"—His son, Henry Reamer, was found dead under mysterious circumstances two years later. Murder was obvious, but nothing has ever been done about it."
I frowned in mock severity. "I don't like the way you put that, Professor. Do you imply that we New Englanders condone violence?"
"Oh, not at all. There were just—no clues, from what I've learned. The next unfortunate, a renter named Miles McCormick, was found dead along with his wife and child as a result of lethal gas from a faulty stove."
"That happened the year I was born. We have the old newspapers here, telling about it."
"Those reports, along with other material are what I wish to study," Professor Waits said, then went on. "The house stood vacant for five years, until a Johnathan Hays bought it."
"But Johnathan Hays never moved in. He died of a heart attack while carrying a chair through the front door."
He beamed on me. "You are a remarkably alert young woman; well up in local history."
"With no credit to me. You'd be hard put finding a citizen around here who doesn't know the history of the Reamer mansion."
"Not 'of the Reamer mansion', my dear. Of the people who just happened to reap their ill-fortune there."
"You insist the house had nothing to do with it?"