“But I generally feel the same about smear tests,” she added.

“As tolerable as a smear test,” Sally said dryly. “High praise indeed. Why can’t they sell the place as it is? You know, rather than knocking it down. Seems to me that would please everyone.”

“They tried,” said Maeve. “But let’s face it, Saltwater Nook is a doer-upper; no disrespect to Mari, but the place needs work, even with the bits John does here and there. People won’t pay top whack for a project. The land is worth more without the Nook on it.”

“What about the rentals market? Airbnb and that sort of thing?” asked Sally.

“Again, it’s seasonal. And at the moment it would only sleep two. John doesn’t have the kind of money required to convert the downstairs, and there we are, back to where we were a moment ago.”

“Then of course there’s Emily and the historical brigade,” said Annie.

“Oh, I love Emily,” said Gemma. “She’s so passionate.”

Annie raised her eyebrows. “You do know she pickets the café all day on Saturdays.”

“Well, she works full-time at the library,” chimed in Maeve. “Saturday’s the only full day she’s got.”

“What’s her beef?” asked Sally.

“She wants Mari to sign Saltwater Nook over to the village and have it listed to protect it,” said Maeve.

“The café’s so busy, it’s the perfect place for her to make people aware of its plight,” said Gemma. “And in a way, it’s good publicity for your business too.”

“That’s right,” put in Maeve. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

“Either way, my business is screwed by spring,” said Annie. “Saltwater Nook will be a historical monument or a block of flats.”

“Then give Emily and John an alternative,” said Sally.

The women were quiet, all thinking about ways that Saltwater Nook could be saved. The wind buffeted the shutters so violently it almost extinguished a candle.

“I need to divorce my husband,” said Annie. “Anyone know any good solicitors?”

It was enough to draw the subject away from John Granger and his good intentions. Sally recommended a firm of solicitors that had dealt with her divorce, and Gemma got them back round to the M. R. James story, and it was agreed that his was the most frightening, Elizabeth Gaskell’s the saddest, and Charlotte Riddell’s the most ambiguous.

“I’ve put the word around at the school, and Samantha and Tom and the pubs have taken care of everyone else,” said Gemma as they were getting their coats on to leave. “I would imagine we’ll be with you by about half past six on Halloween.”

“Great,” said Annie. “I’ll be waiting.”

Maeve smiled approvingly.