village, and from one very dangerous one in particular. Jessica Fordyce, a leading actress in a long-running hospital drama, had bought a cottage in the village for week-ends. Jessica was in her thirties, petite, with flaming red hair framing a heart-shaped face. And she was witty and amusing. And she seemed to need a lot of gardening work done.Agatha began to grudge the time spent out of the village on detective work. She ran a successful detective agency in Mircester. But she reminded herself that she had moved to the Cotswolds from London and had taken early retirement, although in her early fifties, to enjoy life.She fretted over her appearance. How could thick glossy brown hair and good legs compete with such as Jessica? Jessica’s eyes were large and blue. Agatha’s were small and bearlike, looking warily out from a round face.Things came to a head for Agatha when George rang one evening and said he hoped to take her for lunch the following day to repay the lunch she had previously bought him. “But of course you will be at work as usual,” he said.“I’m free this week-end,” said Agatha hopefully.“Sorry. I’m all booked up. Another time.”I’m sick of work, thought Agatha furiously. I’m going back to being a village lady.The doorbell rang. Oh, be still my heart! But it was only Mrs. Bloxby.“Come in,” said Agatha grumpily. Mrs. Bloxby noticed that Agatha was wearing full make-up and high heels. She never seemed to relax these days. Agatha was always impeccably dressed and her make-up was a trifle too thick.“Have a drink,” said Agatha. “I could do with one.”“I’ll have a sherry.”Bless her, thought Agatha, hobbling into the sitting room. Sherry somehow went with Mrs. Bloxby’s quiet eyes and ladylike appearance.“Why don’t you kick off your shoes?” asked Mrs. Bloxby when the drinks were poured. “Your feet seem to be hurting you.”“Oh, all right.” Agatha cast one longing look at the window as if hoping to see George’s tall figure and then eased her feet o Read Less