Aunt Dimity and the Village Witch Read Online Free Page B

RVs parked along the lanes?”
    “Worse than that,” Grant said grimly. “The Bowenists aren’t all penniless vagabonds, Lori. Some of them are wealthy enough to buy property. A millionaire chap named Myron Brocklehurst bought a small farm across the road from Bowen’s estate and turned it into a Mother Earth–worshiping Bowenist commune.”
    “Hold on,” I said. “Are you telling me that Mae Bowen’s followers might move to Finch permanently , just to be near her?”
    “It’s a possibility,” said Grant. “She’s removed the walls that used to stand in their way. They’ll want to take advantage of her accessibility.”
    “If the Bowenists drive up housing prices,” said Charles, “they could drive out the locals.”
    “And the village we know and love,” Grant concluded, “would cease to exist.”
    We lapsed into a prolonged and heavy silence. The men sipped their drinks, the dogs rested from their exertions, and I stared into the middle distance, contemplating a future without Finch.
    “You’re overreacting,” I said at last.
    “Perhaps,” Grant acknowledged. “But what if we’re not? What if the scenario plays out exactly as we’ve described it?”
    “I don’t see what we can do to stop it,” said Charles. “It’s a free country. We can’t prevent loonies like Myron Brocklehurst from coming here.”
    “They won’t come if they don’t know she’s here,” I said slowly. I thought for a moment, then sat forward in my chair. “I’ll bet you just about anything that we’re the only people in Finch who know who Amelia Thistle is. If we keep our mouths shut, no one else will find out about Mae Bowen.”
    “This is Finch,” Grant reminded me, “the Olympic training center for the sport of nosey parkering. The truth is bound to come out sooner or later. Bowen herself will slip up or a piece of forwarded mail will arrive, with her real name on it. Something will give her away.”
    “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said decisively. “In the meantime, we button our lips, for her sake as much as our own. We don’t refer to her as Mae Bowen, even among ourselves. We don’t hang out near Pussywillows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, and we don’t grin like Cheshire cats every time we see her.”
    “We’re not Bowenists, Lori,” Grant said loftily. “Charles and I know how to maintain our composure in the presence of greatness.”
    “We’ve been given the opportunity to protect a national treasure,” Charles declared. “I, for one, will not shirk my responsibility.”
    “I’ll have to tell Bill,” I said.
    “Understood.” Grant inclined his head graciously. “There should be no secrets between husband and wife. Apart from that, Bill’s legal expertise may prove useful.”
    “Very useful indeed,” Charles concurred. “If there are laws to prevent rampaging hordes of Bowenists from trampling Finch into the dust, Bill will know how to enforce them.”
    “I suggest you consult with him immediately, Lori,” Grant advised. “It’s best to be prepared.”
    “I’ll go straight from here to Bill’s office,” I promised. I pointed to the brochures on the desk. “May I borrow these? They’ll help me to explain the situation to him.”
    “Be my guest,” said Charles.
    I slipped the brochures into my jacket pocket, bent to give Matisse and Goya farewell pats, then straightened and looked puzzledly from Charles to Grant.
    “One more thing before I go,” I said. “Why did you let me catch up with you? Why didn’t you slam the door in my face and keep Mae—er, I mean, Mrs. Thistle’s secret all to yourselves?”
    The two men exchanged amused glances.
    “If we’d slammed the door in your face,” said Grant, “you would have knocked it off its hinges. Our other neighbors may be pests when it comes to gossip gathering, but you, my friend, are a veritable pit bull.”
    I grinned sheepishly, but accepted the remark as a compliment. Like a pit bull,