Aunt Dimity: Detective by Nancy Atherton Page A

hall, and Mr. Wetherhead’s home, which had once housed the schoolmaster. Each place held memories for me. I wondered how the memories would be altered if it turned out that one of those quaint buildings sheltered a killer.
    The vicarage held the dearest memories of all. Bill and I had held our wedding reception in the rambling, two-story house, surrounded by friends, family, and hundreds of blue irises. I smiled reminiscently as I parked the Rover in the graveled parking space and followed Nicholas through the front door.
    Lilian Bunting had evidently decided that luncheon would be a formal affair. The dining room, its wide windows overlooking the front garden and Saint George’s Lane, was attired as resplendently as a bride. The table was draped with white linen, decked with old silver, and set with the Buntings’ second-best china. A cut-glass vase bristling with bright yellow tulips served as a centerpiece.
    Lilian’s grim visage detracted slightly from the tulips’ radiance.
    â€œTeddy refuses to join us for lunch,” she announced as she entered the dining room. “He claims to have no appetite, though he scarcely ate a crust of bread at breakfast.”
    â€œLet me speak with him,” Nicholas offered, and left us alone in the dining room.
    â€œAnd let me speak with you,” I said to Lilian, and told her of our plan to collect information on Mrs. Hooper’s murder. “We may come up empty,” I warned, “but anything’s better than sitting back and doing nothing.”
    â€œYou can’t do worse than the authorities have done,” Lilian said. “And Nicky does have a way with people.”
    â€œI’ve noticed.” I surveyed the sparkling table and decided to tell a minor lie in hopes of cheering Lilian further. “I’m really looking forward to this meal. I missed a lot of things while I was in the States, but your cooking was right at the top of the list.”
    â€œDon’t be silly,” said Lillian, but I could tell by the way she lifted her chin that I’d achieved my goal.
    Lilian and I were filling the water glasses when Nicholas returned to the dining room, his uncle trailing dolorously in his wake.
    The Reverend Theodore Bunting wasn’t a little ray of sunshine at the best of times—his long face, dignified beak of a nose, and mournful gray eyes were better suited to funerals than to weddings—but I’d never seen him so utterly downcast. His shoulders sagged, his clerical collar was askew, and the faint lines in his forehead had deepened to ravines. He looked as though he’d aged ten years over the past three months.
    â€œNicholas tells me that you and he are trying to clear up this dreadful business,” he said, shaking my hand. “My prayers will be with you. God knows the villagers won’t speak honestly with their pastor.”
    â€œThat’s their loss,” I said stoutly. “I don’t want you driving yourself into the ground because they’re too stupid to know what’s good for them.”
    â€œListen to Lori.” Nicholas took his uncle by the elbow and guided him to the head of the table. “It’s your duty to stay fit. Your flock will need you more than ever when the truth of the matter comes out.”
    â€œIf it does,” the vicar murmured.
    â€œ ‘Act as if ye have faith and faith shall be given unto you.’ Oops.” Nicholas gave the vicar a wily, unapologetic glance. “Sorry, Uncle Teddy, that’s your line.”
    Theodore Bunting’s mouth twitched with a suggestion of a smile, and Lilian beamed as happily as if her husband had burst into song. As I watched the vicar tuck into his green salad, I felt a surge of confidence in my newly launched joint venture.
    Nicholas truly did have a way with people.

Chapter 8
    The luncheon was more enjoyable than anyone could have anticipated. Lilian made sure that our conversation