Page 66 of The Premonition at Withers Farm

“Perliett.”

The voice sounded distant. It echoed as though she were in a long hallway, and at the other end someone was attempting to summon her. She sensed the warmth of a blanket as it descended across her shoulders. A woman’s hand pushed hair back from her face, held a glass of water to her lips, and urged her to speak.

She was dead.

No.

Milliewas dead.

Millie.

Perliett snapped to her senses. She took in the long grasses. The heat of the afternoon smothered her, and she clutched at her blouse, buttoned appropriately to her neckline.

“Miss Van Hilton,” the woman interjected, trying to stop her from unbuttoning.

Perliett batted the woman’s hand away. Forget propriety, she was dying.Dying!She could feel the choking hands around her throat. She knew in an instant she would be next.That he was looking for her. Watching her, maybe even now. She had to run.

Scrambling to her feet, the scorching hot blanket probably meant to offset shock fell to the ground. The woman, who Perliett vaguely realized was Miss Petra, Dr. Wasziak’s nurse, fell backward into the weeds.

“Someone stop her!” Miss Petra cried.

Perliett stumbled on the riverbank, her foot sliding and submerging into the water. She pulled it out and clambered to her feet.

He would find her. She was next. She was dark-haired and looked like the Withers sisters. Millie had warned her.

Cock Robin.

“Who killed Cock Robin?”

She could hear Millie in her ear.

I told you, Perliett. I told you he would come.

She clawed her way up the embankment to the path that had first led her to the river. Her left shoe leaving a wet footprint, Perliett catapulted her way up the trail. She needed to return home. Lock the doors. The windows. As Detective Poll had instructed.

Arms grabbed her from behind and yanked her half off her feet.

Perliett screamed, kicking with her heels and jabbing with her elbows. She would not die! She would not surrender!

“Perliett!” The male voice shouted sternly in her ear, demanding she cease her struggle.

It only encouraged her to fight harder. She dug her fingernails into the man’s hands that gripped her waist.

“You little minx!” he growled. Instead of releasing her, he forcefully spun her around, pinning her to his chest.

Perliett’s frantic gaze collided with George Wasziak’s. The doctor appeared to have no patience for her shenanigans. Well, why would he? Her fingernails had all but skinned him alive.

“You’re in shock, Perliett. Now stop struggling before you make me smack you across the face!”

She froze. Drew back. “You wouldn’t!” she hissed, skewering George with a glare.

“I have known it to be effective against overreactions of shock. So please, do not make me strike a woman for the first time in my life.”

Perliett palmed his chest and pushed against it. If anything was shocking her back to her senses, it was how firm his chest was. How strong he was. How oddly comforting it had been to be stilled from her fear by a man who was stronger than she was. A man with good intentions, even if he was high-handed.

George released her. He brushed the front of his white shirt, now soiled from the dirt on her hands. “Woman, you will be the death of me.”

“If I don’t pass away first.” She cast a nervous glance toward the river.