Authors: Melissa Lynne Blue
“Did your daughter ever mention a man named Bram?”
Mrs. Hatchet’s eyes narrowed. “I told you before, Marshal Langston, that my daughter was not involved with any men. No boys called on her. If these are all the questions you have then I’ll ask you to leave.”
“We won’t bother you with any more questions,” Lilly smoothly interceded. “However… Would it be possible for us to see your daughter’s room? Perhaps she kept a journal that might lend us a clue, or it could be she received letters from a secret admirer.”
“My daughter did not keep secrets from me.”
“I keep a journal full of the secrets I wouldn’t wish to tell my mother,” Lilly said quietly, her expression empathetic.
“Your mother is dead, Lillian. I imagine there isn’t much you could tell her.”
Lilly stiffened. The movement almost imperceptible, but he could
feel
her. Protectiveness flared within him. Elizabeth Hatchet could fling as many insults as she wished as long as they were directed at
him
, not Lilly. “That is uncalled for, Mrs. Hatchet. We—”
“It’s all right, Marshal.” Ever-so-gently Lilly touched his knee before turning back to Mrs. Hatchet. “Each of us here knows how very hard it is to lose someone we love. These are hard times and you must believe that I would not ask this of you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”
The anger in Mrs. Hatchet’s eyes began to fade. Davy held back, flicking his gaze to Lilly.
She leaned forward, naught but compassion shining in her eyes. “Did you ever have a secret, however small, that you never told anyone about? A secret beau or even a little money hidden away?” Lilly paused, a half smile toying at the corner of her mouth. “The journal I spoke of… not even my cousin Lavinia has laid eyes on it.”
Mrs. Hatchet sighed, a wistful tear winking from the corner of her eye. “I suppose you’re right, Miss Hudson. You may look through her things. Mary will show you the way. I haven’t been to Clara’s room since…”
Davy reached for the widow’s arm, but his hand collided with Lilly’s in midair.
* * *
Shockwaves erupted, shooting up Lilly’s arm. She snatched back as though burned by the simple, accidental touch of David’s hand. She gulped, casting a covert glance at the man beside her on the sofa.
A vise of true compassion lined his face as he sandwiched Mrs. Hatchet’s hand between each of his large palms. David appeared totally unaffected—oblivious even—by Lilly’s presence. “My deepest thanks, ma’am,” he murmured solemnly.
Mrs. Hatchet’s servant, an elderly black woman, entered the room carrying a wooden tray laden with a pitcher of lemonade and three tall glasses. She set the tray on the round table situated between the sofa and Mrs. Hatchet’s chair.
“Mary, after the lemonade, I’ll have you show the marshal and Miss Hudson to Clara’s room.”
Within minutes Mary led them up a set of narrow wooden stairs to a closed whitewashed door sporting a shiny brass handle. Outside the door, the elderly woman stopped and glanced nervously back down the stairwell. “Miss Hudson, Marshal Langston,” she whispered. “There’s somethin’ I got to tell you.”
“Yes, Mary, what is it?”
“The Missus don’t know,” she continued nervously, “but Miss Clara sneaked out of the house a lot.”
“Do you know where she went? Did she ever mention names?”
“Not to me,” Mary said. “But a couple weeks before she died she started getting’ letters and flowers and even showed up one day in a brand new dress.”
“A blue dress?” Davy inquired.
“Yup. ‘Course she wouldn’t tell me where she came by it.”
“Thank you, Mary.” Lilly squeezed the older woman’s hand. “You’ve been most helpful. I won’t mention any of this to Mrs. Hatchet, you have my word.”
Mary nodded, tears glassing the surface of her brown eyes. “I helped raise that child since she was no bigger than my knee. It ain’t right what happened to her. Ain’t right at all.” She walked back down the stairs, shoulders hunched.
After a moment of silence, David twisted the brass handle and entered the room. Lilly quickly followed. Sadness instantly washed over her. The room presented itself in pleasant disarray, waiting for Clara’s return. The bedclothes were tossed back half-hazard as though someone had just gotten out of bed and an open book lay print face down on an end table beside an oil lamp. Three roses, perfectly dried, stood in a glass flute vase on a chest of drawers. The door clicked shut, startling Lilly out of her thoughts.
David strode slowly through the room, stopping at a shelf littered with books and loose pieces of paper.
“If Clara was keeping secret correspondence she wouldn’t have left it in plain sight.” Lilly dropped to her knees and peaked under the bed. A small chest with a lock sat at the far back corner by the wall. “Here we are.” She flattened out on her stomach and wiggled under the bed far enough to snag the little handle. Scooting back out from beneath the bed proved a bit more cumbersome with her full skirts, and when she finally managed to twist the little trunk—and herself—out, her skirts were bunched and her hair was falling around her face where it had caught on the bed’s wooden slats. She pushed herself up on an arm and turned to find David, staring down at her, an amused smile on his lips, his eyes twinkling.
“Well, well,” he drawled, gaze wandering playfully over her disheveled frame. “Aren’t you the expert on keeping secrets.”
Lilly flushed. “Nothing of the sort.” She struggled to sit and simultaneously straighten her skirts. David knelt, grasping her upper arm and pulling her upright. Their eyes locked. Her stomach—or perhaps it was her heart—fluttered. She averted her gaze, tucking her legs beneath her and smoothing the cotton skirt pooling around her, grasping for her bearings.
What is wrong with me?
The last time her insides had performed a miniature circus act she’d blamed the frazzled state of her nerves on finding her friend murdered. But now… she glanced up into his eyes, brilliant blue and sparkling with good humor… now the only reason for her reaction to the man was… the man himself.
Dear Lord, please, anyone but David Langston!
The man was infuriating, belittling, and overprotective to a fault. Even as her father recruited her help and knowledge in investigations, Marshal Langston fought to keep her out.
She drew a steadying breath, tugging at the lid latch. “We’ll need a key to open this.”
He rose. “And where, Miss secret expert, would I look for this key?”
She flashed a playful glare at him, his teasing tone not lost on her. “Use your imagination.”
He grinned before ambling back to the shelf. Lilly too stood, opening the top drawer of the desk situated beneath the window.
“So you keep a journal,” he said after a moment. “Is it filled with torrid secrets?”
“Marshal Langston,” she scolded. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
“Perhaps not, but I am rather intrigued.”
“If you must know,” she replied, moving to the second desk drawer. “I haven’t kept the journal in some time. Not since the war.”
“Too busy getting in the way of my investigations to write?”
Lilly ignored the quip and continued searching the drawers. Silence lapsed.
“Have you ever thought of getting married?” David asked after a few minutes.
Lilly’s stomach twisted as bitter memories threatened to resurface. “Have you ever considered getting remarried?”
“Touché.” The good humor leeched instantly from his voice.
Lilly chanced a quick glance over her shoulder. The stern lines returned to his face and his broad shoulders tensed. Guilt niggled at her conscience. He hadn’t meant to pry, and in truth she was seeing a new side to him. A fun side. She didn’t want to go back to sparring.
“I was engaged once,” she offered after a moment of quiet.
David turned, brow raised in surprise.
“To Daniel Radcliffe. I was seventeen. He asked me to wait for him when he left for the war.”
Davy’s face softened. “You loved him?”
“I did.”
“He never came home I gather.”
She shook her head. “I stopped writing in my journal the day his name appeared on the casualty roster.” David nodded, true empathy in his gaze. He knew pain. Lilly didn’t know the specifics, but he’d been a widower for many years. “I received a letter from him several months after he died,” she continued, unsure why she was opening up to David except that it somehow felt right. “I never read it. I tucked it in the back of my journal and hid it away.”
Neither of them searched for the key any longer. Instead they stood facing each other on opposite sides of the modest bedroom.
“You should read that letter,” he said quietly.
Lilly shrugged, throat thickening as tears pricked the back of her eyes. She blinked quickly to prevent them from forming. “Perhaps. It’s just been so long. I’ve put it behind me.”
“Daniel wanted you to read it,” Davy pressed. “I would have given anything to have someone other than my grandmother to write home to.” He hesitated. “It’s difficult to explain, but knowing someone back home is reading your letters… It helps.”
Lilly didn’t know how to respond, but she also sensed he didn’t expect an answer.
“To hell with this,” Davy muttered. In one fluid motion he flipped open a small leather pouch attached his holster, and brandished a folding knife. He knelt before the chest, and stuck the pointed end into the locking mechanism.
“David, no, you’ll break—” the lid popped open, “—it.”
He whistled, long and low. “Hello secrets.”
11
th
Hour Rose
Three
Lilly quickly circled behind David for a glimpse inside the chest. “Oh, my.” She quickly stooped beside him. “I hadn’t expected this.”
“Nor I,” he murmured.
Three gold double eagles sat atop several folded envelopes and loose sheets of paper. A few personal knick-knacks and a leather bound book also occupied the trunk.
“Where the hell did she come by these?”
Lilly reached into the box and plucked one of the twenty-dollar gold pieces from its hiding place. “We may never know.” The date 1849 winked at her from the coin’s shiny surface. “This may explain her new gown though.”
Davy lifted the leather bound book and unwound the strings holding it closed. He leafed through a few pages. “It’s a journal. Ah… here we are. The last couple of entries speak of an admirer sending her small gifts and notes.”
“Does she mention a name?”
“I don’t think she knew who he was.” He pointed to a specific spot on the page. “Here she is speculating who might be sending her gifts.” He flipped the page and barked with laughter. “She wonders if Deputy Whitfield is her admirer.”
Lilly chuckled as well. “Jesse Whitfield seems a bit… dull witted for romantic gestures. Bless his heart.”
Davy scoffed. “To say the least.”
“Does she mention anything of the new gown?”
Davy leafed through a few more pages. “Nothing, but we should pay a visit to the seamstress shop to speak with Mrs. Bridger anyhow.”
Lilly quirked a questioning brow. “We?”
“I don’t have time to see you home and out of trouble,” he answered succinctly.
Lilly swallowed her annoyance. Never mind that she’d suggested speaking with the seamstress first. “What should we do with the gold pieces?”
Davy shut the lid on the box. “Give them to Mrs. Hatchet. She could certainly use the money, and she may have an idea where they came from.”
Lilly very much doubted that.
“We’ll take the rest of these letters and Clara’s journal for closer review.”
* * *
The visit to the seamstress shop told them little more than they’d already known. All of the murdered women had visited the seamstress shop a couple of days before being killed. Each girl had purchased a sky blue gown and later been slain in it.
Seated in the seamstress shop, Lilly and David conducted a tense interview.
“I wish I would have known to be suspicious.” Mrs. Bridger shrugged, and shifted her perch on the expensively upholstered chair. “With the festival coming up I assumed the girls wanted a new gown for the dancing.” A glassing of tears shone in the older woman’s eyes.
Lilly reached forward to pat her arm in reassurance.
“You had no idea, Mrs. Bridger,” Davy assured her. “However, speaking of suspicious behavior, did any of the women mention a man? Or have you noticed anyone loitering around the shop? Particularly a man?”
“No, I haven’t seen anyone or anything unusual.” Her chin quivered. “But then I haven’t thought to look.” The threesome lapsed into silence. The bell above the main door jingled, alerting them to the presence of a customer.
Davy stood, Lilly and Mrs. Bridger quickly followed suit. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bridger, we won’t keep you any longer. If you think of or notice anything out of the ordinary, please contact me immediately.”
“Such as customers purchasing blue gowns?”
“Precisely.”
“I will, Marshal Langston, anything I can do to help.” Mrs. Bridger ushered them through the back door. “I wish you luck catching whoever did this to those poor girls.”
The door clicked shut and Lilly followed David across the blue-painted back porch.
“This is damn frustrating.” David sighed, striding across the back porch of the shop. He turned to Lilly and crossed strong arms over his thick chest. “What do you make of this?”
His eyes vibrant and almost unsettlingly blue locked on hers, and it took Lilly a moment to realize he was expecting an answer. “Why, David, are you asking my opinion?”
“This is
your
lead.” He flashed a crooked half smile that was surprisingly disarming.
She shook her head, drawing a steadying breath, and swept her eyes up the alley. “I think the killer is sending the girls to the seamstress shop, giving them money to buy the blue dress, and I would go so far as to bet he’s watching them.”
He nodded slowly, obviously deep in thought. Davy turned and stepped down one creaky wooden stair, and then another. Lilly trailed behind him.