CHAPTER FORTY
Curly ConscienceJerry wrinkled his nose. He leaned forward and sniffed her hair. “I think the stink is you.”
“What? Really?” Kit snorted in her armpit again.
“Yes.” He glanced over his shoulder at the retreating receptionist and urged Kit along the pavement. “And I think I know what it is.”
Kit’s feet pattered along the path and up the front steps of the church. A round woman with wobbling hips barrelled towards them as Jerry stepped into the nave. “Ah, Vicar!” she called. “Have you seen my bug spray?”
“Bug spray!” Kit whispered the words and grabbed her head.
“Mrs McAvoy, how great to see you.” Jerry shielded Kit with his body. “I borrowed it and left it in the vestry. Apologies. My meeting at the school came around faster than I realised.”
The woman skidded to a halt
