Page 34 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
George’s eyes narrowed.
He’d seen her tears.
Very well. Let that be the case. He needed to know what damage his words could cause.
“Detective, I will accept your admonishment, though I cannot agree with it.” Maribeth’s acquiescence was in word only. Perliett knew this as she watched her mother stalk away toward their carriage, which was hitched close to Detective Poll’s automobile.
“Perliett,” George began.
Perliett eyed him, aware that the detective and his wife were watching as well.
“Your mother—”
“My mother’s intentions are as well-meaning as my own.”
“Be that as it may—”
“You believe she’s a fraud, don’t you?” Perliett looked between the two men. “That she does what she does for monetary support? Engages in trickery?”
“Doesn’t she?” George challenged. “Be honest with yourself, Perliett. How often haveyouconnected with a ghost? Talked to them?Seenthem?”
“Do you wish to make it your life’s mission to discredit the Van Hilton women,Dr.Wasziak, or would you rather we assist in making Eunice’s death as manageable as possible?” Perliett cursed the wobble in her voice. George did not understand! Spirits didn’t just waltz into the room at the bidding of a live human and have a cup of tea while chatting about their deaths.
“I would be more concerned—” George stopped, and Perliett didn’t miss the transfer of looks between the men—“with what Mrs. Withers said to you. She believed you to be Eunice, but what did she mean?”
“That I’m to die soon,” Perliett responded as flippantly as she could, merely because if she didn’t, she was certain to burst into a full-out river of tears. She didn’t want George, of all people, to know how unnerving and painful all of this had been.
“Dear Perliett,” Evangeline interjected as she reached for her, “we will protect you. Won’t we?” She placed naïve and assured confidence in the supremacy of her law-enforcing husband.
Detective Poll offered his wife a thin smile, but when he met Perliett’s gaze, there was a solemn concern buried in the crevices of his face. “If Miss Van Hilton does as we’ve asked, she should remain out of danger.”
Should?
Perliett didn’t miss his implication the word signified. She didn’t miss the way George’s stern visage had softened to a similar one of concern. Concern he had no right to offer her now that he had burned every shred of a bridge between them.
Detective Poll ignored the tension between them and continued, “Youareaware, Miss Van Hilton, how similar you look to Eunice Withers? It’s no wonder Mrs. Withers mistook you for her daughter.”
Taken aback, Perliett was without words. She’d never—no—Eunice Withers was a beauty. She, on the other hand, was a dark-haired, average-looking woman.
“You are so beautiful, I’m sure you know this.” Evangeline could articulate openly what her husband was subtly attempting to communicate.
“And beauty,” Detective Poll finished, “draws attention. If Eunice’s killer fancied her...”
Perliett grew cold. Miserably so. She didn’t need George to finish the thought for her, but he did anyway.
“...then the killer might fancy you.”
12
Molly
A knock on the door alerted Molly to a visitor she was not expecting. She pushed herself off the floor, where she was unpacking another box of books. Her hand slipped as it knocked in a Pepper Basham romance. Romances were the only things she could read nowadays without having her heart split into two or her mind race as she felt the breath of a dead soul breathing over her shoulder.
Molly tiptoed around piles, feeling proud of herself for finally unpacking the boxes. She eyed the form standing outside the door. A man, black pants, a nice polo shirt. He had a badge clipped to his waistband.
She opened the heavy wooden door of the farmhouse. “Can I help you?” Molly eyed the man.
He couldn’t have been much older than she was. Mid-thirties. Reddish-blond hair with green eyes and a smattering of freckles on his upper cheeks, the rest of his face hidden by a beard that was a darker shade of red than his hair.
