Page 33 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“Precisely,” George grunted.
“My recommendation is that you step back and allow Dr. Wasziak to minister to the physical needs of the Withers family and remove yourself entirely.”
“I beg your pardon?” Perliett tipped her chin up and hoped she looked as severe as she was going for. A snuck glance at George told her she hadn’t quite achieved it. “The Withers family specifically requested my help. How can I deny them my ministrations should they ask again?”
“You were going to give themheroin!” George spat.
“Oh no! Is that bad?” Evangeline’s hand rose to her throat.
“Why? Haveyoutaken some?” Detective Poll shot a worried glance at his tiny wife.
“It’s not good,” George asserted.
“No, I haven’t,” Evangeline said to her husband.
“According toyou,” Perliett snapped at George. “Many recognize it as a leading source of effective treatment for people with medical addictions, such as overuse of cocaine. Heroin is also quite effective as a calming agent.”
“I hardly believe it’s effective to treat one drug with another drug and assume they will cancel the other out!” George groused.
Perliett stiffened and met George’s stance. He stepped closer to her, staring down that aquiline nose of his like a Roman centurion ready to feed her to the lions. She would not back away.
“Bayer produces it.”
“Fordoctorsto prescribe.”
“And I am a medical practitioner!” Perliett insisted. The man was daft.
“Show me your diploma. Your medical license.” Georgeglowered. “No? Oh, that’s right. You don’thaveone. You have anapothecarybox with home remedies! You, Miss Van Hilton, are ahobbyistplaying doctor with other people’s lives! Something to toy around with in your spare time since it’s more than apparent your father left you well enough off where common daily necessities are not a hardship.” His countenance had grown dark like a thundercloud, and Perliett couldn’t retort due to the large lump gathering in her throat. She blinked back tears, yet George didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he barreled on as if the doctor in him couldn’t see that more than tangible items could wound a person, but also words. “I would trust a veterinarian over your unschooled practices. Blast it! I would trust awoman physicianwere she schooled properly. You, however, have not been, and it is beyond my understanding why you pretend to be!”
“Oh, for the love of all that is holy!” Maribeth’s unorthodox exclamation commanded all their attention. “A woman wasmurderedand you’re prancing about like a peacock showing his colors in order to gain a mate and in the process making her look like a brown ugly duckling! Be a gentleman if not the Christian you claim to be and show some human kindness.”
George sputtered.
Evangeline hid a smile behind her gloved hand.
Detective Poll heaved a sigh that could have been heard in the next county.
Without pause, Perliett retorted, “I’m far prettier than an ugly duckling.”
A musical laugh escaped from Evangeline, and Maribeth patted Perliett’s arm. “Of course you are, but having a standoff with the doctor is akin to going to war with Poland. It won’t work. Have you noticed how stubborn the Polish are?”
“I take offense to that.” George’s eyebrow winged upward.
“I’m sure that you do,” Maribeth said, patronizing him with a lovely smile. “Now, back to the topic at hand. EuniceWithers is not resting in peace. Her mother is losing her senses from grief and believesmydaughter to somehow be in danger of this ... this hellion! We have a killer running loose, and to be frank, I’ve heard very little about what is being done to resolve the situation. Should we lock our doors at night? Are other young women in danger? From what I’ve heard, he isn’t much different from that Jack the Ripper killer in London, disemboweling poor Eunice.”
Evangeline’s hand shot out to grip her husband’s elbow.
Detective Poll opened his mouth to retort, but Maribeth continued without pause, and etiquette caused the man to snap his mouth shut.
“Now, if we were to join together,” Maribeth offered, “we might bring to light more information that could put this entire tragedy to bed.”
“I will not be engaging in the practice of spiritualism to solve a crime,” Detective Poll stated firmly.
“Thank God!” George inserted, the thundercloud not having cleared from his face.
“Mrs. Van Hilton, Perliett, I must insist that you both gohome,” Detective Poll added, taking advantage of Maribeth’s momentary pause. “Remove yourselves from this investigation and from the Withers family. Your interference will only muddy the waters and make things far more difficult.”
Maribeth and Perliett exchanged looks. Perliett could see irritation in the depths of her mother’s eyes. The lack of tolerance for her practice of connecting with the afterlife insulted her. Perliett knew precisely how her mother felt. She dared a glance at George, whose thunderous expression had settled on her. She blinked again. The hot tears pressed in where they were not welcome. She wasn’t ahobbyist! Her intentions were quite pure. Her studies were self-taught, yes, but then for centuries humankind had been learning and exploring and teaching themselves ways of healing. Why couldn’t an average person help when another was ill? Were all illnessesonlyto be treated by a doctor now? To be disregarded so coldly—for her mother to be cast aside as a witch of sorts? It was hurtful.
