Chapter TenThat night Molly was at loose ends. With Constance’s help, she had prepared a room upstairs in her house for the new guest who had agreed to take the upstairs room—she called it the “haunted room” although nothing had ever happened to make it deserve the name. It was a small room with a low ceiling and something about it gave her the creeps, so the name had stuck. Probably it was nothing more than the faded wallpaper, which was vaguely pink in a pattern of roses. She remembered wallpaper like that in a scary movie she had seen as an eleven or twelve year old, in which an old lady had been murdered by a handsome stranger to whom she rented a room.
Maybe, now that she thought about it, running a gîte business as a single woman wasn’t the best idea she ever had? Why hadn’t she rem
