Read Online 'Til Death Do Us Part by Amanda Quick - Free Book Online Page B

in the drawing room had been still and quiet. Now it was charged with the energy of Calista’s rage and frustration.
    â€œDo you mind if I ask who it is you wouldn’t mind seeing in a coffin?” he said, intrigued.
    â€œI have no idea. But when I find out—” She broke off, visibly fighting to compose herself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hastings. You caught me at a bad time. I have just sustained a shock. I am not myself.”
    â€œI take it that it is the contents of that box that is distressing you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat is inside?”
    â€œI don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet. But I’m sure that it will be just as unpleasant as the two previous memento mori gifts have been.”
    An edgy flicker of alarm raised the fine hair on the back of his neck. He moved closer to the table and looked at the name on the black-bordered envelope.
    â€œSomeone is sending you gifts suitable for those in deepest mourning?” he asked.
    â€œI suppose it’s possible that the sender considers them cruel jokes.” Calista tightened one hand into a fist at her side. “But whoever it is, he has gone too far. I swear, I can feel him watching me from the shadows. He is out there, somewhere, circling, prowling around me, waiting to pounce.”
    He touched the envelope. “May I?”
    She hesitated. “I did not mean to burden you with my personal concerns.”
    â€œYou haven’t done anything of the kind. I am a curious man by nature and you have made me very, very curious.” He glanced at the blob of black wax. There was no impression on it. “You have not broken the seal.”
    â€œI’m sure the note will be similar to the others. Go ahead, read it.”
    He broke the seal and removed a card from the envelope. The black border was very wide indicating deep mourning. He read the short note aloud.
    â€œOnly death can part us.”
He looked up. “There is no signature.”
    â€œThere was none on the cards that accompanied the previous two gifts, either,” Calista said.
    â€œThe stationery is of very good quality,” Trent said. “Your correspondent is a person of some means.”
    Calista shot him a fierce glare. “He is not my correspondent.”
    â€œForgive me. A poor choice of words, especially in light of the fact that I am an author. I was simply making an observation about the social status of the individual who is tormenting you.”
    â€œI know. It’s my turn to apologize. Forgive my temper, sir. This entire matter has put my nerves on edge.”
    â€œUnderstandable.” He looked at the box. “Why don’t you unwrap it? The nature of the object inside might provide us with more information about the person who sent it.”
    â€œI doubt it.” But she began to untie the ribbon. “I’m sure it will be similar to the others—some dreadful object intended for someone who is grieving. And it will no doubt have my initials on it.”
    That information elicited another whisper of dread.
    â€œThe objects are marked with your initials?” he asked, wanting to be certain.
    â€œI have received two gifts thus far, a tear-catcher and a ring designed to hold a lock of hair from the deceased. Both were inscribed with the initials
C
and
L
.”
    She undid the ribbon, tossed it aside, and then yanked off the expensive black silk wrapping to reveal a plain wooden box. Trent could tell that she was holding her breath.
    She raised the lid of the box as if expecting to find a dangerous trap inside.
    For a moment they both simply stared at the object in the box.
    â€œA bell,” Calista said without inflection.
    It was some eight or ten inches high, cast in some heavy metal and covered in gleaming black enamel. The initials
C
and
L
were inscribed in flowing gilt script on the outside.
    A long chain of metal links extended from the clapper inside the bell to a finger