A Dagger Cuts Deep

by Kathy L Wheeler

  “Not since Christmas.” Her voice sounded grudging. After a long moment, her shoulders fell and her body shook with a silent ragged cry.

  Jackson strode over and put his arm around her. She sagged against him. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Spence, Deidre.” She felt familiar in his arms but how could that be when they’d only just met? “Why wouldn’t Charity mention she was a twin?”

  She pulled away from him.

  He tugged out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” She blew her nose. “It’s a complicated story.” She strolled over to a flat rock, sat down on the ground, and adjusted her skirt. “Our father sold pianos after the war. In 1921, he took a position with Ford, selling Model Ts. He changed after that. Things grew tense between our mother and him.” She let out a long sigh.

  “What does he do now?” Jackson modulated his tone, matching the softness to hers. He moved near her and lowered himself to the ground beside the rock on which she perched.

  “Nothing. He was killed in a speakeasy raid six months after taking his new job. Charity didn’t take his death so well. Not that I did either, but I was Mother’s favorite and Charity was Father’s.” She leaned over and tugged at pieces of grass. “When Father started his new position with Ford, Mother went to work in Manhattan in the garment district. She worked herself to death. Literally. She died the year before our father. After that, Charity and I had only one another to lean on. By the time we turned fourteen, Charity had taken to running off.”

  That must have been the year Jackson had met her. His own memories rushed him. The kids hanging about Serpent’s Point in the summers. He and Penelope sitting close together on the sand in the warm nights, listening to the raucous noise going on around them, talking softly. A stolen kiss now and again. How Penelope had resented her father’s tyrannical ways, how she’d just wanted to blend in with the other girls her age.

  Then came Charity’s sensational arrival on the scene. In the beginning, she’d made horrific fun of Penelope, but after a while the two became inseparable. Inseparable summer friends. Penelope had started wearing heavy eye liner and blood-red lip paint, imitating Charity’s dress and bold manner. The sight had sickened him. Penelope had been too sheltered and too innocent for someone as fast as Charity Spence.

  Jackson hadn’t been immune to Charity. Neither had Penelope. She was in full rebellion against her father. Together, Charity and Penelope made for a potentially combustible situation. That last night, Jackson had seen Simon Jr. walking with Penelope. They disappeared from sight. Junior was not the most trustworthy of the group. He’d been known to take unwanted liberties.

  Penelope needed looking after and Jackson had started after her, but Charity had stopped him when she snagged his arm and kissed him full on the mouth—a sensual assault that had stolen all his senses. All thought of Penelope had fled.

  In all his fifteen years, he’d never been kissed like that before. The shock to his fifteen-year-old hormonal senses spread to desperation. He needed Charity. His hand crept up her shirt, her arms entwined his neck. The only one who’d resisted her wiles had been Wyn. Maybe that was why Jackson had resented Wyn so much at the time. Even as randy teens, Wyn had shown restraint and maturity.

  That was the summer Penelope Knox had been murdered.

  “What happened to Penelope Knox?” she asked as if she’d read his mind.

  Jackson considered what and how much to say. Mrs. Spence seemed more gently-natured that her brash twin. But she’d asked. “It was fifteen years ago. It was summer. The nights were warm. As warm as it can get at night this time of year.” He stretched out along the grass on his side. He took up a piece of grass and fingered it. “Penelope was raped and killed.”

  Penelope’s short scream had jerked him back to his senses. He tore himself away from Charity and ran toward Penelope but he’d been too late.

  Jackson found no joy in his childhood memories. Not a single one of them.

  ~~~

  Deidre gasped as the brutal picture of Jackson’s words seared through her.

  He rose quickly to sitting. “Forgive me. I forget myself. I’m really quite crude to my core,” he said smiling.

  “Not at all, Mr. Montgomery.” Her voice trembled and she squeezed her fingers into a fist to stop their shaking.

  His smile was sharp, somewhat feral. “You’ve been warned.”

  She blinked and looked away from him. The water had a calming effect. “So, who killed Penelope?”

  “I suspect it was the son of a prominent summer resident. But nothing was ever proven,” he said with a huff of disgust. “As I said, it happened fifteen years ago. Penelope’s murder showed us that the island was no longer the safe haven we islanders had believed it.”

  Nausea uncoiled in Deidre’s stomach.

  “What makes you think I killed Charity?”

  “She was found in the Trinity Church graveyard on the steps of the Claremont crypt, wearing a sable coat you’d given her.”

  He drew in a sharp breath. “Who found her?”

  “I did.”

  10

  Jackson was speechless. He stared at Mrs. Spence, every hackle in his being raised. “Just how did you come to meet your sister in a graveyard?”

  “Charity left me a note to meet her at the Trinity Church Cemetery. As I said, I hadn’t heard from her in months.” Deidre sounded frustrated, angry.

  Another thought rippled through him, prickling his skin in goosepimples. “Exactly what time was this meeting to occur?”

  “Midnight.”

  He gaped at her. “You went to the Claremont crypt at midnight to meet your sister? Didn’t that strike you as odd, or, at the least, dangerous?”

  Her head moved from the channel. She leveled a gaze on him that unnerved him. Too much like Charity’s. “You met my sister, you were married to her. What do you think?”

  The air left his body in a whoosh. She had him there. The old Jackson, however, would have taken a pugilistic stance at her sarcasm without hesitation. One that reinforced every doubt he ever possessed. Instead, he had no words. She was right. It was just the kind of stunt Charity thrived on.

  Still studying him as if she were an entomologist, she said, “You think her murder is connected to Reverend Knox’s, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said grimly.

  “What makes you think so?”

  “He was stabbed.” Jackson came to his feet and held out his hand to her.

  Her swallow was audible, her eyes wide. “The minister was stabbed?”

  “Yes.” He still held out his hand.

  Slowly, she took it, allowing him to assist her up, then quickly withdrawing, shook out her skirt avoiding his eyes.

  He bit back his annoyance and asked, “Does the cottage have an office?”

  “There is a small one. I haven’t gone in there.”

  “I’ll need to search it.”

  Her gaze shot up. “Now?”

  “Now is as good a time as any.” Jackson gestured for her to lead the way.

  Deidre led him up the steps to the back door. He noted an older model ice box, a butter churn, and other rusted-out items lying about he couldn’t identify. He’d grown up in luxury and had never considered the hardships those around him endured. It was eye-opening and… shameful.

  The image stayed with him as he entered the kitchen of the dead pastor’s house. This was the first time in his life he had been inside the cottage. Sparse and unadorned, it resembled nothing like the manor house in which he’d been raised.

  The “office” turned out to be a small, claustrophobic, enclosed room, no larger than a large closet, lined with bookcases with a couch, a reclining chair, and a small table next to the chair that held a lamp. Reading glasses sat atop a worn King James bible on the table. He surveyed the space. In one corner, he saw an escritoire stacked with a haphazard pile of books and papers.

  “It appears as if Knox kept
his files at the church office.” Jackson thumbed through the papers—“Ah. What is this?” He extracted a yellowed sheet and read aloud.

  Dear Reverend Knox,

  It has come to the attention of the Cabinet that your daughter is exhibiting behavior that reflects negatively upon the church. If you cannot control the actions of your children, it is the consensus of the Bishops’ Council that you marry. We do not issue this edict lightly. For a clergyman to command the respect of his congregation, it is imperative he set a stern example.

  “Good heavens,” Mrs. Spence said. “How… archaic.”

  “It’s dated June 1923.” Jackson flipped the page over then back. “Sort of explains Penelope’s surge in rebellion.” He spoke more to himself. “Poor Ruth. It must have been hell for her after her sister’s death.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one has seen much of Ruth through the years. Certainly not in town. I think she’s acted as Knox’s housekeeper and cook. But even as kids, she was more reserved than Penelope. Ruth was considered the rule follower. As far as I can remember, there was never any word of her giving her father even a speck of trouble. And there’s never been a whisper of her being interested in anyone—marriage-wise, I mean.” He glanced at the paper again. “I wonder why a letter written from ’23 is still lying about.”

  Deidre rubbed her hands over her arms. “How sad.”

  A slamming door echoed through the house.

  “It appears you have company,” Jackson said, snapping back from his musings of the past.

  Mrs. Spence flinched, but her expression quickly cleared as footsteps pounded the wood floors.

  “Mama!” Exuberance filled the halls with a child’s excited squeals.

  Before Mrs. Spence could move into the hallway, a little girl with dark hair and features remarkably like his host’s dashed into the room. “Hello, darling.”

  She threw herself into Mrs. Spence’s arms. “Did you find some books?” she asked.

  “Yes. A new one called Madeline. Mrs. Phillips said it’s brand new.”

  “I didn’t know you had a child,” Jackson said.

  “Um, yes.” Mrs. Spence, focused on Lori, set the child on her feet. “This is Mr. Montgomery. Mr. Montgomery, my… daughter, Lori.”

  Bending at the waist, Jackson held out his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Lori. Please, call me Jackson.”

  She shrank away from him, clinging to her mother’s skirts. Mrs. Spence’s arm curled protectively around her. Jackson managed to keep his expression impassive, not cringing as he was wont to do. He didn’t know much about children, but this child seemed abnormally shy.

  Heavier steps creaked on the old floors. “Lori? Oh, there you are, Deidre.”

  Mrs. Spence started then turned, facing the newcomer. “Hello, Mrs. Phillips. I hear Lori is very excited about her new book.”

  “She is indeed—” Mrs. Phillips came in, then pulled up short when she saw Jackson.

  “Mrs. Phillips, this is Jackson Montgomery. He is looking into the events that happened at the, er, ah, church that precipitated our stay at this lovely bungalow.”

  The older woman’s eyes narrowed on him with a decidedly suspicious glint. With her helmet of gray curls, stout form, and very sensible shoes, she reminded Jackson of the character Fanny Squeers from Nicholas Nickleby.

  Perhaps he wasn’t being fair. It wasn’t as if he’d been the most conscientious student in his younger days. “How do you do, Mrs. Phillips?”

  “Mr. Montgomery,” she said in a clipped tone. Her hostility was confusing and Jackson let it go unheeded. Apparently, he was a murderer in her eyes as well.

  “Mrs. Phillips, could you prepare tea?” Mrs. Spence asked her.

  Jackson quickly intervened. “None for me, Mrs. Spence. I shall have to take a raincheck.” He looked down at the letter he held, then handed it to her. “I should like to go through a bit more of the papers on Reverend Knox’s desk. A later time, perhaps?”

  “Of course, Mr. Montgomery. Please feel free to call—oh, dear, I didn’t even notice if there was a telephone.”

  The statement caught Jackson by surprise, giving way to another one of those privileges he’d grown up with and taken for granted. “I’m not sure there is one here at the house, now that you mention it. The church, of course, has one.”

  ~~~

  Deidre closed the door after Jackson’s departure. Her attraction to her sister’s ex-husband disturbed her greatly, filling her with self-disgust. It was unnatural. She paced the small parlor.

  “Lori, would you like to color in your painting book?” Mrs. Phillips asked.

  Deidre swallowed her groan. Mrs. Phillips was gearing up for a heart-to-heart. It was a tactic the older woman regularly employed despite the fact Deidre was her employer.

  Now that their guest had left, Lori’s natural enthusiasm reasserted itself and she bounded up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Deidre. Lori loved coloring in her painting book. It was one of the few activities she could indulge in without supervision.

  “What an attractive man,” Mrs. Phillips said.

  “He bumped into me on the street and thought I was Charity,” she said glumly.

  “Surely you didn’t expect differently?”

  “No. How could I, being her identical twin?”

  The conversation stalled while Mrs. Phillips situated Lori at the dining table with her crayons and painting book. Deidre went into the kitchen and put on a pot of water for tea. She’d prefer something more fortifying but that would likely send Mrs. Phillips into a fit of apoplexy. Besides, she didn’t have anything more fortifying.

  “I think it’s time you told me what happened at that church.” Mrs. Phillips spoke softly.

  Deidre appreciated her consideration for Lori. “Reverend Knox was stabbed to death.”

  Her hand flew to her massive chest, she dropped in the nearest chair. “Dear heavens.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think his death has something to do with Charity’s?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it? I can’t see how. But there’s no denying two people connected to this island have died in the same manner within a short amount of time.” Deidre poured out two cups of tea and set one in front of Deidre.

  Mrs. Phillips frowned. “Are we safe here?”

  “Yes.” She spoke too quickly.

  Mrs. Phillips narrowed her eyes but didn’t comment. No, she had another track to follow. “What are your thoughts on Jackson Montgomery? Do you think he is responsible?”

  Deidre contemplated her question carefully. She had no delusions where her sister was concerned. Jackson, however, was a whole different Pandora’s box. “His fury with Charity is certainly clear. But I get the feeling his anger stems from hurt. I think he was devastated when Charity took Victor Montgomery’s money rather than sticking by his side.” She shrugged. “I’m just guessing, of course. The other question is what reason would he have for killing the pastor?” She sat down at the small kitchen table across from Mrs. Phillips.

  Mrs. Phillips covered Deidre’s hand with her own. “Will you tell him about Lori?”

  This was the largest cloud hanging over Deidre’s head, and one for which she had no answer.

  11

  There was no getting around it, Deidre needed to speak with Ruth Knox. She could not possibly pack Ruth’s things, and especially Penelope Knox’s things, without knowing what Ruth wish to keep. There was also the matter of the books in the tiny house office. Many of texts were religious. Did those belong to Ruth’s father, or were they property for the incoming replacement? Deidre didn’t know much regarding protocol when it came to the death of a minister.

  Of course, Ruth Knox likely didn’t either. But, she probably knew more than Deidre.

  Deidre pushed her damp hair off her perspiring forehead and looked at the few boxes she’d already packed. She’d started with Knox’s personal ef
fects: toiletries, eyeglasses, what few knickknacks he had possessed. His clothes, however, were a different matter. The man wouldn’t need them, and while it was Deidre’s inclination to donate them, they weren’t her father’s things she was handling.

  She glanced up at the clock and decided to make the trek into town to visit with Melinda. She still owed the woman a sincere thanks for recommending the cottage for her. She hoped Melinda might also give Deidre some advice in what to say to Ruth.

  She ran up the stairs to wash and change her clothes. She came back to the dining room and found Lori working on her alphabet letters with Mrs. Phillips.

  “Look, Mama. I spell-ed my name.” Lori held up a paper with her name, barely readable, scrawled across the entire sheet in a haphazard line.

  “My goodness. You’ll be in college before I know it!”

  Lori turned a serious expression on Deidre. “Oh no, Mama. I won’t be going to college for a long time.”

  Deidre hugged her. “I know, darling. I was teasing you. You are only four and can already write your name. I’m very proud.”

  Lori beamed.

  “Mrs. Phillips, I need to speak with Melinda. Don’t wait lunch on me. I’ll have it in town.”

  “What of dinner?”

  “I should be back by dinner,” she said. She kissed the top of Lori’s head and left.

  The walk was short. In less than fifteen minutes she breezed through the glass door of the café.

  “Hello, Deidre. How are you finding the cottage?” Melinda had come through the swinging silver door to greet her customer. Like the previous time Deidre had seen her, Melinda’s dark hair was smoothed back and topped with a crisp white cap. “Not many people have been inside the Knox’s home, if any, that I can think of. I’m sure people are curious.”

  Deidre didn’t like the notion of providing fodder for gossip, and she had no desire to get caught up in the island’s politics. “It’s just a regular house. I appreciate your help in finding me a place to stay.”