Molly hunched over the steering wheel. A breeze started to move the fog, which danced in swaying pillars in front of her headlights, somehow even more difficult to drive through than the previous thick fog. As she approached the village, through the shifting fog, she saw the lightning-blasted limbs of the witches' tree ...

Driving home from a dinner party in the village of Sumpton Harcourt, Rory and Molly Harris, the new vicar and his wife, strain to see the road ahead-and then suddenly brake, screeching to a halt. Right in front of them, aglow in the headlights, a body hangs from a gnarled tree at the edge of town. An elderly spinster has been murdered-and the villagers are bewildered as to who would commit such a crime.

Agatha Raisin rises to the occasion (a little glad for the excitement, to tell the truth, after a long run of lost cats and divorces on the books). But when two more murders follow the first, Agatha begins to fear for her reputation-and even her life. The village is a small and very private place, she finds. It even has its own coven of witches ...