Page 47 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“Who’s there?” she hissed into the darkness. God have mercy if it was George Wasziak pulling some schoolboy stunt and—
“Perliett?”
“Millie?” Perliett made out the form of a woman lurking beneath the window. “I’ll be right down!” she assured Eunice Withers’s younger sister.
Perliett made quick work of traversing the hallway, tiptoeingdown the stairs, and reaching the front door. She pulled it open just as Millie scurried onto her porch, gripping a knitted shawl around her chest. Her dark hair was hanging around her shoulders, but other than that, she seemed put together and healthy.
“What is it, Millie? Why on earth didn’t you knock on the front door?”
Millie cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, then settled large blue pools of worry onto Perliett. “I didn’t want to wake your mother.”
Perliett had no idea how Millie knew which window was her bedroom, but she shrugged off the thought. “Here.” She extended her arm to the porch swing, and Millie agreed, lowering herself onto it. Perliett sat beside her, holding the swing still with her foot braced against the floor.
“Is your mother ill?” Perliett asked.
Millie shook her head. “No. No, she’s not. I...” She peered out into the yard and seemed satisfied when she didn’t see whatever she was looking for. She turned her attention back to Perliett. “I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
Perliett reached for Millie’s hands, and when Millie returned the grip, her fingers were ice cold. The summer evening was warm—stuffy, even though there was a breeze. There was no reason for Millie to be cold.
“Millie, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Millie drew in a shuddering breath. “Has it happened to you? Do youfeelhim?”
“What are you talking about?” Perliett hoped Millie wasn’t going mad like her mother.
Millie’s grip tightened. “The Cornfield Ripper. You saw his letter in the paper, didn’t you?”
“Less a letter and more of a sentence, but yes. I did.”
Millie nodded as if Perliett understood. “He’s watching us, Perliett.”
“What?” Nonplussed, Perliett shifted in her seat.
“My mother—I know she’s half out of her mind, but she says things, Perliett. As if she knows. Knows he isn’t finished.”
“Finished with what?” Perliett hated to sound so obtuse, but she was struggling to understand what exactly had Millie so spooked, and why she was bringing it to Perliett’s bedroom window in the wee hours of the morning.
“Withkilling.” Millie’s fear-filled words came out in a watery gasp.
“You don’t know that.” Perliett shook her head. She needed to calm Millie.
“Ido.” A tear slid down Millie’s cheek. “Did you know Eunice had several suitors? Not just Kenneth.”
Perliett figured half the town suspected this about Eunice. “I pondered the idea. I know she and Kenneth were very close.”
Millie grimaced. “I was going through her things to pack them away. There’s too much around to remind us of Eunice and it sends Mother into fits. I found letters. Several of them were from her suitors, a few from Kenneth, but there was one...” Millie pulled away from Perliett’s grasp and rummaged in the small handbag that hung by strings on her wrist. “This.” The paper was crumpled, and Millie all but shoved it at Perliett.
Perliett received it and unfolded the letter. It was too dark to see clearly, but she held it just beyond her nose to make out the words.
Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
with my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die?
