“But it is interesting,” protested Paul. “As a child, didn’t you want to spend the night in a haunted house?”
Agatha thought briefly of the Birmingham slum she had been brought up in. There had been so much earthly terror and violence that as a child she had little need to scare herself with things supernatural.
She sighed and capitulated. “May as well give it a try.”
“I’ll bring a late supper and a Scrabble board to pass the time.”
“A Ouija board might be better.”
“Haven’t got one of those. What would you like to eat?”
“I’ll eat before we go. Lots of black coffee would be a good idea. I’ll bring a large Thermos.”
“Good, then. We’re all set.”
They drove back into Carsely under the watchful eyes of various villagers.
“I saw Mrs. Raisin out with that Paul Chatterton,” complained Miss Simms, secretary of the ladies’ society, to Mrs. Bloxby when she met her outside the village stores later that day. “I don’t know how she does it! Here’s all of us women trying to get a look in and she snaps him up. I mean ter say, she’s no spring chicken.”
“I believe men finds Mrs. Raisin sexy,” said the vicar’s wife and tripped off with her shopping basket over her arm, leaving Miss Simms staring after her.
“Would you believe it?” Miss Simms complained ten minutes later to Mrs. Davenport, a recent incomer and now a regular member of the ladies’ society. “Mrs. Bloxby, the wife of a vicar, mark you, says that Mrs. Raisin is sexy.”
“And what prompted that?” demanded Mrs. Davenport, looking every inch the British expatriate she had recently been-print dress, large Minnie Mouse white shoes, small white gloves and terrifying hat.
“Only that our Mrs. Raisin has been driving around with Paul Chatterton and the pair of them looking like an item.” Under the shadow of the brim of her hat, Mrs. Davenport’s face tightened in disapproval. Had she not presented Mr. Chatterton with one of her best chocolate cakes and followed it up with two jars of homemade jam? And hadn’t he just politely accepted the gifts without even asking her in for a coffee?