Some Saints Prey (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 4)

by Madison Kent

  Jeffrey said, "Gentlemen, you make Lonnie out to be a lesser man than what I knew of him. For me, I would say "no," he could never hurt Clifford. But then again, I am completely perplexed as to how any of this has come to be. Is it all to do with Miss Emma? Could there be another explanation?"

  The men continued to speak as if Emma was the only problem between the Cliff and Lon.

  A short time later, Oliver said, "Gentlemen, we have an errand to run, so I bid you good day, but will see you soon at the St. Fleur's home."

  "Perhaps," said Matthew.

  "I will be there, and I hope with you, Madeline. Please let me know if you wish me to escort you as my guest," said Jeffrey.

  "Thank you. I shall," she replied.

  Chapter Four

  Inspector Davis

  Before heading to the station, they stopped at the photographic studio, and the clerk agreed to photograph the two items for her. The man said they could return the next day for the actual work. Oliver and Madeline left and proceeded to their next destination―the police station.

  Shabby, in need of repair, and tiny were words that adeptly described the police station. There were but a handful of men there―the jail only holding one inebriated man―who was playing solitaire, and kibitzing with the officers.

  Inspector Davis was among the men. After Oliver briefly explained the reason for their visit, Davis took them back to his office. A place that consisted of a humid, cramped room with papers stacked everywhere―even on the floor―where ants crawled on the coffee-stained documents. Madeline thought it disgusting compared to the well-oiled Maxwell Street Police Station in Chicago.

  "Oh, don't worry, Miss," Inspector Davis said, as he watched her eyes peering at the floor.

  "We get the job done well enough.

  "Inspector Will Davis at your service. Now, what brings you to our station? Don't get many visitors―don't get many crimes―except people telling lies about the fish they caught," with that he laughed till he had to wipe a tear from his left eye.

  She smiled and tried to show amusement for his silly attempt at humor, as she did not wish to get on the wrong side of him.

  Weathered by the sun, he had a deep bronze color, long, white hair, and a short, V-shaped beard. His unusual appearance made him noticeable in any room. A large, cigar hung from the inner corner of his mouth and wagged up and down as he spoke. "Did you come just to jaw about the weather, or did you come for some authentic purpose, son?" he said with a gruff, Southern drawl, directing his attention to Oliver.

  "This is Madeline Donovan; she's visiting at the Montgomery house. She was curious about Clifford's death, so we took it upon ourselves to peruse the river where Clifford died. We were looking for clues, and we came upon two items we thought might be of importance," stated Oliver.

  Madeline produced the rosary, and the box containing the ring.

  "My, my, now don't that beat all. Gentlemen, look what this little girl has found. We must have missed it when we looked," said Mr. Davis.

  A young man began to speak, who they later learned was Deputy St. John, "But, sir, you said not to..."

  "Not to what, young man, not to interrupt a superior.

  "Sit yourself down in my office, folks―deputy, put those papers in order, that have somehow made their way to the floor," Davis snapped.

  Madeline wondered if he meant to say "not to look there, or not to bother, or not of importance". It was a revealing comment.

  Davis said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "Now, you, lookie here. The poor boy, we knew he was one for carrying on. The coroner said it could be murder, but I give very little credence to that philosophy. I feel sorry for the boy, no doubt, and his wonderful family, but these things happen."

  He picked up the items she brought, held them in his hand for a brief moment, then threw them into a side drawer of his desk.

  "Still, we'll keep them, and thank you for bringing them in. Now, you two youngsters, go out about the day. Leave sordid things like this to us old ones," he continued while flicking the ashes of his cigar in their vicinity, as if a dismissal.

  "Now, go on, like I said," Davis said.

  Madeleine was taken aback by the police officer. She had hoped to have a conversation with him about both Clifford and Lonnie, but she could see in this atmosphere that would not occur.

  When they walked a short distance away from the station, she said,

  "I don't know what to say. I've had some experience dealing with the authorities, but nothing quite like that has ever occurred. He didn't even ask us any questions, such as―how we found them, or where or...?"

  Oliver interjected, "Let me tell you a little about 'Stoney.' Yes, that's what his cronies call him, however, none of us would dare use the term. Even though he was a colonel in the regular Army, his allegiance still lies with the Confederacy. His father fought for the South during the Civil War, and I'm sure you noticed the Confederate flag he has prominently displayed in his office. It offends no one. This city doesn't know it lost the Civil War."

  "He's had this position a long time. He's stubborn and doesn't take kindly to outsiders."

  "And the 'Stoney'?" she asked.

  "What else? His hero Stonewall Jackson. Since his name is Will, as a child, people took to calling him Stone Will Davis―and to his close friends, the nickname 'Stoney' stuck. That's the way my mother tells the story. They think of the old man, as just part of the furniture around here, an old, lovable boy, who only works if he must. Otherwise, you'll find him hunting or fishing.

  "It's as if he wanted it to be a simple drowning―that investigating a murder―would be a burden or an inconvenience.

  "We've had little crime here. Oh, we've had people die under mysterious circumstances, but somehow they were all explained away, and we went back to being the perfect, little, Southern city. I think he wants this incident to turn out that way, also," Oliver concluded.

  "All the more reason than to investigate it," she said emphatically.

  "Say, you are serious about this?" Oliver said, for the first time, not looking at her seductively.

  "Very."

  "All right. We'll have the pictures tomorrow, and I promise you, I will spread the word about Lonnie. We'll see if we can come up with a plan to visit some places he might have been apt to go."

  The evening air was lovely, and the gentle breezes infused with the fragrance of flowers. As he drove her home, she marveled at the scenic place, but felt an uneasiness, as if she had entered into a city of hidden mysteries.

  "Until tomorrow, then. Will you come for lunch, then after, we will begin our adventure?" asked Madeline.

  "I shall be there at eleven. I thank you for an exciting day, certainly different from my time with Emma," he said as he smiled at her.

  Emily and Edgar were sitting on the veranda when she arrived at their home.

  "I am so glad to see that you have made a friend so quickly. Did you have a lovely day?" asked Emily.

  "It was a most stimulating afternoon. Oliver can be quite charming. He's different from my other male friends―a little more brash―but I like it," she said, laughing.

  "Be wary of that wolf. That man has a reputation for being a cad with the ladies, and chasing that...that Emma girl," said Edgar, puffing his cheeks out a little as he spoke.

  Madeline replied, "Thank you. My only interest in him is Emma. He is the closest to her, and I hope to wheedle out some of her undisclosed facts about the missing men. Perhaps I can achieve this through Oliver."

  "We've received an invitation, which included you, my dear, to come to a benefit dinner at the St. Fleur's. Are you interested?" asked Emily.

  "You know the answer to that. While we were in town, we heard people talking about the event. I will be delighted to go, more than that, I shall be on tenterhooks," replied Madeline.

  "Did you bring anything suitable to wear? It will be formal, my dear," said Emily.

  "Oh..." was all she replied.

  "Never you mind. I
will send for the dressmaker, and we shall find something of mine and alter it for you. I know you won't believe me, but I use to have a fine figure and have some gowns that I think will suit you. When we were in Europe, I had a lovely formal made in Paris. Yes―I think, that will be the one for you. Now, go to bed, and we shall look at the gowns tomorrow," said Emily.

  Madeline walked over and kissed her cheek, thanking her and Edgar again for their most gracious hospitality.

  She lit the candle on her bedside table and walked with it to the arched window. She did not have the trepidation that she once felt when looking out on the grounds of Belle Magnolia, the sight of her recent investigation. Here, all was beauty and calm, with the bouquet of orange blossoms fluttering in the sweet breeze. The aroma from the sweet buds was so strong; it floated up into her room through the open window.

  She would write to both of her gentlemen friends because something strange was going on in St. Augustine, and she wanted their input.

  August 29, 1889

  Dearest Hugh,

  Ponce de Leon said Florida was his idea of the land of the fountain of youth. I tend to agree with him. Surrounded by water and inundated with the most luxurious foliage I have ever seen, and its temperate climate, make it a dream world.

  But the interior of this world, as I have come to view it, seems to hold a city of people standing behind a veil. The St. Fleurs', Emma's family, are having a banquet that I will attend.

  She went on and reiterated all that she had come to know and of her findings at the lake. She ended with,

  I know I have asked you before to join me in New Orleans, and once again I seek your friendship and counsel in St. Augustine. If you visited just to see the beauty of the place, I know it would not disappoint. However, I know you have been away from the overseeing of the building of your Frank Lloyd Wright home, and that must be a priority, and I will understand if this is not a possibility.

  Your friend,

  Madeline

  She wrote a similar note to Jonathan Franks, a reporter for the New York Times. She thought it unlikely that he could come as he had already taken several trips, although sanctioned by the paper, she thought it doubtful the Times would allow yet another excursion.

  Before she lay down to sleep, she kissed her boys' photograph good-night. She thought again how odd it was to find herself in these unusual places instead of playing on the floor with her children in their home in Chicago. Never could she have imagined her life would have turned to this unusual place. But she did enjoy her new occupation, it kept her heart beating, and that was more than she could ask for.

  Oliver promptly arrived at a little before eleven, his hair blowing in the wind like Samson, looking to her more and more like a mythical creature. She had never been with a man like Oliver Mandrake; her Russell was handsome, but in the traditional sense. He was structured, kind, but never overtly masculine. Oliver would be the kind you always worried about, and could never trust, and she would have never made a choice like that.

  "It's such a beautiful day; Emily wished to have luncheon in the backyard gazebo. It's charming there, and a perfect environment for a light brunch," said Madeline.

  "I agree. I received a message from Emma early this morning for the dinner. One of her personal horse trainers brought it. Emma does get what she wants. I'm sure it was a humiliation to him. My Emma, quite the woman," he said, his eyes gazing over the grounds as if he were thinking of the young St. Fleur.

  "And are you so sure she is your woman?" asked Madeline.

  He coughed, and said, "That is what all of St. Augustine is wondering. I suppose only Emma knows the answer to that. I am not quite as well off as her other suitors, but with Emma's financial backing, I intend to be."

  Madeline thought that was certainly a telling statement, so he was probably one of many who sought Emma's wealth.

  They entertained Edgar and Emma with their tale about their find at the river and subsequent visit with Inspector Davis.

  "He is an old curmudgeon, but a gentle soul. He still thinks he's fighting for the cause, never could forgive himself for being born too late to participate in the great battle," said Edgar.

  "Yes, we saw his Confederate flag in his office," said Madeline.

  "Well, you will see many of those―have one myself in the library. It's our heritage. We lost many a good man in that war—still don't understand how we didn't triumph. Of course, you being a Yank and all, you probably don't understand it," said Edgar.

  Madeline believed her safest answer was no answer and changed the subject to the gown Emily wanted her to wear to the dinner.

  "We should be going, if we are to return you before your dressmaker gets here," said Oliver.

  The photography studio was one large room displaying his recent wedding photographs and some military pictures. A gentleman named Benjamin Henry, who was employed by the Lawrence St. Mark Studio, waited on them. He was in a rush to give them their material and for them to depart. When Madeline tried to comment on how well the photographs turned out, he nodded his head quickly, then closed the door behind them.

  "I've known Mr. Henry since I was a boy; he took our first communion pictures. I've never seen him behave like that. Maybe he is just under the weather," said Oliver.

  "It is strange how nervous he was―over what I cannot imagine—a ring and a rosary, not anything that interesting there," said Madeline.

  They both peered to see if an inscription or something of particular interest may have been found there that accounted for Mr. Henry's unusual behavior.

  "I fault myself for not looking to see if there were any engraving in the ring. I don't suppose Inspector Davis would allow us another look at it," she said.

  "I not only doubt that but wonder if he was capable of intentionally losing those items. There was something odd about the way he handled the things you gave him.

  "I will drive you back to the estate and look into this Lonnie business. If Emma does not wish me to come for her, if I have any news, I will return this evening."

  "Thank you. You have been a tremendous help. Remember to offer my investigative services to the family if you are in contact with them," she suggested.

  "I shall, and will beg your company if you should be employed. I would find it rather interesting."

  "And I should gladly accept it," she said, offering her hand to him.

  Bidding him goodbye, she was anxious to have an afternoon brandy or absinthe, and sip it by the gazebo while making notes in her journal. Madeline felt they would not miss her because the dressmaker was there to alter Madeline's gown. She and Emily were discussing fabric and the frocks Emily assembled that she thought might suit her.

  To her surprise, Reggie met her in the hall with her drink and her notepaper.

  "My goodness, you are a blessing," said Madeline.

  "May I escort you to the gazebo or the veranda?" he asked.

  "I think I'd prefer to sit in the gazebo, the rain has stopped, and it is cozy there. I feel I have privacy in its lovely rose covered shelter," she replied.

  "What do you think of Mr. Mandrake?" asked Reggie.

  "An appealing, but a deceptive man who wears a mask at most times. I do not know if he is well-intentioned while he plays his game, or is purely narcissistic in his quests. Despite that, I like him," she replied.

  Reggie laughed and said, "As most of the women say―and the men for that matter. He is a likable rogue."

  "Yes, you've painted him perfectly—a likable rogue."

  "Enjoy your absinthe. Miss Emily said she would need you in the garment room in about twenty minutes."

  "And I shall be there. Thank you, Reggie."

  Madeline took several quick sips of absinthe, and then wet her mouth with a slice of lemon, sprinkled with sugar. It gave her a lovely calming feeling―partaking of an afternoon luxury that she kept all to herself. She believed she had conquered her alcoholic intake and was only allowing herself her favorite beverage once a day, or perhap
s two at social gatherings. The sun was warm, but not stifling―a perfect day. She wished she could laze about the gazebo for the rest of the afternoon making notes and writing to her father. But today did not afford her the time to do that, so she just jotted some notes in her journal.

  August 30, 1889

  Inspector Davis' behavior was as strange as the photographer. They all seem to be covering up, or just keeping something from me because I am an outsider. It may be just as simple as that, but for now, Oliver is the only person I feel is frank with me. Even Edgar and Emily become quiet on certain subjects I broach, especially any subject that has to do with the scandal.

  I am planning on producing the photograph for the locals to see―in the hopes I will get a reaction from someone. I will have to tread carefully. I don't have Father, Hugh or Jonathan here with me for the first time, and I miss having their opinion on such matters.

  Charlotte beckoned her, and she returned, leaving her belongings behind.

  Since Emily was considerably older than Madeline, she felt it unlikely that Emily would possess a garment that she would be proud to wear to such an event. She couldn't have been wronger. Madeline went to the room where the dressmaker had already begun her business of lining up the three gowns she thought Madeline might be partial to. But the one that stood out―the one from Paris Emily had mentioned, made Madeline sigh and put her hand to her mouth and say, "My goodness, I had no idea such beauty existed. I have never had the privilege of such things."

  Emily said, "This is Miss Sarah Myer, she hails from Paris and has brought her fabulous skills with her to our city. All the ladies keep Miss Myer busy."