“Carbon-monoxide poisoning? Oh, how terrible!” Eliza winced.
Eliza and Louise sat together in the kitchen while, in the living room, Mack helped Janie assemble the skeleton of the plastic playhouse she had received as a birthday gift. The two women made certain to keep their voices low.
“I’m so sorry, Eliza,” whispered the distressed Realtor. “I should have known about this and told you before you bought the house. But I was away at the beach with William for a few days in July when the Richardses died, and I missed the gossip about it in the office and didn’t read about it in the local papers. By the time I got back I guess it was old news and no one was even talking about it anymore. When the listing came out, I jumped on it, knowing it would be the perfect house for you. I still think it is. But I just found out what happened from the listing agent yesterday and, of course, I wanted to tell you myself.”
Eliza’s mind raced. She had done a story on carbon-monoxide poisoning. Hundreds of people died in their homes each year from the poisonous gas that had no smell, no taste and no color. But she also knew that carbon-monoxide poisoning was easily preventable by making sure appliances were properly installed, checking vents and chimneys regularly for improper connections, and making sure that heating systems were inspected and serviced on a regular basis. If everything checked out and had been corrected, as the building inspector guaranteed, Eliza wasn’t unduly concerned about the safety of the house she was about to buy. She would be vigilant in having inspections done and make sure to have carbon-monoxide detectors installed.
It bothered her far more that two people had died so tragically in the house she and Janie were going to move into. She didn’t think of herself as a superstitious person, but knowing that a husband and wife had died so senselessly within the walls of the home where she planned to live with her child gave Eliza pause. She felt the fine hairs on her bare arms rise.