OVER HER DEAD BODY: The Bliss Legacy - Book 2 by EC Sheedy Read Free Book Online Page B

think.”
    Keeley grimaced. “Ugh, don’t say that. It sounds so abusive. And ‘bun in the oven’ isn’t any better. Not much into baby bumps either.”
    Bridget shrugged, apparently unaffected by semantics. “She’s pregnant, then. Shall I bring her in?” Another mouth to feed; her heart sank. She hadn’t planned on taking anyone in until the place was back in order. Mary’s health—so she’d learned—had been in free fall for over a year, and along with it the maintenance and financing of an old house that had been in desperate straits long before that. So here she was, intent on protecting and nurturing Mary’s legacy, and her first act would be turning away a woman needing help.
    “Keeley? You okay?” Bridget asked. “Shall I go get her or what?”
    “I’m fine, but it’s a mess in here.” She pushed the chair away from the desk and stood. “I’ll see her in the front hall.”
    “Forget the mess. You can see me right here.” Keeley looked up to see a tall brunette step into the room. She was probably closer to forty than the fourteen she’d expected, and one of the most spectacularly beautiful women she’d ever seen. Vivid was the word that jumped to mind. That and … sumptuous. Her eyes, wary and sharp, observed Keeley with a degree of studious detachment, as if she were in need of a personal makeover or was a stooge in a police lineup.
    What she was sure about was the woman looked one labor pain away from giving birth.
    “Are you Keeley Farrell?” she asked.
    Keeley crossed to where the woman, dressed in designer maternity wear and gripping an expensive leather bag, stood straight as a spar; she held out her hand. “That’s me.”
    “Erica Stark.” She set the bag down and shook Keeley’s outstretched hand.
    Keeley gestured toward a cracked leather chair beside the roll top desk. “Sit,” she instructed. “You look exhausted.”
    “Thank you.” She flicked her long hair back, gave the chair a distrustful glance, and sat carefully on its edge.
    “Bridget, would you get us some tea or—” She looked at her unusual guest questioningly.
    “Water please,” she said to Bridget, who nodded and left the room, leaving the door open.
    Keeley took the seat she’d just vacated and studied the striking woman in the chair across from her. “I’ll say this right off. You do not look like the kind of woman who needs the services of Mayday House.”
    “I suppose not. But here I am,” she said, her expression tight, guarded, or maybe embarrassed. Keeley couldn’t be sure.
    “How did you find us?”
    “From a friend. I remembered her telling me how, uh, out of the way Mayday House is. So when I got myself into this ridiculous situation”—she rolled her eyes, patted her stomach—“I talked to her, and she put me on to Mary Weaver. I called, she asked me a few questions—mostly about the pregnancy—I answered them, and here I am.” She paused. “I was sorry to hear she passed on. The girl”—she gestured toward the door Bridget had gone through—“says you’re running things now.”
    “Yes,” Keeley said, nodding, then added, “When was it, exactly, that you talked to Mary?”
    “A month or so ago.”
    “And she sounded … all right?”
    “All right? I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
    “Mary had been very ill and toward the end she often got confused.”
    Erica Stark studied a fingernail, looking bored. “She did ramble on a bit, but I’d say she sounded okay. We talked for fifteen, twenty minutes, I made the booking, and here I am.”
    “I see.” And she did. A month ago, according to Bridget, Mary was barely able to remember where she was most days, and her lucid times were becoming further and further apart. Erica must have called at exactly the right moment—or wrong one, considering the perilous state of Keeley’s finances.
    She picked up the pencil she’d been figuring with minutes before and rolled it between her fingers while she tried to come up