The House on Lake Jasper: A Tilton Chartwell Mystery (Tilton Chartwell Mysteries Book 1) by Anne Kelleher Read Free Book Online

twin sisters here…mid-19 th century?”
    June puts her fork down.  “Yes.  Emmeline and Harriet.  The Van Ryn sisters… they were quite the gruesome twosome in their day.  Neither of them married, and both lived well into their 90’s.”  She pauses.  “And there are photographs of the two of them at the library.”
    “Maybe that’s who I saw at the top of the steps?” asks Norah. 
    Tilt nods.  “Yes.”  She pauses.  For some reason, she can’t make the connection.  And then she realizes the problem.  The energies don’t want to connect. 
    “Can you tell us anything more, Tilton,” asks Connie.  She leans forward, fingering her amethyst like a talisman. 
    She runs her finger around the edge of the creamer and again receives an impression – a slanted window, a flash of blue sky, the scent of lilacs.  ‘Don’t let them forget.’  A chill runs down Tilt’s arms as the phrase suddenly takes on a potentially added meaning.  Don’t let them forget.  “This creamer …It was here, in the house?”  She looks up. 
    Connie shrugs.  “I don’t know…it was here when we got here.  Does that matter?”
    Tilt looks around the table.  “Only that I’m picking up impressions from it…and I have to tell you… this isn’t how it usually works for me.  But…” Her voice trails off.   Somehow this insignificant piece of china feels like the only way in . 
    “Just go with what you see,” says Chuck.  He smiles, encouragingly. 
    With tentative fingertips, she touches the delicate fluted sides.  The impressions come fast, tumbling one over the other.  Voices raised in singing hymns, the scratch of pen across paper, the creak of wagon wheels and the quick clap of hoofs, and overwhelming it all, the scent of lilacs and starch. 
    Starch?  Tilt opens her eyes.  “Was this place a stop on the underground railway?”
     
    “Harriet and Emmeline were rapid abolitionists,” answers June, owl-eyed behind her glasses.  “I think it would be fair to say that the house could’ve been a stop.”
    “Wow,” says Norah.
    “You’re earning your fee, Ms. Chartwell,” says Neale. 
    “Tilton is,” says Mike.  “But the police sure aren’t.  Excuse me, everyone.”
    The words aren’t out of his mouth, when there’s a ring and a knock at the front door.    
    “I’ll get more coffee,” says June.
    “You think they’ll want to talk to all of us?” asks Krystal. 
    Tilt thinks that’s an odd question for an investigative journalist to ask. 
    So does Aubrey, because she shoots Krystal a look that says the same thing. 
    “Hopefully not,” says Connie. 
    “Why should they?” asks Norah. 
    “Because we’re all here,” says Neale. 
    Before anyone else can say anything, Mike leads a craggy looking sheriff into the dining room.  “Connie, everyone, this is Sheriff Allen Murdstone.”
    “I’m Attorney Neale Thornton-Howell, Sheriff,” says Neale, shaking his hand and gesturing to the table with the other, “and here’s the offending projectile.”
    Sheriff Murdstone glances around the table.  “Mr. Thornton-Howell.  Don’t worry, we’ll get to that.”  He glances around the table.  “Which one of you ladies is Ms. Moore?”
    “I am.”  Connie holds out her hand.  “Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”
    “You’re welcome.  I understand you’ve been getting harassing calls, as well?” 
    Connie nods, looking upset.  “That’s right.  I guess not everyone is happy with our plans.”
    Murdstone doesn’t react.  Instead he looks at Chuck.  “McNamara?  You want to come outside with me?  Just a second?”
    To Tilt’s surprise, Chuck gets up at once.  “Sure.”  He follows the sheriff out of the room. 
    Mike looks at Connie.  “Sheriff seems to think he’s gotten to the bottom of the problem.”
    “Really?”
    “Already?” says Aubrey. 
    Wow, thinks Tilt.  That was fast. 
    June comes in with a fresh pot of coffee.   “More,