Crystal Gardens Read Online Free PDF Page B

implying that there is some connection between me and that villain?” she asked, her tone sharpening.
    “It seems a likely possibility.”
    “I understand your logic but I honestly cannot imagine what it would be. I told you, I have never before encountered Sharpy Hobson. Believe me, I would have recalled such a meeting.”
    “There are some mentally unbalanced men who sometimes develop unwholesome fixations on a certain woman. They follow their victims, at first trying to frighten and control them. Eventually they become violent.”
    “I am not naive, Mr. Sebastian, and I have not lived a sheltered life. I am aware that such men exist. But even if I did unwittingly manage to attract the attention of such a deranged individual, why didn’t he attack me in London? And why wait so long to follow me to Little Dixby? I have been living here for nearly two weeks.”
    She was truly bewildered, he concluded.
    “There is no way to fathom the thinking of a madman,” he said.
    “No,” she agreed. “But you will admit that Sharpy Hobson did not appear to be unbalanced tonight. He claimed that I was worth money to him.”
    “Hobson may not be the one who is deranged. The unbalanced person in this mystery is possibly the one who sent him here to find you.”
    Evangeline tightened her grip on the lapels of his coat. “Good heavens, yes, you are right. But that logic does not hold, either. I cannot think of anyone who might want to kill me, let alone pay someone to do the deed.”
    He listened to the dark murmurings and sighs of the dense woods on either side of the lane and considered what he knew of murder. There were those who believed that he knew far too much about the subject. They were right.
    “A discarded lover seeking revenge might hire a villain off the streets to kill the woman who had rejected him,” he offered.
    “‘A lover’?”
The words were uttered on a half-choked squeak of pure disbelief. Evangeline hastily composed herself. “Good grief, sir, I assure you that is not the case.”
    Her response was interesting, he thought. It was as if she found the notion a complete impossibility. But he, in turn, found that difficult to swallow. Evangeline Ames was far too interesting, too compelling.
    “Perhaps the person who commissioned the murder is not a man. Is there a woman who might have cause to be jealous of you?”
    “Your imagination is certainly quite creative, sir. Do you write novels, by any chance?”
    “No, Miss Ames. Nor do I read them.”
    She shot him a cool look from the corner of her eye. “Do you have something against novels, Mr. Sebastian?”
    “I prefer to take a realistic view of the world, Miss Ames. Novels by their very nature are anything but realistic, with their scenes of overwrought emotions and the ridiculous happy endings.”
    She gave him a chilly smile. “They call it fiction for a reason, sir.”
    “Yes,” he said, “they do.”
    “Some people find that reading novels is very therapeutic precisely because it does allow one to view reality from an entirely different perspective.”
    “I will take your word for it. Let us return to our mystery.”
    “I told you, I don’t have any answers,” she said.
    “Then let us go back to the beginning.”
    “The beginning?”
    “Why do you remain here in Little Dixby? You have made it plain that you are not altogether charmed by country life.”
    She pondered the question for a few seconds. In the moonlight, he could not make out her expression but he sensed that she was deciding just how much of the truth to tell him.
    “As you know, I am a professional hired companion,” she said.
    “A very well-paid professional companion, judging by your clothes and the fact that you can afford to rent my cottage.”
    “I explained that I work for an exclusive firm.” Her voice was crisp with impatience now. “But as it happens, I have other aspirations. Do not mistake me, I take great satisfaction from my work with the Flint and