Unsettled Spirits Read Online Free PDF Page B

in?"
    "Good God," muttered Sam.
    "But..."
    "Leave Sam alone, Daisy," said Pa. "He has his job to do, just as you have yours."
    "Aha! So you are here in an official capacity!"
    "Partially." Sam took my gloved hand, put it on his bent elbow, and he and Pa and I walked to the flapping blue tent. "We still don't know what caused the poor woman's death."
    "Oh." Don't ask me why, but I was disappointed. I mean, I truly didn't want to think that anyone would murder poor old Mrs. Franbold, but a natural death was so boring compared to murder.
    "Disappointed, aren't you?" said Sam. He knew me so well.
    "Of course not," I lied. Then I changed the subject. "There are lots of people here," I said, gazing at a crowd that was larger than I'd anticipated, the weather being what it was. "Are all these folks related to Mrs. Franbold?"
    Sam nodded at a cluster of three people, two women and a man, all of whom appeared upset and miserable. "Those are her children. The kids on the folding chairs are her grandchildren." I was surprised to see a row of gloomy-looking young adult men and women, one of whom dangled a baby on her lap. Mrs. Franbold must have been older than I'd thought.
    "Oh, my. I didn't even know she had children and grandchildren. I'm sorry for them."
    "Yeah. They were caught by surprise by their mother's sudden death."
    "So you do think she was poisoned?"
    Sam hesitated for so long, I was sure he wouldn't answer my question, but he surprised me. "Not sure. An autopsy was performed, and there were indefinite signs of some kind of alien substance in her stomach, but doctors don't have test results back." He shrugged. "We may never know for sure, although Doc Benjamin suspects that if anything deadly was used on purpose, it was probably cyanide."
    "Cyanide! But she must have been poisoned if there was cyanine in her system."
    "Not necessarily," said Sam. "Lots of things, including apple seeds and apricot pits, contain various poisons."
    "Piffle. She wouldn't have been munching on apricot pits," I said, feeling my brow crease. Instantly I smoothed it out. Nobody wanted to hire a wrinkly spiritualist.
    "No, but it's also contained in almonds and other things. If she inhaled it—and don't ask me how she could have done it, because I don't know—it might have killed her almost instantly. But we just don't know at this point."
    "Don't people who are poisoned by cyanide have a pinkish cast to their skin?" I asked.
    Sam rolled his eyes. "Not always."
    "Hmm. Too bad." It was then I spotted Betsy Powell, clad all in black, sobbing into a black handkerchief. Mr. Gerald Kingston held her arm, trying against major odds to bring her comfort. Big help she was going to be during the hymn, not that she had to sing. That was the choir's job. "Has anyone figured out why Miss Powell was so upset by Mrs. Franbold's death and the prospect of her having been poisoned?"
    "No," Sam snapped.
    I sighed.
    Pa chuckled.
    But by that time we were at the gravesite. Pastor Smith nodded graciously at us, and, because I'm not merely a good spiritualist-medium, but am also a friendly person, I walked to Mrs. Franbold's children, who gazed at my approach with varying degrees of unhappiness.
    "Good morning," said I, which it clearly wasn't for this group. But tradition holds with such inane comments. "I'm Mrs. Majesty, and I knew your mother from church. I'm so very sorry for your loss." I held out a hand, not aiming for any one of Mrs. Franbold's children specifically. A tall, gaunt woman in what looked like an expensive fur coat, took my proffered hand.
    "How kind of you to come, Mrs. Majesty. Mother spoke of you often. I'm Vivian Daltry. My mother, my children, and I saw you in the recent production of The Mikado at the church. I must say you made an excellent Katisha."
    Well, glory be! I had no idea Mrs. Franbold had brought her daughter and grandchildren to see The Mikado . I think I was flattered. "Thank you. It was an... interesting experience, singing in an