Aunt Dimity and the Family Tree by Nancy Atherton

“Still under the weather, I suppose.”
    “She is,” Rainey Dawson piped up. “Gran’s sick as a pig. Couldn’t stand on her own two feet this morning.”
    I caught Rainey’s eye with a laserlike look and asked, “Is your grandmother still planning to go to her sister’s?”
    “To her sister’s?” Peggy Taxman said sharply.
    “To her sister’s,” I repeated firmly. “Sally rang me before church to ask me to take her to Judith’s house this afternoon.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Sally can’t expect Rainey to run the tearoom and to look after her, so she’s going to stay with her sister until she feels better. Isn’t that right, Rainey?”
    “Y-yes,” Rainey faltered. She gulped, then said more decisively, “Yes, that’s right, Lori. Gran will stay with Great-aunt Judith until she feels better. She’s leaving this afternoon. With you.”
    “If your grandmother is so ill, why hasn’t Dr. Finisterre been to see her?” Peggy challenged.
    “Waste of money,” Rainey replied, glaring defiantly at Peggy. “Gran doesn’t need a doctor to tell her how sick she is.”
    A murmur of approval rippled through the group. Most of the villagers were habitual penny-pinchers.
    “Why can’t Judith drive over from Chipping Norton to fetch your grandmother?” Peggy demanded. “Seems silly to have Lori go all that way when Judith’s perfectly capable of managing the trip herself.”
    “It may seem silly to you, Peggy,” I said, with a sanctimonious smirk, “but I consider it a privilege to be able to help a friend in need.”
    “Good on you, Lori,” said Mr. Barlow, patting me on the back.
    “Do unto others ... ,” murmured Lilian Bunting, smiling at me.
    Peggy’s lips tightened dangerously, as if she sensed that she was being outmaneuvered but could do nothing to stop it.
    “My friends,” said Willis, Sr., inserting himself into the space between George Wetherhead and Charles Bellingham, “I would like to thank each and every one of you for attending my housewarming party last night. You have always made me feel welcome as a visitor to Finch. Last night, you welcomed me as a member of your charming community. I will endeavor to live up to the honor you have bestowed upon me.” He made a courtly bow before continuing, “Sadly, I must detach myself from you for a short time. A client, who prefers to remain anonymous—”
    “Why?” Peggy interrupted.
    “Please accept my apologies, Mrs. Taxman, but the dictates of my profession bar me from discussing the subject,” Willis, Sr., said smoothly, “except to say that my client will arrive at Fairworth House tomorrow and stay with me until our business is concluded.”
    “Business? What business?” barked Peggy. “Haven’t you retired?”
    “One likes to keep one’s hand in,” Willis, Sr., responded modestly. “I will be conducting delicate negotiations on my client’s behalf while he is at Fairworth. I must ask all of you to respect my privacy until I am once again at liberty to enjoy your delightful company. I can assure you that the prospect of being cloistered with my client gives me little pleasure.” He sighed. “He is quite possibly the most tedious man in the world.”
    The villagers mumbled words of sympathy.
    “William,” said Grant Tavistock, “will it be all right with you if I pick up the painting today?”
    My heart skipped a beat. I’d completely forgotten about the painting Grant was supposed to clean, but I knew for a fact that, if he came to Fairworth House while Sally was playing lady of the manor, the entire plan would crash and burn. Like everyone else in Finch, Grant would be incapable of keeping such a magnificent revelation to himself.
    “Why spoil such a nice Sunday with work?” I said, throwing myself into the breach. “I’ll bring the painting to you tomorrow. I’d like to hear your opinion of it.”
    Grant waved a hand toward Crabtree Cottage, saying, “Charles and I