Read Online Necessary Evil by Killarney Traynor - Free Book Online Page B

as I said the word, “trespass”, I
experienced a clutch in my heart. Trespassers on the Chase Property usually
only had one object in mind. If this bookworm was expecting permission to hunt
for buried treasure, he was going to be in for a shock.
    Professor Randall looked wounded again. “I
am not trespassing ,” he emphasized, pulling his glasses off as he spoke.
“Your aunt let me in. She was in a hurry to get out the door to class or
something, but she invited me to wait here to talk to you. If you don’t believe
me, why don’t you call her and ask her. Trespass, indeed!”
    He looked very put out and, without knowing why, I believed him. It was definitely something
that Aunt Susanna would do: let a complete stranger sit alone in the house
while I was unaware in the barn.
    I sighed and decided that I probably was
coming on a little too strong. After all, he hadn’t meant to frighten me – Aunt
Susanna should have sent me a text or something before she left.
    “Poor choice of words on my part, I
guess,” I said. “What do you want, Professor?”
    He gestured to my recliner. “Have a seat?”
    “In these clothes?”
    Professor Randall looked me over again,
and nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. I can wait if you’d like to…”
    “What I’d like to do,” I interrupted,
trying to keep my tone light while still getting my point across, “is shower,
eat, and go to bed as soon as possible. I don’t want to be rude, Professor, but
I’d appreciate it if you’d get right to the point.”
    I might have added, So I can throw you out on your ear and get on with my life, but I wanted to be
sure of his intentions first. Besides, something told me that he had prepared
himself for a hostile reception, a thought that made me feel even more
frustrated.
    I’m not a tyrant – I’m just tired of
people trying to get rich off of my family’s history.
    But maybe I had this guy wrong. Maybe he
didn’t care about the treasure at all. Maybe he was a historian who was looking
to do a proper history on the family, someone that I could trust with the
family documents, someone who could set the record straight, who’d treat us
with the dignity and respect that is the right of every decent, upright family…
    Then he said, “Very well. Briefly, I want
permission to search your family estate for the remains of the McInnis
treasure.”
    With that pin-prick, my balloon deflated
with a violent pop. I sagged against the wall in disappointment, a gesture he
took no notice of. He had dropped back to the couch, pulled up his briefcase,
and was working the old-fashioned combination lock as he spoke.
    “I’m a historian, a researcher by trade,”
he said conversationally. “My preferred concentration is early United States
Colonial and Republican history, but at the moment, I am involved in writing a
biography on a lesser known Civil War participant, whose name I’m sure you wouldn’t
be familiar with. In conducting my research, I crossed paths with Professor
Maddox…”
    “Professor Maddox!” I exclaimed, in spite
of myself.
    He nodded, pulling a sheaf of papers from
out of his case. “Yes. We’d worked together before, back when I was an undergraduate
student at Braeburn. My research has lead me to some work that he’d been doing
before his death. His widow was kind enough to let me go through his papers.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered a connection to the Chase family and the
McInnis affair.”
    As he spoke, his tone slipped into an
authoritative cadence, like that of a professional lecturer going over an
often-used lesson. My pulse quickened, but I kept calm. He was shuffling
through the papers, so if my face was flushed, he didn’t notice it. Randall
didn’t see my eye roll, either. He looked at me a second too late.
    “You don’t say,” I sighed.
    The professor frowned, and turned back to
his papers. “Yes – remarkable, I thought. It seems my subject had a strong
connection to one of the characters in