An Untimely Frost (9 page)

Leaving the room, she crossed the hall and found herself in a bedroom. A mahogany chest with cabriole legs, claw and ball feet, and decorated with carved shells and scrollwork sat on the far wall. A tin bathtub peeked from behind a carved dressing screen. A cherrywood chair, its needlepoint seat washed out from the sunlight, sat in the opposite corner.

Animals had helped themselves to some of the feathers from the rotting feather tick, and the tangle of sheets was stained with rust.

Her breathing hitched. Not rust. Blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Her temples began to pound, and her stomach clenched. The contents of the room grew fuzzy, as though she were seeing it through murky water. She swayed and reached out to grasp the back of a nearby chair, staring at her image in a hazy mirror, but it wasn't her own reflection she saw, it was her mother's. The room receded and she was suddenly sucked into a vortex of long-suppressed memories that washed over her in wave after wave of remembrance....

C
HAPTER
15

 

“H
e's here!” Kate dropped the lace panel at the window and ran to the mirror, where she pursed her rouged lips and arranged a curl of her auburn bangs just so. Eleven-year-old Lilly didn't know who the man was, just that her mother had met him when they were in Springfield four months earlier and that Kate was “completely besotted” with him.

“Hide, Lilly,” Kate said, smoothing her palms over the soft yellow princess dress she'd chosen to impress this special man. “And for heaven's sake, don't make a sound.”

Lilly dropped to the floor, her dress billowing out as she slipped beneath the iron bedstead, where she'd tossed a quilt in anticipation of a long stay. There was a sharp rap at the door. At her mother's call to enter, it opened with a squeak.

“Kate!” the masculine voice said. “You look divine.”

Kate's throaty laughter filled the room. “So do you.”

The door clicked shut, and Lilly heard nothing for several seconds but the sounds of kissing and rustling fabric. It was a familiar ritual, one she'd experienced many times from various hiding places during her life. Sometimes she built her little nest behind her mother's dressing screen. If the weather permitted and their room was on the first floor, she might play with her dolls outside the window. Often there was nowhere to go but beneath the bed. Above all, she was to be quiet and not peek.

Of course she'd peeked through the years, but she was always quiet. Her mother's encounters with her men friends were much the same. Kisses. A drink or two. Laughter. Moans. The creaking of the bed springs.

When she was younger, she'd thought the men were hurting Kate, but after a while, she realized the act was something her mother liked, something she wanted, or she wouldn't do it so often or with so many men.

Tonight promised to be no different. Kate's yellow dress puddled onto the floor like a pool of melted butter. The man's shoes, socks, and pants followed. Lilly squeezed her eyes shut, which served only to create a clearer image of what was happening. When the bed stilled at last, there was no sound in the room for long moments but that of ragged breathing.

“There's something I need to tell you.”

The soft sound of her mother's voice told Lilly that Kate was afraid to say what was on her mind.

“What is it?” The man seemed wary, almost as if he knew beforehand the announcement would not be good.

“I haven't . . .” Kate's voice trailed away. “My monthlies haven't come around since we were here the last time.”

The man was silent for long moments.

“Well, say something,” she prodded.

The bed rocked roughly. “What would you have me say?” he snapped, all tenderness gone from his voice. “Am I to be happy about your ill-begotten whelp? Surely you didn't expect me to offer my hand in marriage, since I already have a wife.”

“
My
ill-begotten whelp?” Kate cried. “As I recall, you had as much a part in the conception of this baby as I. As for your wife, you told me you were divorcing her.”

Lilly's eyes widened at the word
baby
, but before she could ponder the meaning, she saw the man's bare feet hit the floor.

“And you believed me? From your behavior, I assumed you were a woman of the world.” His voice mocked. “As such, you should know that a man will say anything to get what he wants. Besides, how do I know the brat's mine?”

Lilly heard her mother's sharp gasp. “Of course it's yours. There's been no one else since we met. And you did tell me you were divorcing your wife.”

The man's laughter was cold, unkind. “A lie to get you into bed.” He laughed, a sound without mirth. “It is beyond belief that you seriously thought I would leave my wife, when it's her money that helps me live the life I have.”

Lilly heard her mother curse, something she seldom did. “You rich people are all the same.” Bitterness laced her voice. “You believe having money somehow absolves you of taking responsibility for your actions. Well, not this time. Since you've no intention of doing what's right, and I'll bear the bulk of responsibility, it's only fair that you supplement the child's needs.”

“You're daft, woman. I'll not give you a cent.”

Lilly heard the finality in his voice.

“No?” Kate countered. “Then perhaps I'll pay your wife a little visit.”

Lilly heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh and her mother's cry of pain. He had struck her!

The bed sank and swayed as the man climbed back onto it. “You will do nothing. You will say nothing. To anyone.” The words were as sharp and flinty as stone on stone.

“Oh, won't I?”

Lilly heard another sound and clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her own cry. Her eyes filled with tears. The man had hit her mother again. The bed began to move once more. There was more moaning, but this was different. Intuitively, Lilly knew something was very wrong. More afraid than she'd ever been, she squeezed her eyes shut and put her fingers in her ears.
Please, God, make him stop. Make him go away.
When at last she took her hands away and opened her eyes a crack, the bed was still and there was no sound in the room except the man's harsh breathing.

Lilly saw bare feet hit the floor, and the stranger reached down to pick up his trousers. One foot went in, then the other. He was leaving. The sound of her pounding heart was so loud she was afraid he might hear. Why didn't her mother say something?

A masculine hand reached to grab dark socks and one shiny leather ankle boot. Grunting, he groped beneath the edge of the bed for the other. Lilly's breath stopped. Her horrified gaze fixed on the square gold ring on his right hand. Centered in a black stone was a fancy letter that looked like a “T.” Three shiny stones were clustered at one corner. Fearing he would look beneath the bed and see her, she reached out a trembling hand and edged the boot a scant inch closer to his searching fingers. Thankfully, he snatched it up, and the moment that seemed to last forever passed.

Finally, Lilly saw his feet move across the room, saw the door open and close, heard his footsteps fade down the wooden sidewalk. A shuddering breath of relief trickled from her. The scent of a spicy masculine cologne mingled with the odor of Lilly's fear. From far away she heard the sound of a horse's whinny. A carriage rumbled past. Someone called a greeting. When she was certain he was gone for good she eased from her hiding place.

Unclothed, her mother lay sprawled atop the muslin sheets, her hair fanned out over the feather pillow, her eyes open, but unseeing. Bluish-purple smudges ringed her neck and nestled in the hollow of her throat. Lilly shook Kate's shoulder but got no response.

“Mama, wake up,” she urged, shaking harder. Nothing. A sudden pain knifed through her, along with the grievous certainty that her mother was not waking. Ever. The last thing she remembered was hearing someone screaming....

C
HAPTER
16

T
he sound of screaming jolted Lilly from the long-banished memories that had dragged her back into her past. Realizing that the sound had come from her, her tortured gaze found the bed once more; she was half fearful that she might see her mother's body lying there, but the ugly, painful memories had vanished as quickly as they'd come.

Light-headed, needing to escape the bedroom whose own dark secrets had sparked her suppressed memories, she bolted through the doorway. The sound of her boots echoed on the wood floor. Through the kitchen and out the back door she flew, unmindful of the rotted flooring, wanting only to be away from the murder bed, away from the lingering sounds of voices and the scent of masculine cologne that was not there.

Away from her past.

Outside, she drew in deep drafts of the cold air and battled the waves of dizziness that still threatened to drag her down into darkness. She remembered it all. Every ugly thing that had happened the day her mother was murdered. She'd heard it all as she lay hidden beneath Kate's bed: the loving and the fighting and the struggle as her beautiful Titian-haired mother fought for breath while the man she loved choked the life from her.

With a sharp cry of pain, she clutched her throat, and tears of sorrow for the mother lost to her so long ago slipped down her cheeks.

It had been the killer's voice that drifted through her mind as she'd stood in her boardinghouse room trying to grasp how Tim could portray the loving husband even as he planned to walk away and leave her with nothing.

* * *

The man hiding in the deep shadows of the forest heard the spine-chilling scream and saw his quarry come barreling through the kitchen door as if the hounds of hell were chasing her.

He watched as she looked around wildly, started to run one way, then stopped and stood amidst the tangle of weeds, a splash of red against the whiteness of the gathering snow. Her hands clutched her throat and she was as still and unmoving as the nymph in the fountain.

He pushed away from the tree he'd been leaning against and took a few furtive steps closer, careful to stay hidden behind a cluster of shrubs barely touched with green, waiting to see what the obviously crazed woman would do....

C
HAPTER
17

W
rapping her arms around her middle as if to prevent herself from shattering into little pieces, Lilly closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slow and deep. Unmindful of her misery, a cardinal perching on the shoulder of the statue sang a cheery song
.

Kate. Her beautiful mother had been flawed, but as people are wont to do, Lilly tended to recall only the happiest times. Kate teaching her to play dominoes. Taking her to the mercantile and letting her choose fabric for a new frock. Letting her play dress-up with her laciest shawl, fanciest hat, and softest kid slippers.

Gradually, the selective, pleasant memories soothed Lilly's jangled nerves. With the return of her composure, she became aware of the damp cold and a prickling at the nape of her neck, that unaccountable sensation that told her she was being watched. Afraid to make any sudden moves, she opened her eyes and scanned the wooded area. She heard a rustling near the fringe of trees. A gray fox burst from the scrubby cover and streaked across the overgrown backyard to disappear in a tangle of undergrowth.

The breath she'd been holding whooshed from her. Her shaky laugh of relief sounded loud in the midafternoon silence. Though her insides quaked and her head ached abominably, she squared her shoulders and turned toward the kitchen door. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but if she hoped to prove herself worthy of her new position, she knew she must finish her exploration and get back to town.

Taking a breath, she forced herself to reenter the house. She skirted the morbid bedroom and gave the study a cursory glance before starting up the curving staircase. The second floor echoed the lower: clothes left hanging in armoires. Silver-backed brushes and combs arranged on marble-topped dressers. A petticoat flung over a chair. All evidence of a hasty departure.

Lilly even checked the top story. Like so many attics, it held a mishmash of discarded objects, all wearing a fine layer of dust and festooned with ancient spider webs. An octagonal window at the back of the attic drew her, and she found that it overlooked the family graveyard.

There was a single headstone in the weed-choked cemetery. She was staring at the marker when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. With her heart beating hard and fast, her gaze probed the woods beyond the burial ground. Nothing moved in the shadows. After several moments, she was forced to admit that the movement had been nothing but a bush blowing in the wind.

Her heart rate slowed to a more normal cadence, and she noted that while she'd been in the house, the day had grown darker still. It was past time to leave the Purcell home and head back to town.

The realization came to her quietly, and she paused a second before heading down the stairs. As beautiful as it had once been, as filled as it was with every imaginable amenity, it was just a house, a place the reverend and his family had lived. Never a home. Somehow, she knew that as surely as she knew the sun would set in the west. She shivered again, touched once more by the air of melancholy and despair—and even something that felt like fear—that seemed to ooze from every corner of the place.

You're getting fanciful, Lilly, letting all the talk of murders and ghosts and bloody beds get to you.
Even as she told herself her qualms were unfounded, she ran down the two flights of stairs as if Satan himself were after her, eager to be out of the house and on the road.

What on earth was wrong with her? she wondered as she raced through the parlor and unlatched the front door. She'd never been such a pantywaist before. Yet here she was on her first assignment, and she'd already been frightened witless twice in one day. She slammed the door behind her and rushed down the steps toward the buggy where the rented horse waited.

Perhaps Robert Pinkerton was right, she thought, untying the reins and clambering onto the seat. Perhaps women were not well suited for the detecting business. Maybe Pierce was right, too. Maybe she was too innocent and untried to know how to handle herself in the unsettling situations that came with being a detective.

She turned the buggy around and tore down the lane, not slowing the animal until she reached the main road, leaving all the pain and fear and sorrow behind her . . . at Heaven's Gate.

* * *

From the cover of the woods, the man watched, wondering at the reason behind the woman's frantic departure. His mouth slanted with wry satisfaction. If she was as crazy as she seemed, ridding himself of her shouldn't take long, and then perhaps his own life could get back to normal.