Jackson stopped the horse in front of Curtis’s large clapboard house and stared at the bright red door. Morgan had stopped here with his wagon before stopping at Ray Wendell’s neighboring farm.
If only Jackson knew what had transpired during that meeting. Curtis might be able to provide some insight as to Morgan’s mood that morning. Perhaps Morgan had said something about another peddler he’d passed, someone named Paddy, anything that might aid Jackson in piecing together the events that followed after Morgan had left.
“Oh to hell with it,” Jackson mumbled as he dismounted. He strode to the red door, and then gave it two solid knocks.
Curtis flung open the door, wearing a scowl.
“I need your help, Curtis.”
“Are you out of—”
“Someone shot my wife,” Jackson said. “Please.”
Curtis sighed. “I heard about that, and I’m real sorry. But I can’t help you. Morgan killed Ray Wendell. Just let it be.”
“I can’t.” Jackson took a deep breath. “I spoke to Randal Morgan before he died. He’d claimed his innocence all along, and he claimed it with his final breaths.”
Curtis averted his eyes.
“For Christ’s sake, I got my wife shot pursuing this case. The whole damn town hates me. Do you think I’d continue to jeopardize my wife’s safety if I didn’t truly believe there’d been an injustice?” Jackson asked. “Damn it, Curtis, Ray was your friend. Do you want his killer to get away with it?”
Curtis considered this for a moment. His face softened as he opened the door and waved Jackson inside. “Corine took Mama and the boy over to the Leland’s for a visit,” he said as Jackson followed him to the parlor. Curtis plopped into a worn sofa. “What do you want from me?”
Jackson didn’t know where to begin. He’d never expected to get this far with the man, and now that he had Curtis’s cooperation, he was unsure how to proceed. He sat in the chair across from Curtis, then took a deep breath. “How often did peddlers from Troy stop by your place?”
Curtis shrugged. “Every week or so. Though lately they’ve been coming more and more.” He frowned. “Corine can barely get her chores done without the interruptions. These fellows come around here charming the women with their wares and stories of their travels, and they ain’t nothing but trouble.”
Jackson knew Curtis and his friends weren’t too keen on strangers intruding on their quiet mountain, but something in the man’s tone told him there was more to his dislike for peddlers than the disruption to his sister’s chores.
“How long was Randal Morgan here before he left for the Wendell farm that day?”
“About a half hour, I guess. I was out back, splitting wood with my cousin, Billy. I came in for a drink, and Morgan had Corine’s ear about some new cooking pot. It was washing day, and Corine had work to do, so I shooed him away so she could finish my shirts. Then I went back to work. Thinking on it, I’m lucky Morgan didn’t cut me down too.”
“Why do you think that is? That he chose to kill Ray instead?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“Did Ray keep large sums of cash in the house?”
“Ray didn’t have no large sums of cash. He was a farmer. But who knows why killers kill. Especially when they’re all riled up.”
“What makes you think that Morgan was riled up?”
Curtis ran a hand through his beard, a guilty look on his face. “Like I said, when I came in for a drink and saw him making nice with Corine, I shooed him out.”
“And?”
“And I gave him my opinion of him and his friends. I warned him to stay away from my sister and my house, and I told him I’d shoot him dead if he ever came back.” Curtis swore under his breath. “Morgan was mad as hell when he left, and he took it out on Ray.”
Morgan hadn’t mentioned to Jackson that Curtis had tossed him out that morning. Then again, in Morgan’s line of business, the man was probably used to having doors slammed in his face and may not have thought the detail pertinent.
Salesmen did what they had to do to make sales, and that included making genuine pests of themselves.
“Did Ray have any enemies?” Jackson asked.
“He had friends. Lots of them.”
“And the last time you saw Ray? Did he say or do anything out of the ordinary?”
“No.” Curtis leaned back in his seat. “Ray was an ordinary man. He’d been hitting the bottle pretty good since the Shaws left town. But he tended to do that when something was bothering him.”
“The Shaws?” Jackson asked.
“They owned the farm up from the Rhodes’s place. Ray was real torn up about their breakup, but that’s only natural. Marty Shaw was Ray’s best pal. Ray couldn’t believe Marty had left town after all these years without so much as a good-bye.” He shrugged. “Hell, I couldn’t believe it either, until the news hit about Mary running off like that. When word spread ’round that she might have run off with a peddler, I figured Marty was too humiliated to face us all.” He looked thoughtful. “Never would have figured that of Mary,” he said. “Guess you never do know.”
“Mary didn’t seem the type of woman who would step out on her husband?”
“She was one fine-looking woman. The proof is in the pudding.” He frowned.
“And Jacob Squires purchased the farm?”
Curtis nodded. “Marty up and sold everything.”
“I appreciate your taking the time to talk with me, Curtis,” Jackson said as he stood. “One more question. Do you know a man named Paddy?”
Curtis shook his head. “Don’t know anyone by that name. Who is he?”
“I’m not sure. But I think he may be the man I’m looking for,” he said as he walked to the door.
“I still say you’re chasing rainbows with your theory that Morgan is innocent,” Curtis called after him. “But I’ll ask around about this Paddy person.”
Jackson turned to face him.
“Like you said, Ray was my friend,” Curtis said. “And I don’t take kindly to women being shot.”
“You’re a good man, Curtis. People on this mountain look up to you. If anyone has information, they’ll be more likely to give it to you.”
Jackson rode home, lost in his thoughts. Was it possible Curtis had made Morgan so angry he’d killed Ray Wendell? After Ray’s best friend’s wife ran off with a peddler, Jackson could understand Ray’s dislike for peddlers. Ray could have fought with Morgan about it.
He shook his head. His gut told him no. Randal Morgan was not a murderer. Jackson was certain of it. But another peddler? Possibly. Corine had seen a man on a big black horse. The same man Andy had described. And the fire at the Rhodes’s house? True, the man Jacob saw the day before the fire wasn’t the man in the original sketch, but that changed nothing.
There could be two men involved for all Jackson knew. Partners in crime. Unlikely, but possible. Jackson’s mood darkened at the thought. He couldn’t seem to get his hands on one killer, let alone two.
* * * *
Jackson had just reached the outskirts of Misty Lake when he spotted Felice Pettington’s purple carriage on the side of the road. His instinct to danger propelled his pace as he moved. Something was wrong. His pulse steadied as he neared.
Felice stood next to the disabled carriage under a pink parasol, waving wildly as he approached. Her friend Gertrude stood at her side.
“Good afternoon,” she called up to him. She primped at the blond curls beneath the brim of her ridiculous hat, then flashed him a smile. “We’re experiencing a bit of trouble with the carriage.”
Jackson dismounted, offering assistance to her driver, who was in the midst of repairing the front wheel. After being assured the driver had the matter well in hand, Jackson turned back to Felice. As usual, her faithful maid stood in her shadow.
“How are you, ladies?” he said with a tip of his hat.
“We’re much better now that y
ou’re here.” Felice’s flirtatious tone was so blatant, even Gertrude looked embarrassed by it. “Would you be so kind as to escort us back to Twin Bears?” she asked.
Jackson knew the place well. The owner, Eunice Middleton, was the sister of Dannion’s deceased wife, Olivia, though there was little contact between them anymore. It dawned on Jackson that there was more to this small town and the people who filled it than he’d ever imagined. Strangely, over time, he’d found himself missing the city less and less.
Whether year-round residents like his brother’s family or summer residents like the Elmsworths, they all had their intrigues and troubles. Olivia had drowned in the lake years ago, and just last summer, a guest of the Elmsworths was killed when he’d fallen from a cliff behind their estate. Ray Wendell was murdered, and Mrs. Shaw had run off on her husband. No wonder these people were hardly fazed by Daisy being shot.
“I’d be happy to escort you,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster.
“Oh, thank you,” Felice said. “This dreadful sun is so strong, and who knows how long it will take for that imbecile to repair that wheel.”
Jackson glanced at the frowning driver. “Of course,” he said. Just his luck he’d run into Felice in the midst of what she considered a crisis. “But I’d like to get back to my wife as soon as possible, so we should be on our way.”
“Wonderful.” Felice turned to Myrtle. “Get our things,” she told the woman as she reached for Jackson’s arm and latched on tight. “How is your wife?” Felice pursed her lips. “I attempted to pay her a visit, but that beastly servant of hers would not allow it.”
“She’s recovering nicely,” Jackson replied. “And Kotterman was acting on my instructions. Daisy is not yet up to receiving visitors.”
“Standing so long in the sun had me thinking of her,” she said, nestling closer. “Those nasty freckles of hers might fade with a daily application of a lemon juice poultice,” she said. “It worked wonders for Gert’s sister, Dolly, and now she’s a beauty.”
“I don’t know that she’s a beauty,” Gertrude muttered.
Felice shrugged. “Well she’s no longer hideous. You must admit that.”
To Jackson’s surprise, Gertrude made no attempt to defend her sister. She merely nodded in agreement to Felice’s insult. Jackson determined the pair were fated to be friends. It still amazed him how birds of a feather truly did flock together. Even vultures adorned in ridiculous hats.
“It’s a lemon juice poultice,” Felice repeated. “You’ll be sure to pass along my suggestion?”
Jackson frowned. “I rather like my wife the way she is,” he said. “Freckles and all.”
She gauged his sincerity through batting lashes. “Well, of course you do,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How do you like my new hat?”
The subject of Daisy was dropped so suddenly it took Jackson a moment to reply. “It suits you perfectly,” he said of the gaudy creation.
To his relief, a harried Myrtle returned with their things. Jackson relieved her of the parcels she carried. He led the horse by the reins, and they all began walking.
“With your wife incapacitated, I don’t suppose you’ll be attending the Westcott Ball on Saturday?” Felice asked.
Daisy had been shot, and this woman was talking about attending a ball? Did no one spare a moment to consider there was a killer in the vicinity of their quaint little town? “No, we will not be attending.”
“What a pity.” She smiled. “My new gown just arrived from Albany, and it’s the loveliest shade of blue.”
He rubbed his brow to keep from scoffing outright. Increasing his pace, he escorted the women toward town. Felice and Gertrude babbled on about one trifling thing after another. Myrtle didn’t utter a word.
It was barely a quarter mile to Twin Bears, where Felice was staying. These women obviously weren’t frightened by Daisy getting shot. So intent were they with enjoying their summer they saw little beyond the pretty views and pleasant weather.
A simple broken wheel had left them stranded because they hadn’t the wherewithal to walk to their destination without the aid of a man. The helplessness of some women gave him a sudden appreciation for Daisy’s fierce independence. The women’s gossip and tedious conversation also gave him an appreciation for Daisy’s intelligence and compassion for others.
He’d spent a lifetime in the company of women like Felice and Gertrude, gravitated toward women like Edna Easterly and Betty Swootz back in Troy. He’d tolerated their pettiness and endured superficial conversations in his lust for what lay beneath their skirts. The mere memory of it left him feeling hollow inside.
Felice gazed up at him with a well-practiced smile. She batted her lashes again, and he grinned back a snort of laughter in response. Once again, he thought about Daisy and the first time he’d met her.
Daisy’s effortless charm was as natural as the waves in her golden hair, the kiss of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Daisy didn’t know how truly beautiful she was, which made her all the more beautiful. Jackson couldn’t help smiling like a fool.
Running into these frivolous women today had made his muddled feelings for Daisy perfectly clear.
Dannion was right. Jackson was in love with his wife.
Chapter 21
Daisy was elated that Curtis had agreed to ask around about Paddy.
“You’re getting close, Jax, I know it. And now with Curtis asking around about Paddy, who knows what else will turn up.”
That Jackson had managed to acquire Curtis’s assistance filled her with pride. It couldn’t have been easy for Jackson to ask for the man’s help, but he’d done it for the sake of the case. He’d put his search for the truth above his ego, and the sacrifice showed her so much. Jackson was capable of achieving anything when he set his mind to it. No matter his motive, he was fighting tooth and nail for Randal Morgan. Anyone would be lucky to have Jackson defending them, and he deserved that position in St. Louis for his tenaciousness alone. If nothing else, she hoped his hard work would open his eyes to this.
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
She smiled, prompting a nod and a smile from him too. In the wake of their heated argument the other day, things had changed between them. The words they’d spoken to each other lingered in the air like a bad odor. While they carried on politely, pretending not to notice, the underlying tension remained.
Daisy hadn’t meant to be so blunt with Jackson, but he’d angered her with his dominant behavior. Her independence was all she had; she’d not relinquish it to any one—for any reason. Why was Jackson so obviously surprised by this? Did the man not know her at all?
She sighed. Or perhaps, he knew her too well. While it was true they were using each other, hearing the words from his mouth had cut to the bone.
“You’ll be in St. Louis by autumn,” she uttered.
His eyes met hers, but there was no anger inside them. “I haven’t solved the case yet,” he said. “And don’t forget, we still have a matter to settle between us,” he reminded her.
Jackson’s impending departure was like an anvil on her chest. She could barely breathe with the weight of it. She knew now that she couldn’t have Jackson’s child and then bid him farewell. She wouldn’t be able to look at the child without thinking of Jackson, without clinging to the one piece of him she’d have left, like some forlorn lover clinging hopelessly to a token of a broken love affair.
Their relationship was not a love affair, though. It was a union of necessity. And it would not be fair to a child, or to her, to pretend this marriage was something other than that.
“What if that matter were already settled?” she asked.
His blue eyes flashed wide. The start of a smile played on his lips, but he held it in check. “I know what we discussed, but if that is the case, and the matter is settled, as you say, then I don’t have to leave right away.”
Her heart st
opped. Was he saying he would stay? This was so unexpected. Her spirit soared with possibilities she hadn’t considered. Her thoughts floated on visions of raising a family with him, building a life together. Endless nights of passion, mornings spent snuggled in his arms. Such a lovely dream.
But it was her dream alone. While the novelty of a child might appeal to him now, it wouldn’t for long. Jackson had other plans for his future, and she couldn’t live with herself if she forced him to relinquish them. He’d grow to resent her for it, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that, either. Jackson did not belong here. She’d overheard him from the balcony, admitting as much. He would wither away in the tedium of life in the country, and eventually, he would leave anyway, taking more of her heart.
Jackson had to go. She needed him to go.
“Daise?” he asked, breaking the long silence. “I can stay.”
She shook her head against the stark sincerity of his offer. As tempting as the fantasy of a future with him was, she had to face reality. He was who he was, and she’d not force him to be anything other than the man she fell in love with.
The carefree rake who had charmed her by allowing her to be herself. The man who’d made her feel special, who had shown her true passion and acceptance. She loved him with all of her heart. Because of this, she would let him go. And forfeit her dream for a family in the process. Please give me strength. “No, Jackson, you can’t.”
He blinked hard, looking stricken.
“Be sensible,” she said. “You would never be satisfied here in Misty Lake. You know that as well as I do.”
“But this is my child and—”
“I’m not pregnant.”
His brows knit in confusion. Disappointment.
She steeled her heart against her own conflicting emotions. “I was simply posing a question,” she said.
He frowned. “You led me to think you were—”
“That was not my intention,” she said, though she couldn’t be sure.
His lips thinned with anger. “What exactly was your intention?”
The Lady Who Drew Me In Page 17