11th Hour Rose

11
^th
Hour Rose

Melissa Lynne Blue

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

11
^th
Hour Rose

Copyright © 2012 by Melissa Lynne Blue

Cover Design by Rae Monet

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

For more information:
www.melissalynneblue.com

11
^th
Hour Rose

Dedication

For my wonderful and supportive friends and critique partners, Stacey, Marie, and Ashley. Without you three specifically this book wouldn’t be here today.

Also Thanks to my husband and my mom…

11
^th
Hour Rose

One

Charleston, South Carolina

September, 1868             

Another murder?

Lillian Hudson threaded through the crowd of roiling Charleston citizens, clamoring like the rest for a glimpse of the third crime scene in as many weeks.

Twilight rolled through the skies, casting the city in a blanket of blue and purple, adding to the aura of fear shivering through the air. Horse-drawn carts clattered on the hard packed streets while speculative shouts rose up over the din.

“It’s one of them damn Yankee soldiers what done it!” one man called out.

“Aye!” A variable chorus replied.

“Them blue bellies need to hang. Every last one!”

Lilly huddled deeper into her woven shawl both horrified and morbidly fascinated by the prospect of another slain woman. As the only daughter of the county sheriff she’d grown up around the law. Widowed in his early thirties, George Hudson had discussed nearly every detail of his cases with Lilly. At this point she was as well versed and educated in the law as any barrister. Not that the fact seemed to matter to anyone other than her papa. She’d been petitioning the South Carolina Supreme Court for a license to practice without success for three years now. Apparently women were viewed
too fragile
for law practice—hogwash!

“It’s Marshal Langston!”

All around her the collective body hushed and shifted inward. Lilly’s gaze instantly honed in on the commanding figure of U.S. Marshal David Langston. Standing more than a head taller than the bulk of the crowd, his powerful shoulders and overall titan’s form made him impossible to miss. A brimmed hat slanted low—almost dangerously—over his face, concealing the irritable blue eyes Lilly knew all too well lay beneath.

              “Marshal, our wives and daughters aren’t safe in their beds!” An angry man Lilly didn’t readily recognize stepped into the lawman’s path. “What are you going to do about this serial murderer?”

Expression hard, the marshal carved an unwavering route through the throng. “Let me pass.” His cool, booming tone resonated with authority, quieting even the most ardent bystanders clamoring for answers and atonement. Citizens slid from his path as though standing on sheets of ice.

Lilly ducked her chin and continued sidling covertly forward. While her father may indulge her interest in criminal investigations and value her opinions, David Langston—a close colleague of her father’s—had little such patience. Best to keep out of his sight for as long as possible. Lilly turned sideways, easing through the crush. As the sea of heads and shoulders thinned, she spied her father standing with a handful of deputies, and several of the Yankee officers stationed in Charleston to enforce marshal law. While not quite able to see the crime scene Lilly was close enough to hear the anguished murmurs emanating from the lawmen.

Marshal Langston shoved through the last of the onlookers and joined the others. “Christ,” he muttered, wiping a hand over his jaw. “This is a bloodbath.” He swept the hat off his head and knelt, disappearing from sight. “Is this…?” the rest of his words were inaudible from Lilly’s vantage point.

“Yes, it is,” her father replied gravely. “A damn shame. She’s so young.”

Lilly shivered, stalling as a wave of sadness washed through her. Thus far all of the victims had been in their mid-twenties, she assumed this woman was as well. What waste to see such young lives cut short.

“Sheriff,” the marshal reappeared, speaking directly to her father. “Get what you need—sketches, evidence, and then take her to my brother’s clinic.” He swept a reproachful glare across the crowd. “Lieutenant Cook.” He turned to one of the Yankees. “You and your soldiers get this crowd under control. This isn’t a circus freak show.”

“Consider it done, Sir.” The lieutenant made a sweeping gesture with his arm, indicating the crowd. “Ladies and gentleman, please return to your homes. There is nothing left to see here.” He and the other bluecoats fanned into the pack and people began to dissipate.

Lilly held her ground, waiting for the cluster of men standing directly in front of her to filter away. A flash of torn fabric skirt appeared behind the thinning forest of shifting legs. She stepped around a trio of men, surprised to see just how close she was to the crime scene. Her gaze fell to the young woman so still and motionless on the ground.

She gasped, chills of horror racing down her spine. “Oh, my god.” She stumbled forward. “Susannah.”
No. This couldn’t be.
She’d been with Susie earlier that afternoon. They needed to make pies for the festival that weekend. Lilly swayed, struggling to maintain her balance. Her vision grew fuzzy and faraway as though watching a dream through someone else’s eyes. This wasn’t her first murder, far from it, but there was so much blood and Susie looked so…a wave of dizziness assailed her. She didn’t even look like Susannah. Everything was happening so fast.

“Damn it, Lilly,” Marshal Langston’s angry voice pierced the haze surrounding her mind. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I-it’s Susie…” she stammered as the dizziness escalated to full blown spinning. “David.” She meant to reach for him, but her fingers did little more than flutter as her knees threatened to buckle. His arms slid around her. He was like steel, an anchor, and as her head fell against the solid wall of his chest she drew a ragged breath, balling his shirt into her fists.

He pulled her closer. “Are you all right?” he murmured, his warm breath whispering through her hair.

Lilly turned her face into his chest, willing the macabre vision of Susannah’s lifeless yet pleading eyes from her mind. “I… don’t know.”

“Come.” He linked a supportive arm about her waist, leading her behind a coach parked by the alley. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he tilted her face toward him. His pale blue eyes glowed an unnatural silver in the moonlight. “You shouldn’t have seen that,” he whispered. His calloused thumb grazed her cheek and genuine concern lined his handsome face. “No one should ever have to see that.”

Nodding weakly, she let the strength and heat of his arms surround her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was Susannah Jensen until I saw her.” Susie had been a good friend. During the war they’d spent hours together sewing uniforms and quilts, and when resources had run low they’d even learned to spin their own thread, weave fabrics, and dye clothe. They’d poured over any news and letters that happened to come through. Susannah’s husband had returned home… Lilly’s beau had not.

“You shouldn’t have come out here.” His voice took on a bit of the irritated edge she was so used to. “Go home.”

“Home? No.” The shock was ebbing and she pulled away growing incredulous. She was a grown woman of twenty-five, and a lawyer—almost. “I’m not leaving, Marshal Langston. Susannah Jensen was my friend, and I can help.”

“Help? Good God, Lilly, how is it helpful when you’re swooning in my arms?”

“I wasn’t swooning, David.” She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing in challenge.

“I would beg to differ.” He stepped around the conveyance. “Whitfield!” He hailed one of the deputies then turned back to Lilly. “I’m asking Deputy Whitfield to escort you home. I have enough to deal with without worrying what you’re up to.”

She flushed at his chastising words. “But—”

“No,” he barked. “You have no business here nosing
around in other people’s lives, Lilly.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing? I have been assisting my father for years, and—”

“Enough.” Steel sharp as any blade gilded his tone, warning her into immediate silence. David moved in on her, brow furrowed dangerously. “You want to help? Why don’t you ride on out to Susie’s farm and inform her husband that his wife has been murdered.” Acid dripped from his voice. “That’s where I’m headed when I’m through here. Do you want that responsibility, Lilly?”

Reflexively, she moved backward as David stepped closer, but she was trapped against the coach. She could have told him that she’d done so many times. That her father believed heartbreaking news was best served with a woman’s touch, but instead she kept silent. Listening. This man radiated an air that was broken…
wounded…
with a bleeding heart acutely visible in his eyes.

“Do you have any idea what it is to lose the one person in this world you’re supposed to watch sunsets and grow old with?” He closed the distance between them, leaning over her until their noses nearly touched. “Do you know what it is to lose your life?”

For a long moment their eyes locked. Searching. “Are we talking about Frank Jensen, or you?” she asked quietly.

He froze, blinking in surprise. The angry furrow melted from his brow and brought back the face of a younger man. Younger in all but his eyes… Lilly’s heart lurched just a little. She reached out and brushed the single blond lock from his forehead as though the simple act might sweep the pain from his gaze. “Davy…”

“Don’t.” He caught her hand and squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face slightly into her palm. After a long moment he released a pent up breath. The serious furrow returned to his brow and his hard gaze fixed on her once again. “I’ll have a deputy escort you home.”

She opened her mouth to protest.

He lifted a finger. “Do not argue with me or it will be one of the Yankees.”

11
^th
Hour Rose

Two

“This investigation is going to be a mess.” George Hudson shifted in the wooden chair behind his desk the following morning. “Three victims, none of whom have anything in common, except age and looks, and now we’re going to have to pattern this out and catch the bastard before he strikes again, likely next week on a Thursday.”

“I know.” Davy kicked at a loose board on the scarred floor. Sunlight streamed through the window behind the sheriff’s head, dancing across his foot and promising a beautiful late summer day. The brilliant rays and blue sky only darkened his already glower mood. Clouds would have been much more fitting. “I’m going to wire the Marshals office in Washington. See if they can spare a few men or provide us with any information about similar murders.”

“Good, we need to get a handle on this case before things get out of control.”

“Three dead women,” Davy muttered. “I’d say it’s already out of control.”

The sheriff was silent for a long while. Davy knew he was thinking as he was, a serial killer was the last thing this city needed.

“Hey, George?” Davy propped a foot on the desk edge, rocking back in his chair.

“Yeah?”

“Keep Lilly out of this one.”

“Right, Marshal.” A snort of wry laughter escaped him. “You try stopping her.”

Listening to the creak of the chair beneath his weight, Davy couldn’t seem to get the vision of Lilly’s face out of his head when she’d seen Susannah’s body. Lilly was a busybody of the worst sort and a damn thorn in his side, but she meant well, her heart was in the right place, and… and what?

He supposed he wanted to protect her from the evils he contended with every day.

“Did you speak with Frank Jensen, yet?” George asked.

Davy nodded. “First thing this morning.”

George scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Anything?”

“No. He’s been away from town for two days helping his brother harvest. It’s the first crop
Belle Acres
has managed in five years. Frank swore his wife hadn’t been involved with another man.”