By Dana Cameron
The past's blood stains the current the potential of a life-time awaits archaeologist Emma Fielding within the Berkshire foothills of Western Massachusetts: the opportunity to review the eighteenth-century diary of Margaret Chandler, the accused witch and murderess whose domestic Emma excavated basically months prior to. even if, the 3 different Shrewsbury starting place fellows she needs to percentage the premises with are a disturbingly bizarre bunch, and ahead of too lengthy considered one of them is useless. yet Emma can locate no solace within the bleak fantastic thing about the encompassing barren region, for there are darkish secrets and techniques encoded in Madam Chandler's writings, and stunning parallels among an historical slaying and the unusual, brutal loss of life of her colleague. while the killer moves back, Emma realizes her personal lifestyles is at stake. And unexpectedly there is not any selection left: she is pushed to enquire bloody crimes previous and current -- ahead of her personal dying turns into a footnote in a chilling, three-centuries-old tale.
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Additional info for A Fugitive Truth: An Emma Fielding Mystery
Welcome to Shrewsbury, Emma. Chapter 2 AS I DESCENDED THE STAIRS THE NEXT MORNING I smelled coffee and was grateful that I wouldn’t have to figure out the kitchen without benefit of caffeine. One good thing about the Shrewsbury library was that it didn’t open until nine in the morning, which meant that I was able to sleep in moderately late. In the field, I was forced to drag my carcass out of bed at the ungodly hour of six, or even earlier, which was anathema to my natural inclination to late nights.
Those ‘finishing touches’ have been in the works for about seven years now and counting, so I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for it. ” It seemed the only safe thing to say, under the circumstances, but it wasn’t safe enough. Michael picked up on my reticence. “Oh, come off it, Auntie. ” Michael patted himself down, then caught himself. “Shit, no smoking in this crypt. ” He sighed with galactic weariness. ” That nettled me—I always fancied myself as more than usually truthful and open-minded. ” Michael was unaffected by my tart response.
A flood of ideas cascaded through my head even before I finished reading that heading. Her middle name suggested the possibility that Margaret might be part French; the date, I remembered, correlated with the first year of her husband’s tenure as justice in the courts in Stone Harbor and Boston; and she herself must have been in her early twenties at the time. Even as I was digesting this morsel, gooseflesh ran down my spine and arms as I realized that this was the third volume of her journal—was it possible that the others still existed?