An Untimely Frost (13 page)

A trifle shaken and more than a little embarrassed, Lilly looked up at him. When she'd stumbled against him on the train, she was so taken aback at the realization that their meeting was so similar to hers with Timothy that she hadn't realized just how attractive the stranger was. He was. Very. She squelched the thought and cursed the maddening trait she'd inherited from her mother. She would not be swayed again by a charming man.

Recognition lit his eyes, and he favored her with a cocky smile. “Well, hullo, there. I was hopin' I'd run into you again. But mayhap not quite so literally.” He regarded her with a narrowed, considering expression. “You're not followin' me, are you, lass?”

Following him? The utter gall of the man! “I beg your pardon?” she said in a frosty tone.

“No need to get huffy, now. It's just that we've bumped into each other twice now, and I thought maybe you were flirtin' with me just a wee bit.” The observation was accompanied by an audacious wink.

Lilly's mouth dropped open in surprise, but before she could think of a suitable set down, she caught the familiar scent of bay rum. Timothy's scent. The aroma enveloped her, leaving her awash in memories . . . Tim laughing, teasing, holding her, kissing her, telling her she was the most important thing in the world to him. . . .

With a little sound of annoyance, Lilly pushed both the man and the hateful memories away. “I'm fine, thank you,” she snapped. In an act of self-preservation, she took a backward step to put some distance between them and stooped to pick up her books. He squatted to help her and their hands touched. Their gazes met and locked. Fighting the pull of his personality, she glared at him. Without a word, he stacked a book on top of the others in her arms. They stood almost simultaneously and she started to step around him, but his voice stopped her.

“If I've offended you, I beg your pardon. It's just that I don't think there's anything wrong with a bit o' flirtin' now and again.”

Lilly lifted her gaze to his and favored him with a withering look. “I do not flirt with strange men, sir,” she said. “And if I did, I would never flirt with the likes of you.” Pulling her skirts aside, as if brushing against him might give her the plague, she swept past him.

She'd taken no more than two steps when his voice halted her again. “Never say never, colleen. It's a very long time.”

Muttering beneath her breath, Lilly walked away, her heart racing. Whether it was from her reaction to the man or from her anger, she could not have said.

C
HAPTER
23

A
fter another delicious dinner, Lilly headed to her room. Mrs. Holbrook still hadn't made an appearance. As Lilly climbed the stairs she wondered if she dared confront the woman at home. She decided to do just that if her hostess didn't make an appearance at the hotel the next morning.

Dressed in her gown and wrapper, she propped up in bed, intent on studying the ledgers and letters she'd borrowed from the church. Though she scoured the pages for hours, she found nothing of interest about the Purcells except a page listing deceased church members, where she found the name of the reverend's infant son, Joel David Purcell.

One of the letters to Harold had been sent from a fellow in New Orleans, but the contents revealed nothing but the fact that the writer, a Nelson Hargity, was thinking of leaving his preaching position and going into the mercantile business. If there were any other clues about where the Purcells might have gone when they'd fled Vandalia, or any bits of information that might have given her insight to the preacher's motives, she was unable to recognize them.

She fell asleep with a letter in her hand, but her sleep was shallow and dream filled. Now and then, just to make things more exasperating, random scenes featuring Timothy crept in. In one muddled dream sequence, the boxer from the train met Tim in the ring and knocked him flat on his posterior.

That dream awakened her. What on earth was that all about? She punched her pillow and scrunched up her eyes, willing her mind to stillness and praying that she could gain a few hours of restful sleep.

* * *

While Lilly courted sleep in her hotel room, the sheriff was busy pulling down the blinds on his office windows. The two men he'd summoned settled into chairs across from his desk. They were there to discuss the long-term ramifications of the Pinkerton agent's unexpected arrival and her ongoing inquiries into things they thought they'd left far in the past.

The first man was tall and elegantly dressed, clean shaven and clearly unhappy about the unanticipated meeting. The second, though shorter, was just as properly attired. There was nothing in his calm demeanor to suggest that he was in any way distressed over the latest happenings.

“What's all this about, Asa?” the taller of the two asked, accepting the squat glass of whiskey the sheriff offered.

“I thought you should know that Miss Long went out to Heaven's Gate yesterday to have a look around. Today she sent a telegram to someone named Pierce Wainwright and another to William Pinkerton,” the sheriff told them.

“William Pinkerton?” the tall one asked. “Why would she do that?”

“The lady is a certified Pinkerton agent.”

“I hadn't heard that. Are you certain?”

“She showed me her badge.”

“Well, isn't that just dandy? A Pinkerton snooping around.”

“There's not much we can do about it,” Mayhew said.

“Obviously she said something that worries you,” said the shorter of the two, tapping the ash from the sweet-smelling cigar he was smoking.

The sheriff nodded. “The one to Wainwright said something about finally knowing everything after so long a time and two dying that night. She said she'd explain more later.” To verify his statement, he pulled the piece of paper with the words written on it and handed it to the taller man.

When he finished reading it, he passed it to his cohort. “What do you think it means? You don't think she suspects—”

“I don't know what to think,” the sheriff interrupted. “But I thought you two ought to know about it. It just seemed strange to me. She says she's here to locate Purcell and see if he'll sell his property, but I'm beginning to wonder if that's really why she's come.”

“Why else would she be poking into the past?”

“I don't care a fig why she's here. I want her gone. We have to think of ourselves and our families,” the taller one said.

“We are,” Mayhew told him. “I think we've done a pretty good job of burying things.”

“I thought so, too, until now,” the man said. “Is it possible that some young woman still wet behind the ears has discovered something at Heaven's Gate that was overlooked all those years ago?”

“Something that I overlooked, you mean?” the sheriff snapped, tossing back the shot of whiskey and grimacing as it burned down his throat.

“Now don't get your hackles up, Asa,” the short man said in a conciliatory tone. “You were new to the job back then. It's possible you overlooked something, but there's no shame in it if you did. Miss Long may be a woman, but the Pinkertons aren't known for surrounding themselves with imbeciles.”

The sheriff gave a disgruntled nod. He'd already come to that realization.

“So what should we do? Find a way to suggest that she mind her own business?”

“I don't think that's necessary just now,” Mayhew told them. “Her message to William Pinkerton said she was leaving for Springfield the day after tomorrow.”

“Springfield!” the tall man exclaimed. “I wonder why she's going there.”

“I have no idea.”

“It doesn't matter,” the shorter man muttered. “It sounds as if she's about to give up on finding out anything about Purcell. If our luck holds and no one cooperates with her, she'll leave here with nothing, and our lives will settle down to normal. Or as close to normal as they will ever be.”

C
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24

L
illy woke the following day to sunshine and birdsong and a much clearer mind. Her natural hardheadedness was back in full force. She might not be able to locate Purcell, but she would not let anyone frighten her away from trying—man
or
ghost! She'd promised William Pinkerton she would do the job he'd sent her to do, and she intended to fulfill that promise, especially since her assignment was turning out to be far more interesting than she'd first expected.

She was heading out the door for her breakfast when she saw the envelope that had been slipped beneath the crack. Had she received a telegram from Pierce, or even William after she'd gone to bed? She reached down to pick it up and with a bit of trepidation, pulled the heavy vellum from its envelope. Unfolding it, she found herself staring at a beautiful Spencerian script.

 

 

Her heart seemed to stumble. A threat? She hadn't counted on that when she'd thought to become a detective. Hands shaking, she carried the note to the window, where she examined it again. Each time she read the missive, her alarm lessened and her anger grew. How dare someone threaten her! She worked for the most respected law enforcement agency in the country. Still, common sense told her that even though it might be nothing of true importance, she should not ignore it. She was not stupid. She decided to show it to the sheriff and get his opinion.

After fortifying herself with several cups of coffee and a bowl of molasses-topped oatmeal, Lilly crossed to the square and entered the courthouse. Since criminals made no distinction for the weekend, she found the lawman in his office in what seemed to be his favorite position: booted feet on his desk. Again, he was reading a newspaper, but this time when he saw who'd entered his domain he lowered his feet to the floor.

Lilly tossed the letter to the top of his desk.

“What's that?” he asked, shaking the newsprint closed.

“Perhaps you could tell me,” she said as he reached for the letter. She stood with her arms folded over her chest, one foot tapping out an impatient rhythm.

Sheriff Mayhew unfolded the note, rubbing his salt-and-pepper mustache with his forefinger as he read its content. When he finished, he muttered a mild curse. “Where did you find this?”

“Someone slid it beneath my door while I was sleeping. I must say, Sheriff, it doesn't make me feel very welcome. I was wondering if you have any idea who might have left it for me. If you don't, perhaps I can narrow it down for you.”

She ticked off her ideas on her fingers. “One, I don't think it was you, though I know you don't like me poking around and asking questions. Two, I don't think it's your daughter, whom I met, by the way, and who tells me you're a hypocrite. Perhaps before I leave town, you would tell me why. You do remember what a hypocrite is, don't you?”

The sheriff's eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Three, I don't think Billy Bishop or his ilk would do such a thing, since I doubt they have a source for vellum, not to mention it's doubtful they could write so well, which brings us to the conclusion that it was someone highly educated. I'm thinking a merchant. Teacher. Lawyer. One of the preachers in town. Mr. Reihmann at the bank—”

“I know who wrote it,” the sheriff interrupted. “I'll take care of it, and it's not a threat. It's a warning.”

Lilly's eyes flashed with indignation. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain the difference.”

“Actually, I think it's just a request for you to stop disrupting so many lives.”

Lilly rested her palms on the desktop and pinned him with a furious gaze. “Do you stop trying to find out who committed a crime when it ruffles a few feathers, Sheriff Mayhew?”

“Of course not.”

Lilly's unflinching gaze met his. “Well, neither do I,” she told him in a deceptively soft voice. “Finding Harold Purcell's whereabouts is my job and I intend to do it, so if you'd be so kind as to pass that on to the person who wrote me the . . .
request,
I would greatly appreciate it. Since you seem to know who it is, you would save me considerable time and trouble.” She straightened. “Now, I have people to question. Good day.”

She was at the door when his voice stopped her. She didn't turn around.

“I don't normally talk about personal things with strangers, Miss Long, but since Ellie brought it up, I may as well try to set the record straight. She thinks I'm a hypocrite because there was a time in our lives that I rushed to judgment. By the time I learned the truth, it was too late for forgiveness.”

Lilly thought of herself and the hurt she still dealt with daily because of Tim's behavior. She thought of the hate she felt for the man who'd killed Kate. She had not forgiven either of them and wasn't sure she ever could.

She turned to face the sheriff, who at that moment looked much older than he had when she'd first come in. “I won't be judging you, Sheriff Mayhew,” she told him with a stiff, sorrow-filled smile. “I have my own demons to wrestle down.”

C
HAPTER
25

A
fter leaving the sheriff to take care of the anonymous message, Lilly was trying to decide whom she should talk to next. When she passed by the bank, she saw James Reihmann sitting in his office. Deciding he would do as well as the next, she tapped on the window.

When he looked up and saw her he frowned and went back to his work. Lilly reached into her bag, took out her badge, and tapped the metal against the glass. His eyes narrowed in irritation, but he got up reluctantly and disappeared toward the front of the bank. In a few seconds she heard the key scraping in the lock. The door swung open and he stepped aside for her to enter. He made no effort to hide his displeasure.

“Mr. Reihmann,” she said, extending a hand that he took reluctantly. “I'm Lilly Long with the Pinkertons. I'm sure you've heard why I'm in town. I'm sorry to bother you on a Saturday morning, but when I saw you through the window, I thought that perhaps today might be better for you than a regular workday.”

“I know who you are and what you're doing,” he told her, “and I'm very busy.”

“I just have a few questions. It won't take long.”

“Very well. I can give you a few moments.”

How very kind of him, Lilly thought, pressing her lips together to keep from saying something she shouldn't. Without another word, he ushered her into a spacious office, rounded the gleaming desk, and resumed his seat. It looked as though he'd been making entries into a ledger.

“I'll just be a moment,” he said, resuming his work.

As she took the chair across from him and waited for him to finish, she remembered Helen calling him grandfather the morning of her arrival. With nothing else to do, she took stock of him. Clean shaven, nary a hair of his graying dark blond head was out of place. He was dressed in a brown three-piece tweed suit, typical bankers' attire. He was attractive enough for his age if one liked the cool, pompous look.

Her gaze moved from his bent head to his well-shaped, soft-looking hands. His nails were clean and pared close, and the only ring he wore was a wide gold wedding band. Her gaze meandered over the desk, and her pulse quickened. His handwriting was exactly like that of the warning note she'd received, and there was a short stack of vellum on his desk. Her patience vanished. Apparently, he intended to try to intimidate her as he no doubt did those who fell behind on their notes. She cleared her throat.

He condescended to look up, and she saw that he at least had the grace to blush. “I'm sorry,” he said, a bit shamefaced. “I really need to finish those accounts within the hour. I have an appointment.”

Lilly pegged him for a rich coward who bluffed his way through life because his money gave him a false sense of superiority. Just like Kate's killer. She had no use for his kind.

She reached down and picked up a piece of vellum, turning it this way and that. “Lovely paper.”

“Thank you,” he muttered in a low voice.

She gestured toward the open ledger. “And you have beautiful handwriting.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

She let the full force of her untroubled gaze rest on his. “I received a note on this exact paper in this handwriting just this morning. Someone slipped it beneath my door.”

James Reihmann's face drained of color. He couldn't meet her gaze. “Indeed.”

“Yes, indeed.” She smiled at him. “I wouldn't imagine there are too many folks in town who have mastered Spencerian script since it is relatively new. Or who can afford vellum to write on. You know, Mr. Reihmann, you really ought to think twice about repercussions before threatening people.”

“I . . . I don't know what you're talking about,” he blustered.

“Oh, I believe you do,” Lilly countered, looking him squarely in the eye.

He dropped his gaze. “Does . . . anyone else know about the . . . note?”

“No one but me,” she told him. “Oh, and Sheriff Mayhew. I turned it over to him this morning.”

Reihmann's gaze dropped to the desktop. He began to rearrange papers.

“Mr. Reihmann,” she began, clasping her hands together in her lap, “I'm here on a very simple mission, and that is to see if anyone knows where the Purcells might have gone when they left. The sooner I have somewhere to look, the sooner I will leave this town and its citizens in peace.”

Reihmann nodded, looking much like a child who'd been put in his place.

“However, everyone seems intent on making my job harder by being less than forthcoming. I've learned some things about the preacher and his family, and I understand that when he left here, he was not much liked. Under the circumstances, those feelings are understandable.

“I know he did his banking here. I know that he didn't make his weekly contribution deposit before he vanished. I know in general the things that happened afterward. All I need to ask you is if he ever, during the time he did business with you, mention where he might have lived before coming to Vandalia, or where he might have . . . say, wanted to go if he left.”

“Not that I can remember.”

She favored him with a benign smile. “See? That wasn't so hard, was it?”

“No.”

Deciding to see if another tack might render some useful bit of information, Lilly stood and picked up her handbag from the desktop. “Well, I'll be going then. I need to speak with your wife, and perhaps I can finally catch your daughter at the hotel.”

James Reihmann leaped to his feet. “Leave them both alone!” he demanded, finding a bit of backbone at last. “Mirabelle can't tell you any more than I have, and Virginia was just a girl when the Purcells were here. No one in town knows where the scoundrel went when he took off.”

Well, well. It looks as if we have someone else who isn't overly fond of the reverend.
Was theft enough to provoke such hatred? Finding out Purcell's whereabouts was rapidly becoming secondary to Lilly's need to satisfy her own curiosity about the preacher's actions. But she'd upset the banker enough for one day. She rose, said her good-byes, and left the banker stewing in the bitter juices of his own concoction.