He took me aside so that we were standing together under the branches of a large fir tree. “What exactly are you saying, Georgie—that someone has been planning a death a day? For what reason?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“And do you think these deaths are random people or intentionally selected?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to them—a butcher, an old lady, a garage owner, a switchboard operator and the man who owned that estate. What could they possibly have in common?”

“Have the police ruled out that they were accidents?”

“I think the inspector is suspicious, but he has no proof, as far as I can tell, that any one of them was not an accident.”

Darcy frowned. “It may be that this part of the country is just going through an unlucky period. Serial killers don’t usually work this way, if that’s what you’re imagining. They want the police and the public to recognize their handiwork. They usually have a signature modus operandi—think of Jack the Ripper in London. A classic case. Always killed prostitutes in exactly the same gruesome way.”

I shuddered as he went on. “One of the ways they get a thrill out of this is believing that they are smart enough to outwit the police. So why kill in a way that makes it look like an accident?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t understand anything about it, Darcy. I’m almost ready to believe in the Lovey Curse. That strange wild woman gave me some kind of warning today. And she’s the direct descendant of the witch, isn’t she?”

“Georgie, come on.” He shot me an amused look. “That’s village superstition. You are a young woman of the world. You don’t believe in witches or curses.”

I tried to smile too. “It’s just that—I’m frightened. I can’t help feeling that it’s closing in on us and that eventually the killer will strike here.”

“Don’t worry.” He put an arm around my shoulder. “I’ll take care of you.”

“That’s not the point, Darcy. I feel that somehow I must take care of everyone else. I feel that I have to solve the puzzle before it’s too late.”

He turned me to face him. “Sometimes you worry too much,” he said. “Leave this to the police and enjoy your Christmas. We’re here, we’re together and we’re having a great time. Think of it—you could, at this moment, be sitting down to Christmas dinner with your sister-in-law.”

I laughed. “Where they will be sharing one chicken between them and huddling together to keep warm. It’s poor Binky I feel sorry for, surrounded by Fig’s family.”

Darcy took my hand. It felt wonderful to walk through snowy meadows, feeling the warmth from his hand sending tingles all the way up my arm.

* * *