M.C. Beaton - The Case of the Curious Curate

“I can’t see her believing that.”

“She was so much in love with him and already in such a state of panic that she didn’t think clearly.”

“I never saw a less frightened woman.”

“Maybe he planned to dump your body somewhere and then arrange things so that it would look as if you had left the country. I don’t know. I think you should take things easy from now on, Agatha.”

“I plan to.”

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Agatha threw herself into preparations for the old folks’ club. She raised money by deciding after all to hold an auction and then held several bingo evenings in the school hall, much to the distress of the vicar, who felt it was encouraging gambling.

The opening party on Christmas Eve was a great success. The ladies’ society organized a roster of drivers to take the infirm elderly to the club.

In the new year, Ralph Crinsted started his chess classes.

Agatha felt mildly guilty that she had done nothing about taking further lessons from him, although he seemed to have a good few willing pupils.

It was the end of January before she realized that the for sale sign outside John’s cottage had gone.

Agatha hurried along to the vicarage. “Who’s my new neighbour?” she asked Mrs. Bloxby.

“I believe it is a certain Mr. Paul Chatterton, some sort of computer expert.”

“Oh, some computer nerd. Anyway, I’m not interested in men anymore. I thought John might have called at least once.”

“I wouldn’t worry about him. I think he was a bit of a lightweight.”

Agatha looked at her in surprise. It was highly unusual for the vicar’s wife to say anything critical about anyone.

Mrs. Bloxby coloured. “I do not like the way he treated you. I do wish you would find someone suitable.”

“I tell you, I’ve given up. There aren’t any suitable men when you get to my age, anyway.”

“God will provide,” said Mrs. Bloxby sententiously.

Agatha grinned as a vision of a handsome bachelor, gift-wrapped, and descending from heaven, entered her mind.

When she walked back to her cottage, she saw there was a removal van outside. Overseeing the unloading of it was what was obviously the new tenant. He was middle-aged but tall and fit-looking. He had a shock of white hair and a thin, clever face and sparkling black eyes.

Agatha hurried indoors. She picked up the phone and made an appointment with the hairdresser and then the beautician.

Not that she was interested in men anymore.

Still, it didn’t do to let oneself go.