A Bucket of Ashes (Nell Sweeney Mysteries, Book 6) by P.B. Ryan

Author:P.B. Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: romantic suspense, mystery, historical fiction, gilded age, love story, amateur sleuth, boston, americana, historical novel, beach read, women sleuths, mystery series, historical mystery, governess, boston irish, nell sweeney, boston history

Carbolic Acid

Poison

8 oz.

A smaller, unlabeled bottle was half filled with a clear solution. Next to it was a little vial with a handwritten label that contained a white powder.

Sulfate de Morphine

1 gramme

“Oh, God.” Nell lifted the teacup to peer inside, instantly recognizing the tarlike smell of carbolic, of which there was about half an inch in the bottom, with a hypodermic needle soaking in it for purposes of sterilization. She knew what was in the brass case, but she opened it anyway. Snugged into specially shaped niches in its red velveteen lining were a steel-and-glass syringe and three of the four needles that belonged there.

“Damn you, Will.” She snapped the case shut, her heart like a chunk of lead in her chest.

He doesn’t seem to be able to resist the lure of Morpheus for very long. Whenever he’s feeling out of sorts, he goes right back to it.

Will had made light of what he’d been through—War is an even more unpleasant pastime than I had recalled—but it would seem his experience in France and the grueling journey home had taken a toll on his state of mind.

Through the open glass doors, Nell saw a tiny flame ignite briefly in the darkness, then wink out. Stepping out onto the veranda and peering into the nearly moonless night, she could just make out the dock extending into the bay, and the raised platform at the end of it. As she watched, there came a minuscule orange glow, as of a cigarette being drawn on. Will rarely smoked anymore, only when he was feeling ill at ease.

Nell left the boathouse using the front staircase rather than the rear one connecting the veranda to the dock, so that Will wouldn’t see her. She stood at the bottom of the steps for a minute, her arms wrapped around herself although it was a balmy night. Turning, she walked around the side of the boathouse and down the dock. As she neared the platform, she could make out the two wicker rocking chairs turned toward the water. Will’s head was visible above the fan-shaped back of the chair on the left; in his right hand, draped over the side of the chair, the cigarette still glowed.

He didn’t hear her until she stepped up onto the platform, and then he turned and saw her. He stood, hurling his cigarette into the bay, and strode up to her, lifting her off her feet as he took her in his arms. His mouth closed over hers for a hot, sweet, lingering kiss that robbed her of her breath, her thoughts, her qualms. He was in his shirtsleeves, the warmth of his body through the thin linen making her heart race. The joy she felt to be holding him again, after agonizing over his fate for twelve long days, was pure and all-consuming.

He set her on her feet, his arms still banded around her. “I want to make love to you.” She realized his morphine consumption must not be as

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