Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil (Aunt Dimity Mystery) Read Free Page B

into the chair.
    “Don’t you want to know what happened?” I asked.
    “I can wait until morning, but if you can’t…”
    “The road was washed out,” I interrupted. “One minute I was driving straight up the side of a mountain and the next I was hanging over the edge of…nothing. I jumped out of the car just before it took a swan dive into the fog.” I heaved a remorseful sigh. The canary-yellow Range Rover had been a Christmas gift from Bill, and now I’d gone and dumped it in some godforsaken ravine. Along with Reginald.
    “Do you remember what road you were on?” Adam asked.
    “I’m not sure it was a road,” I replied. “It was unpaved, about two inches wide, and nearly vertical.”
    Adam pursed his lips. “You must’ve turned onto one of the military tracks. It doesn’t happen often. They’re quite good about gating them. Didn’t you see the warning signs?”
    “I couldn’t even see the side of the road,” I told him. “Are we on an army base?”
    “More of a target range,” Adam answered. “The army uses the high moors for artillery practice.”
    “Well,” I said, with a crooked grin, “that’ll make it easier for my husband, when he calls out the army to find me.”
    Adam leaned his head against the back of the chair. “He won’t have any trouble finding Wyrdhurst.”
    “What’s it like?” I asked.
    “Imposing,” he said, after a judicious pause. “It’s haunted, of course.”
    I laughed outright. “Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties?”
    “And things that go bump in the night.” Adam winced. “Appalling, isn’t it, in this day and age? But I have it on good authority that the ghost of Josiah Byrd walks Wyrdhurst’s corridors by night.”
    “Whose good authority?” I challenged.
    “My mechanic’s,” Adam said gravely, though his eyes were dancing. “Mr. Garnett is quite an expert on the man who built Wyrdhurst. Apparently, old Josiah was something of a terror. Still is, according to Mr. Garnett.”
    “If Josiah Byrd built Wyrdhurst Hall, he must have died ages ago,” I protested. “Don’t tell me the villagers still live in fear of him.”
    “People here have long memories,” said Adam. “They weren’t pleased when the house was restored and reopened. I think they were rather hoping it would decay into dust.”
    “Ghosts don’t frighten me.” Firsthand experience had taught me that the undead were more helpful than hurtful, but I couldn’t explain my curious relationship with Aunt Dimity to a man I hardly knew. He’d suspect a serious head injury or, worse, a touch of lunacy.
    “They frighten Mrs. Hollander,” said Adam. “Or so I’ve been told. The villagers think that’s why she’s not entirely happy in her new home.”
    “I’d blame the fog,” I said firmly. “Would you want to spend the first months of your marriage in a place with such rotten weather?”
    Adam was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the fire. Then he said softly, “If you’re with the right person, I don’t think the weather matters.” He looked toward me. “Do you?”
    The loose ringlets tumbling over his forehead gleamed like ebony in the fire’s glow, and his eyes were as dark as night. I felt a warm flush rise from the soles of my feet to the tips of my ears and averted my gaze, but didn’t reproach myself. It seemed hardly possible for a woman to awaken naked in a man’s arms without feeling stirrings of some sort. Besides, I knew I’d never act upon those stirrings. I was deeply in love with my husband.
    “How long will you stay at Wyrdhurst?” Adam asked.
    “I’m not sure,” I heard myself saying. “As long as it takes, I guess.”
    “I’ll cycle there first thing in the morning. The Hollanders will come to fetch you, I’m sure. But now”—Adam pointed a finger at me—“you must sleep. We can talk again tomorrow. If you need anything in the night, I’ll be right here.” He put his feet up on the ottoman, slouched comfortably