Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three by Allie Harrison

Author:Allie Harrison [Harrison, Allie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-02-28T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Liam stared at her for what had to be a full, silent minute obviously understanding now why she stalled for time and tried to change the subject. Then the laugh he let out sounded hollow and forced.

Clare held his gaze and didn’t share his laughter. She didn’t crack a smile. She didn’t move. In fact, she didn’t think she even breathed, but she wasn’t certain.

“I think the fever was just that, a fever, some virus you had to fight off. But the intense stomach pain, that could be a symptom of arsenic poisoning.”

“Why would someone want to poison me? I know of no enemies who would want to kill me.”

How much should she tell him? Last night after her day of travel and her wine and her jump into this century, whatever that was, she would have told him in a heartbeat. Hey, you’re dead by the end of the year. Two months is as long as you get, if that, considering I’m not certain of the date of your death, just that you died of mysterious causes in 1847. So maybe you should start living it up!

Yet as he’d talked over his stomach pain, she’d remembered the words spoken by Forrest, the man she met on the plane who suggested perhaps he’d been poisoned. The fever didn’t pan out. Poison didn’t cause a fever. But maybe the fever had saved him. It had sent him to bed where different remedies were tried. And if someone had, indeed, poisoned him, whoever it was had not been able to get close enough to him to finish the job.

And if there was one thing she remembered from college chemistry and the who-done-it mysteries she enjoyed, arsenic was a very poisonous element, used to poison kings as well as rats. Victims suffered severe abdominal pain, before a horrid death. “You don’t have to have an enemy, just someone who would benefit from you being dead. I mean, I hate to say this, but even your good friend, Ben, isn’t too hip on your so-called causes. If you were dead, his gas company could supply gas to whomever he wanted, without you leaning over his shoulder, demanding he donate to a needy cause.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“Is it?” She rubbed her chin, pondering how to proceed.

“Benford has been my best friend since we were ten. I’ve trusted him with my secrets. Please don’t accuse him of something so horrible. I’ve only known you since last night. And while I want you here, Clare, I will not allow you to accuse my friends.”

She knew what he really meant to say was: I don’t know you, stay out of my business.

She had no choice but to tell him what she knew, at least part of it.

He had accepted her, had allowed her to stay in his home, when he could have tossed her out despite her insistence that Camden Place belonged to her. She had to face facts; yes Camden Place had been left to her, but in the twenty-first century.

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