Somebody To Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

if he has any cucumbers.” She pulled her purse from her pocket and put some coins in Alice’s hand. “And I think that the corner store where he parks his cart has made some ice cream. Stop and get yourself a dish.”
    Alice bobbed a curtsy and, grinning, ran out the door.
    A few minutes later, Araminta went to build up the fire for the ovens, but the scuttle was empty. “Alice? Would you fetch some coal? Or get Bill to do it?”
    No answer.
    She gave a click of disgust—the girl was on the errand, of course. Araminta grabbed the scuttle’s handle and started down the steps to the dark basement room where the coal was kept. The lamp Jack was supposed to keep trimmed and ready at the bottom of the stairs was out of fuel. She was just starting back up the stairs for the kerosene and scissors when a soft shuffling sound stopped her.
    Rats. Oh, how she despised rats.
    But then a man with a peculiar wheezing voice spoke at the other end of the passageway. “Christ almighty. I told you todo him by the river. We wouldn’t have to go through all this fuss if you’d follow directions.”
    Araminta clenched her teeth to keep from crying out.
    Another man spoke. “Yeah, and Kane’ll have our guts for garters if he finds out we’re here. Dammit, Bacon, this ain’t private enough. We’ll have to find somewhere else for storage.”
    Heart pounding, Araminta pressed tight into the dark corner by the stairs. She didn’t move, not even to brush away the cobweb tickling her cheek, until she heard the two men, thumping and cursing quietly, shoving their way out the basement hatch door.
    What could they be about? Something so wicked they didn’t want Kane to know of it? A quiver of fear ran through her.
    She counted to one hundred. Then, determined to appear as normal as possible, she walked with shaky steps to the room that held the bin. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she had no desire for light as she filled the scuttle, scrabbling at the chunks of coal in her rush.
    When she returned to the kitchen, she couldn’t concentrate on her work, and almost sliced off her thumb.
    Someone had to be told. She had to make a search. At last she forced herself to creep back down to the basement holding an oil lamp. Squatting, she scanned the hard-packed dirt floor where the men had stood. She found nothing—no drops of blood, only a rock lying in a corner, a polished bit of pink rose quartz that she slipped into her pocket.
    For the rest of the day she worked automatically, her mind lost in disturbed thought. Whom could she tell? The police? Oh, certainly. A man named Bacon and his friend had dragged something into the house and then hauled it back out again. And her evidence that there was foul play?
    Nothing more than a peculiar conversation, and perhaps this pretty pebble, officer.
    She could imagine what might follow. The police would mark her down as a hysterical woman. Or worse, if she’d interpreted the whole thing correctly, she might be the next one dragged to a basement.
    Even if the police believed her, they might not act. Timona had blithely told her about how the police were paid off by businesses like Kane’s. Griffin had told his sister about the corruption.
    Of course. Calverson.
    Griffin Calverson would know what to do. He said he knew a great deal about Kane, after all. The thought drifted through her head, but she tried to ignore it.
    Even work could not keep Araminta from thinking of what she’d heard in the basement. Restless, and then at last discouraged, she knew she would ask Griffin Calverson whom to contact. He’d tell her if her story was even worth telling.
    She’d send round a note. Anything rather than face the man again.
    That evening, she crumpled sheet after sheet of paper, trying to think of how to apologize and ask for advice without groveling or further insulting the man.
    She at last settled for “May I call upon you at your hotel?”
    The answer came the next day in the form of an