by Laura Landon
“I’m not sure how this can be important,” Randolph said.
“Then let me explain.”
Will walked to the other side of the room and stood next to the window. “My cousin Lizzy and I were always close. I’m not sure why, other than she was the youngest of her four sisters and was born several years after them. For some reason, she looked up to me. She always referred to me as her… her knight.”
Virginia Wattersfield’s eyes opened wide. “Oh,” she sighed.
“There was a logical reason for calling me that. Far back in our ancestry there was a fierce knight—or so the story goes—who fought for more than one king of England. His name was William de Wolfe. I was named after that knight, and Lizzy enjoyed teasing me about it.”
Will braced his outstretched hand against the side of the window as he stared out into the waning sunlight. “You can see, then, why your statement surprised me so. Lizzy was the only person who called me her knight. The only one of my relatives who thought I was special because I’d been named after a knight.”
Will dropped his arm to his side and turned to face her. “You’re sure the voice told you to tell her knight to find her killer?”
Miss Wattersfield nodded. “Yes.”
“This wasn’t all Lizzy told Miss Wattersfield,” Will told Randolph. “She also told her that her killer wasn’t what he seemed.”
“And you think it’s possible for your cousin to talk to Miss Wattersfield from beyond the grave?” Randolph asked.
Will saw the disbelief on Randolph’s face. “I know how impossible it seems.”
“Do you, Inspector?”
“Yes, Randolph. I do. But what will it hurt to follow the leads Miss Wattersfield gives me? We have been unable to come up with any more leads to help us find Lizzy’s killer.”
“And the reason you’re telling me all of this?” Randolph asked.
Will couldn’t stop a smile from lifting the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps because one of us has to have a level head where this is concerned.”
“Then you can count on me, sir.”
“Thank you, Randolph. I’ll count on you to keep your feet anchored solidly on the ground.”
Will slowly walked back to his desk. He needed to think this through. He needed to decide the best way to handle this. He thought for several moments.
She’d been watching him and when he lifted his head, his gaze locked with hers. “Would you accompany me to the cemetery, Miss Wattersfield?”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Will released a heavy sigh. “In my line of work, it is essential that I rely on facts. It’s how I prove the guilt or innocence of a suspect. And you have presented a hypothesis that has nothing to do with anything connected to reality. In fact, what you’ve told me demands that I believe in something that is factually impossible.” Will stood. “But whenever presented with new clues, the first place to start is at the scene where those clues originated. And that is at Lizzy’s grave.” He stepped around the corner of the desk. “Will you accompany me?”
Will was relieved when Ginny Wattersfield nodded, then stood. With a determined step forward, he retrieved his hat and held out his hand to escort her from the room.
“This will take some time,” Will told Randolph as they left the office.
“Very good, Inspector,” Randolph answered. “Best of luck, sir?”
Will gave a sharp nod. “I believe I may have need of it.”
. . .
Ginny looped her arm through the inspector’s and walked with him down the street toward St. Dunstan’s cemetery. Neither of them spoke as they crossed one street, then another and another. The inspector was deep in thought, and Ginny felt it best to give him time to come to terms with what she knew he considered an impossible situation. He hadn’t had as much time to accustom himself to the idea that his cousin could speak to them from the grave.
The impossibility of what she’d told him was evident by the tension of his arm beneath her fingers. His muscled hardness indicated how difficult it was to believe her story. The speed with which he walked exemplified his agitation. She was having a difficult time keeping up with his rapid pace.
“Might we slow down a bit, Inspector?” Ginny asked when she began to feel out of breath.
He slowed immediately. “I beg your pardon, Miss Wattersfield.” He almost came to a halt, then continued at a much slower pace. “My mind was adrift.”
“That’s understandable. I’ve given you a lot to take in. And much of it impossible to digest.”
“Is that how you felt when you first heard the voice?”
“It was different for me. I thought I might be suffering from the same mental illness from which my mother suffered. I still do at times.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” the inspector said. “We’re nearly there.”
They walked in companionable silence for several moments, then he turned his head and looked at her. “Do you mind if I call you Ginny?” he asked. “Or Virginia if you’d rather. Miss Wattersfield seems so formal.”
“And long,” she said smiling at him. “Please, call me Ginny.”
“Thank you,” he answered. “How have you managed after hearing a voice from someone who has been dead for two years?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I have. That’s why I finally came to see you. Because I had no place else to turn. I haven’t been able to sleep, nor have I been able to eat. Nights are the worst, though. Every time I close my eyes to sleep, her voice calls to me. Your cousin refuses to leave me alone.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to hear her with me there?” he asked.
They were nearing the cemetery, and Ginny’s heart raced with each step they took toward the gate. “I don’t know. I hope so.” Ginny suddenly felt ill at ease, and when they entered St. Dunstan’s graveyard she clutched the inspector’s arm tighter. She didn’t know what she feared more: that he would hear his cousin’s voice. Or that he wouldn’t.
Once inside the gate they sidestepped a pile of brush the church’s handyman had been clearing.
“Hello, Ralphy,” Ginny greeted. It was a boyish name for a man who was already partially bald. But he preferred the name, and it suited him. “You’re awfully busy today.”
The sweet smile on his open face spread even wider as he greeted her. “Miss Ginny. You watch you feet now.” He thrust his rake in front of her and dragged a small pile of twigs off the path and out of her way.
“What a gentleman you are, Ralphy Weston,” she grinned. Her compliment made the man’s round cheeks turn the deepest shade of red as they passed him by.
It didn’t take them long to reach Elizabeth’s grave. When they did, Ginny released the inspector’s arm and knelt near the headstone. “I’m here, Elizabeth. And I’ve brought your knight with me.”
It wasn’t dark yet, but neither was it the middle of the day. The sun was lowering and there was a dusky hue to the cloudy sky. “We’re going to find your killer, Elizabeth,” Ginny whispered. “But you have to help us. We don’t know where to begin.”
Ginny waited, but there was no response from beyond the grave.
Ginny clutched her hands in her lap. She’d prepared herself for this possibility. She’d been fearful that she wouldn’t hear Elizabeth’s voice when she most needed to. And that was exactly what was happening.
She repeated her plea for Elizabeth to speak to her. Then repeated it again and again. But each time she was only met with silence.
Every emotion she’d held at bay suddenly overwhelmed her. She knew what it must seem like for the inspector. Knew that she must appear a deranged woman—just like her mother.
Ginny wrapped her arms around her middle and crumpled in on herself. She hadn’t asked for this to happen to her. She hadn’t wanted this impossible demand to be placed on her shoulders. She suddenly felt as if she wasn’t strong enough to handle the pressure that weighed so heavily upon her.
Before she could stop them, huge wracking sobs overtook her. She clasped her hands to her mouth to stop any sound from escaping, but her shoulders shook and she knew it was impossible for the inspector not to realize that she was falling apart.
As if he knew how desperately she needed him, his hands clasped her arms and he lifted her to her feet. Ginny felt herself being turned and brought against him. His arms wrapped around her and he gathered her close to him.
Ginny clung to him as if her life depended upon his strength. And in a way, it did. She’d felt so alone and helpless. She needed his courage to face what lay ahead for her. If not for the boldness he showed, she had no doubt she would have crumpled to the ground and perhaps never risen to face another day.
When she finally recovered enough to lift her head, she found him watching her. His eyes lowered to hers and Ginny felt a connection to him that weakened her knees. He understood her. He grasped the depth of the unexplainable experience that tormented her. And even though he couldn’t understand it himself, he didn’t doubt her.
He didn’t doubt her.
His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb brushed against her lower lip. “Let me take you home,” he whispered.
His voice wrapped around her like a caress. The touch of his flesh against her caused wave after trembling wave to course through her veins. The pull she felt toward him was more powerful than any appeal she’d ever experienced, as if he opened new corridors of thought, and mind, and emotion. And want.
Without breaking contact, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss they shared was chaste. There was nothing desperate in the exchange, only the gentle melding of two souls in need of alliance.
Ginny lifted her hands and let them rest on the inspector’s lapel. She wanted him to know how grateful she was for the compassion he showed her.
Their kiss was brief, only long enough to prove to her that he could be relied upon to help her through the emotional turmoil she would have to suffer. He lifted his mouth from hers and turned her in his arms. Without words, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and together they walked away from his cousin’s grave.
They’d taken only a few steps when she heard it.
“Please, find my killer,” the voice said.
Ginny pulled out of the inspector’s arms and turned in the direction of the voice. “Where?” Ginny called out. “How? You have to tell us where to look!”
“Where!” she demanded even louder.
After a brief silence, the voice replied, “On bended knees.”
Chapter 6
Ginny turned, then lifted her head. Her gaze locked with the inspector’s and she read the confusion in his eyes. She knew he had to have heard it. The voice had been loud and clear. Yet his bewildered expression told her he hadn’t heard anything.
“Did you hear her?”
He stared at her for several long moments, then slowly shook his head.
Gnarled fingers of terror clamped around her heart and threatened to stop it from beating. A keening sound echoed in the graveyard and Ginny realized the agonizing sound had come from her. She clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the scream from continuing but she only managed to muffle the cry, not hide it.
The inspector’s hands reached out to her but she spun to the side. She couldn’t allow him to touch her. She didn’t want him to pretend that he understood when she knew he didn’t. He couldn’t. All he was capable of understanding was that she heard voices that no one else heard. How could he think anything other than that she had gone mad?
Ginny turned to run down the path. She needed to get away from him. She needed to go where she could be by herself. Where she wouldn’t have to look at him and see the doubt in his eyes, the pity on his face.
“Ginny, stop.”
She ignored his words and continued at a faster pace.
“Ginny, stop,” he repeated louder.
A moment later she heard his footsteps close behind her. She knew in a few seconds he would be even with her and he would try to stop her from escaping.
“Don’t,” she said when he reached her. “Let me go.”
“Don’t run from me. Tell me what you heard.”
Ginny stopped and spun to face him. "Why? So you can laugh at the ramblings of a crazy woman?”
“I don’t believe you’re crazy.”
“Of course you do. How can you not? I hear voices no one else hears.”
Ginny threw her arms out as if battling him. “People talk to me from beyond the grave. How many sane people do you know who can speak to the dead?”
When he didn’t answer, she spun away from him, then ran down the path to escape him. She hadn’t yet reached the gate when he caught up with her. His hands clamped on her upper arms and he pulled her to a halt. Then, he turned her in his arms and brought her close to him.
Ginny struggled to force him to release her, but the inspector only tightened his hold.
“Don’t fight me, love. I don’t think you’re mad. I don’t.”
His words found their way to her consciousness and she ceased her struggles. The strength she’d used to fight him left her body, and her legs gave out from beneath her. The inspector led her to a secluded bench and sat beside her.
Every nerve in her body trembled as if she no longer had the power to control them. Tears of heartache and sadness streamed down her cheeks like rivers of sorrow. He held her close, as if she were a fragile doll that needed comfort. Which was exactly what she felt like.
Ginny wasn’t sure how long she stayed in his arms, but when she was finally able to face him, dusk had chased away the sunshine and the sky was growing dark.
“Are you alright?” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.
“How can I be?” She was embarrassed by her lack of control. Mortified by her tears. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need. You’ve been under a great deal of pressure.”
“Why is this happening?” she said as she lifted her gaze to look at him.
The inspector shook his head. “I don’t know.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let her lean against him. “What did the voice say to you this time?”
“She repeated the same words as before. She begged me to please, find her killer. Then you heard me ask her where I should look to find him. And she said…”
“What did she say?” he asked.
“She told me to look on bended knees.”
. . .
Will sat behind his desk and wrote down every word the voice had told Ginny. Starting with the last revelation.
What had the voice meant by telling them to look on bended knees? Was the inspector to search on bended knees? Was the killer one who would be seen on bended knees? That certainly didn’t narrow things down. In the area where Elizabeth had been killed there had been brick masons building a low wall. On bended knees.
Gardeners could be seen at all hours of the day tending the rose gardens in front of Elizabeth’s pretty row house. On bended knees.
The cobblestone walk through the park where Elizabeth was killed had been finished just that spring. By men on bended knees.
And in every church there were clergy. On bended knees.
There were a thousand possibilities.
Will shoved at the paper he’d been writing on. Leaping to conclusions would be of no help. But following every lead no matter how bizarre would hopefully reveal more evidence, more clues. The clue that eluded him at the moment, though, was the reason for his reaction to Ginny Wattersfield.
He’d kissed her. And she’d returned his kiss with more passion than he’d had any right to expect. He’d held her in his arms and she felt as if she belonged there. As if having her there was the most natural thing in the world.
Will shoved his chair back from his desk and rose to his feet. It had been two days since he’d gone to the cemetery with Ginny. Two days since Lizzy had spoken to her. He wanted to take Ginny back to Lizzy’s grave to see if
she could gather more information about Lizzy’s killer, but when he remembered how painful it was for Ginny to go through such an experience, he knew he couldn’t put her though such terror again. Not yet.
He stood with his arms braced against the window frame and looked out onto the courtyard below. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Brian Randolph entered the room when Will answered.
“Miss Wattersfield is here to see you, sir.”
Will’s heart sped in his chest. “Show her in, Randolph.”
Randolph stepped to the side and Ginny entered the room. Will took a step toward her after Randolph backed from the room and closed the door behind him.
“Hello, Ginny,” he said, taking her hand in his and showing her to one of the chairs before his desk.
“Hello, Inspector.”
“No need for formality, Ginny. Call me Will.”
She nodded, then lowered her gaze. Her cheeks turned a warm shade of rose.
Will sat behind his desk and focused his attention on her. She was dressed in a lovely peach walking suit and wore matching gloves and a jaunty plume in her fashionable hat. Will doubted he’d been in the presence of anyone more beguiling in his life, and the way his body reacted told him as much.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Although there was high color to her face, there was a telling depth in her eyes that warned him that something was wrong.
“She’s stopped talking to me,” Ginny said. “I just came from the cemetery. I tried to find out more information but she didn’t answer me when I spoke to her.”
Will rose from his chair and walked around the desk. He sat in the chair next to her and reached for her hands. “I wish you hadn’t gone there. Especially alone. It’s too hard on you.”
Ginny shook her head. “What if she won’t speak to me again? How are we going to discover who killed her?”
“We’ll simply have to figure out what she meant with the information she’s already given us.”
“But it could be anyone. Have you determined what she meant when she said we’d find her killer on bended knees?”
“Not as yet,” Will answered.