Page 49 of My Blind Date is a Ghost

I crumple the paper up. “Only my supposed best friend.”

“Ouch,” Beckett says. “Well, now, let’s think rationally about this. You said it wasn’t uncommon for men to remarry quickly if they had small children, right? And if Elizabeth was your best friend, surely she was mourning too. Perhaps they just, sort of, bonded over their shared grief.”

“Maybe,” I say, feeling my anger dissipating. But that explanation, no matter how right it may be, just doesn’t sit right with me. There had to have been something else going on. I don’t think they were having an affair. Edward and I weren’t apart enough for that. And when I wasn’t with Edward, I was often hanging out with Elizabeth. But just because they weren’t having an affair doesn’t mean that something else wasn’t going on.

I shake my head. “No, something was going on. Something I missed, something I wasn’t seeing.”

“I agree,” Beckett says. “Something was going on. I don’t think that Jeremiah killed you. Your death wasn’t an accident or a spur of the moment thing. I believe you were murdered, and not by Jeremiah.”

“But…but I saw him,” I say. “I remember it so clearly. He came at me, he attacked me.”

“But did he bite or scratch you?” Beckett asks.

I shake my head, jumping down from the wall and walking away. “I don’t want to remember it. I don’t want to see it.”

“I need you to,” Beckett says, following alongside me. “I need to know what happened.”

“He…he came at me and I fell… No,” I say. “I fell. I saw the door open and I was running away.” I turn to face Beckett. “I was running away and I fell.”

“Because Jeremiah grabbed you?” Beckett asks. “Did he grab you from behind?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t run because I couldn’t breathe. I fell. I rolled over and saw Jeremiah over me.”

“Was he hurting you? Clawing you?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I…I was in pain. But because of Jeremiah or something else? My head was spinning. I was sick. I vomited. I was so afraid.”

“Did you die from…fear?” he asks.

“Certainly not!” I say. “I was afraid, yes. But I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t fight back.”

“Was your corset too tight? Is that why you couldn’t breathe?”

Despite the tenseness of the situation, I can’t help but choke out a laugh. “You read too many novels.”

“Well, not any,” he says. “But I’ve seen it said in movies.”

“If you can’t breathe in your corset, you aren’t wearing it right,” I say. “So, no, that wasn’t it.”

“Then…what?” he asks.

I sigh and shake my head. “I don’t know. But something happened to me.”

“Veronica said that you were poisoned,” Beckett says. “She was sure of it.”

“I had tea,” I say. “Tea from…” I put my head to my forehead. “How could I have been so stupid?” I mutter.

“What?” Beckett asks.

“It wasn’t my usual tea,” I say. “I forgot. I usually got tea from the teashop down the road. But Edward had brought me tea from the apothecary. He said it was red raspberry tea, good for women who were trying to conceive.”

“You were trying to get pregnant?” Beckett asks. I can see that this seems to bother him more than it should.

“It was the 1780s,” I say. “We were expected to have as many children as possible. It had been five years since our last baby, so he was concerned. I didn’t really want another child. I figured children would come when they wanted to.”

Beckett shakes his head, and I assume his thoughts on the matter. “Anyway, the point is that your husband brought you tea before you were attacked. You couldn’t breathe and passed out during the suppose attack. Your husband poisoned you.”

“No,” I say. “No, it’s not possible. We were trying to have a baby. We were happy. He couldn’t have… He just couldn’t have.”

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