I extracted my hand from his moist grip, smiling pleasantly. "The name doesn't sound familiar. Of course, I don't have much occasion to be out in that direction."

"What's your congregation? I hope you're not going to tell me you're an ornery Methodist." He said this with a laugh, just to show what a wacky sense of humor he had.

"Not at all," I said.

He peered toward the room behind me. "Your husband traveling with you?"

"Uh, no. Actually he's not." I glanced at my watch. "Oh golly. I'm late." The "golly" rather stuck in my throat, but it didn't seem to bother him.

He put his hands in his pants pockets, subtly adjusting himself. "I hate to see you run off so soon. If you're in Floral Beach come Sunday, maybe you can make it to the eleven-o'clock service and then join us for lunch. June doesn't cook anymore because of her condition, but we'd enjoy having you as our guest at the Apple Farm Restaurant."

"Oh gee. I wish I could, but I'm not sure I'll be here for the weekend. Maybe another time."

"Well, you're a tough little gal to pin down," he said. His manner was a trifle irritated and I had to guess he was unaccustomed to having his unctuous overtures rebuffed.

"I sure am," I said. I put on my jacket as I moved out into the corridor. Reverend Haws stepped aside, but he was still standing closer to me than I would have liked. I pulled the door shut behind me, making sure it was locked. I walked toward the stairs and he followed me.

"Sorry to be in such a rush, but I have an appointment." I'd cut the warm, folksy tone to a minimum.

"I'll let you get on your way, then." The last I saw of him, he was standing at the head of the exterior stairs, looking down at me with a chilly gaze that contradicted his surface benevolence. I started my car and then waited in the parking slot until I'd seen him walk by, returning to the Fowlers. I didn't like the idea of his being anywhere near my room if I was off the premises.