Bertha sat nervously in an armchair facing them, her plump face lit up by the lights from the television cameras. Bertha tried to speak and then burst into tears. Agatha handed her a box of tissues and hissed, “Pull yourself together!” Bertha gulped and said in a weak voice, “I’m that ashamed. How I could believe that a fine man like my boss could murder anyone? He’s forgiven me, and God bless him.” “What was your opinion of the late Lady Teller?” asked a reporter. Bertha popped on her glasses and peered down at a piece of paper on which Agatha had written out what she must say. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead,” she said. “But she was something cruel. Always bitching and complaining and treating my boss like dirt. Hardly ever home in the evenings.” Agatha immediately regretted writing that bit about “treating my boss like dirt.” Talk about broadcasting a motive! Time to make the vultures really sit up and take notice. “According to a reliable source,”
