The Lady Who Drew Me In

by Thomasine Rappold

  “I will.” She gazed into his face, and every moment they’d shared, all her love for him, heightened her fear. “Be careful, Jax.”

  With a nod he ran toward the stable for his horse, disappearing into the darkness. Daisy turned and bolted across the lawn toward the Wyman house. Her pounding pulse quickened with each shadowy movement of the shrubs in the breeze. The fear someone might jump out at any moment made it difficult to breathe.

  With only one arm for balance, running on the dew-covered grass proved dangerous. The fate of a broken neck as she fled toward safety was too ironic to tempt. She treaded carefully, slowing the pace of her slippered feet as best she could. Never had she been so eager for the company of the nosy Wymans.

  When she finally reached the house, she knocked on the door. Nothing. She knocked and knocked again, before it dawned on her. The Westcott Ball. The Wymans weren’t answering because they weren’t home.

  She turned toward the deserted road. Jackson was long gone in his urgency to get to the sheriff. Her heart plummeted. The majority of the town’s population would be attending the public ball this evening. The sheriff would be there too.

  Daisy sighed, heading for home. She’d have to wait for Jackson there. She reassured herself that she would be fine. She’d arm herself with the gun he kept in the parlor.

  Hurrying toward the glowing porch lamps, she fumbled in her pocket for her key. She stepped inside the house and had just locked the door behind her, when she heard a scuffle outside. She peeked through the curtains, but no one appeared. Her eyes scanned the stone walk and the darkness beyond. An emerging form on the side lawn sent chills up her spine.

  A black horse with white stockings.

  Chapter 23

  A bang on the door sent Daisy spinning from the window. She pressed her back to the wall, her heart pounding in her throat.

  “I see you in there. Open the door!”

  The familiar voice held a menacing tone she hadn’t thought possible. The cold truth made her shiver in fear.

  “Open up!” The banging grew louder.

  Daisy’s thoughts scattered. Closing her eyes against the echo in her head, she tried not to panic. The gun. She considered warning him she was armed, but if he called her bluff by shooting through the door, she refused to die empty-handed. She pushed herself from the wall, preparing to bolt for the gun in the parlor.

  “You’ve got three seconds before I blow this boy’s head off.”

  Daisy froze.

  “Please, Mrs. Gallway, open the door!”

  Andy!

  Her hand shot to her mouth. She gulped back a sob, the panic surging in her throat.

  “One. Two…”

  “All right!” She had no choice; the man was insane. With trembling fingers, she unlatched the lock. The door flung open, sending her flying. She gasped, stumbling backward.

  Jacob Squires shoved Andy into the room. The boy flailed, falling to his knees at her feet.

  “Andy!” She bent to help him from the floor. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he held on tight. She cradled his head, whirling to shield his body with hers as he buried his face in her skirts.

  “Now then,” Jacob said behind her. “Where the hell is your husband?”

  Her first instinct was to tell him Jackson was on his way home with the sheriff. But Jacob’s drastic actions tonight proved how desperate he was. His imminent arrest would leave him with nothing to lose. He’d kill her and Andy on the spot.

  No. She’d have to let Jacob believe he had the upper hand, that Jackson had no clue he was the killer. Her only hope was to buy them some time. She shuddered at the fearful premonition Jacob would wait until Jackson returned, and then kill them all.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Jacob looming closer.

  She spun to face him, keeping Andy at her back. Observing the wooly man now, she saw clearly the face Andy had described—the killer inside the disguise. Behind the bushy mask of mustache and beard, she saw the structure of his nose, the squinting eyes distorted by the thick spectacles. How on earth had she missed it?

  The long, straggly hair beneath the straw hat, combined with the absence of the forty or so pounds he’d shed, did nothing to conceal his identity now.

  “Answer me, damn it. Where is he?”

  She mustered her voice. “My husband is at the Lake Tavern.” She lifted her chin, finding strength in the falsehood. “As usual.”

  Jacob tilted his head. His eyes honed in on her, scrutinizing her honesty, seeking signs of deceit. His gaze darted around the room.

  “Surely you’ve heard of my husband’s reputation for carousing,” she said in mock frustration. “He’s neither faithful nor dependable. He won’t be home for hours, so you may as well make yourself comfortable.”

  Jacob’s shoulders relaxed a bit. Hers did too. Her lies were working. She glanced toward the desk where the gun was hidden, contemplating a plan. She’d never get to it before Jacob put a bullet in her back. With one arm in a sling, she had a definite disadvantage. Her grip on Andy’s shoulder tightened.

  She needed to delay Jacob, somehow, until help arrived. If the sheriff was attending the ball, it would take at least an hour for Jackson to retrieve him at the Westcott’s house on the other side of Misty Lake. She had to keep Andy alive until then.

  “I could do with some coffee while we wait.” If she could manage to stall Jacob, they’d at least stand a chance. “May I make some?”

  He considered her request, then tossed his hat on the table. “Such hospitality.” His shallow smile turned to a sneer, and she wondered again how she’d not seen through his evil façade. “Make it strong. We’re in for a long night, and I wouldn’t want to be dozing off.”

  And then it struck her. The laudanum. She still had the vial in her pocket. A plan hatched in her head, and she prayed for the fortitude to execute it. Hope lifted her spirit as Jacob herded them into the kitchen.

  The scent of the flowers the odious man had given her a mere three days before made her feel sick. Her fear gave way to anger. She stared at the vase on the table, fighting the urge to smash it over his head.

  He had been in her home. In the room where she slept.

  The sketch he’d helped her create was intended to throw Jackson off course. This man’s propensity for deception was shockingly terrifying.

  He pointed a stiff finger at Andy. “Sit.”

  Andy huddled into a chair at the table. Jacob plopped down, resting his elbows on the table across from the boy. “You try anything funny, and I’ll kill him,” he said.

  Andy stared at the gun in Jacob’s hand. The fear on his tear-stained face filled her with guilt. She swallowed hard. She’d failed to protect him; she should have done more. Her hand shook as she struck a match and lit the stove. Placing the coffee canister on the table in front of Jacob, she asked, “Would you mind opening it for me?”

  He lifted the cover from the canister. She snatched it up, turning back to her task. The strong aroma of ground coffee filled her nostrils as she fumbled to measure the desired amount and scoop it into the pot. While the coffee brewed, she retrieved the cups and the saucers from the cupboard. She moved slowly as she gathered the creamer, sugar bowl, and spoons. Steadying her hands, she arranged them on the table in front of Jacob.

  “Why did you do it, Jacob?” she asked.

  “The name’s Paddy.” He gave a firm nod. “Paddy O’Boyle.”

  She turned back to the stove, her body blocking his view. “Why did you do it?” she repeated, unable to bring herself to utter the name. If she could only keep him talking to distract him from what she was doing. She slipped her hand into her pocket and clutched the vial in her palm.

  “We all have to follow the path that’s set out for us,” he said. “The path we were raised on. My daddy taught me real good.”

  She winced at the cryptic explanation. Was committing murder his legacy? His birthright? The man was truly insa
ne. Daisy poured the entire bottle of laudanum into one of the cups. She quickly poured the coffee on top of it, hoping the drug wouldn’t discolor the contents. She winced, swirling her finger in the steaming brew.

  “Here.” She placed the cup in front of the man and held her breath while he raised it to his lips.

  He blew on the coffee, then took a good swallow. She exhaled, sliding into the chair at Andy’s side. She sipped from the cup she’d poured for herself, while Andy stared at his cup of untouched milk.

  “I had to kill this boy’s daddy,” Jacob announced. “Once he noticed I had Marty Shaw’s watch, I had no choice.”

  “Marty Shaw?”

  “I wanted that farm.”

  Something in the way he said it filled her with dread.

  “So I did what I had to do to get it,” he said. “Just like my daddy.”

  She braced herself against the unthinkable. “Marty Shaw is dead?”

  Nodding, he leaned across the table. “Him and his whole damn family.”

  The blood drained from her face. He’d killed them all.

  Jacob leaned back in his seat, enjoying her horror. Looking as proud as Lucifer, he said, “After I got rid of the family, I took over the farm.” He slurped some more coffee. “But Ray Wendell didn’t believe the Shaws had left town. He came poking around the farm and caught me there. I told him the place was mine, right and legal, but when he saw I had Marty Shaw’s watch, I knew he’d figure out what I’d done. So I followed him home and took care of him too.”

  Andy stiffened beside her, head hung low. She could barely tolerate the repugnance of what Jacob was saying; she couldn’t fathom how painful it was for the poor boy to hear.

  He waved the gun toward Andy. “Course I didn’t know at the time that the boy had witnessed his daddy’s killing. I learned of your sketch after I became Jacob Squires.” He patted his belly. “Lost my tub-of-lard gut, dabbed some boot polish on my hair, and even I didn’t recognize myself. Except for learning to see through these spectacles, it was easy.”

  His blatant confession was made more disturbing by the sheer delight he was taking in revealing his grisly crimes. He was bragging. She sensed he’d been looking forward to the opportunity to flaunt his cleverness for a very long time. In that moment, she was certain she and Andy would be his next victims.

  The pride on Jacob’s face turned to anger. “But your lawyer husband wasn’t letting things rest.” He pointed to her sling. “You have him to thank for the bullet you took.” He shook his head. “Can’t say I’m sorry for that, though. That damn sketch you drew started it all.”

  She straightened in her seat. How dare he shrug the blame on to her? This man was a cold-hearted killer, deranged in his purpose. Nothing Daisy had or had not done could have changed that.

  “After I killed the family, I forged a farewell letter from Marty Shaw, explaining his reasons for leaving town so suddenly,” he continued. “I concocted a story that Marty’s wife ran off with a peddler, and Marty was heading west. Then I wrote that he’d sold the farm to a man named Jacob Squires.”

  Her knees trembled beneath the table, and she tightened her grip on her cup to steady her quaking nerves. “Please, Jacob, think of your wife. What will become of her—”

  “The name’s Paddy. And I have no wife.” He smiled. “Fooled them all with that too.”

  She couldn’t bear to hear any more. Glancing at Andy, she bit back the screams she was forced to contain. Jackson, where are you? Her control was shattering to pieces, and she held back her tears. How long would it take for the laudanum to take effect? Surely, she’d used enough.

  Jacob continued to ramble, but a few minutes later, she noticed his speech was getting slower. His words were slurring, and he yawned several times.

  He noticed too.

  He blinked hard. “What did you do?”

  Daisy stood slowly. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “Bitch!” He slammed his fist on the table. Andy jumped to his feet, shrinking behind her.

  Jacob kept blinking, trying to focus. His lips gnarled with fury. Reaching for the gun, he moved to get up. His chair toppled over.

  “Andy, run!”

  Daisy flung her hot coffee into Jacob’s face.

  “Run!”

  The boy took off like a shot. Daisy turned to follow, but Jacob grabbed her. After snatching a fistful of her hair, he yanked her against his chest. He was unsteady on his feet, and they both crashed to the floor. The gun flew from his grip, sliding into the baseboard.

  Pain tore through Daisy’s shoulder, leaving her immobile where she’d sprawled. With a grunt, Jacob flipped her to her back and straddled her in place. His glassy eyes kept blinking; coffee dripped from his angry face.

  Kicking her feet, she pounded him with her free hand. His spectacles went flying. She poked at his eyes, striking her target, and he spit out a curse. He pinned her arm to her side, leaving her helpless. He grappled for the gun, but it lay out of reach. She struggled frantically beneath him, kicking some more.

  With another vile curse, he gave up on the gun and went for her throat. His hands clamped her windpipe. Tears flooded her bulging eyes. She sputtered and struggled for air. Squeezing harder, he choked off her gasps. Dark spots filled her vision as she faded away.

  “I’m taking care of it, Daddy,” she heard him say through the din. “Just like you would.”

  His rambling assurances to the demons in his mind drove him onward, and she knew she would die.

  Chapter 24

  Jackson spotted the black horse tied to the gate post right away. His chest constricted, tightening his muscles with every terrifying scenario that had flashed through his head during the frantic ride home.

  He’d left Daisy alone….

  The sight of the horse’s white stockings confirmed his sick fear. He dismounted, sliding from the saddle as quickly as he could. Sheriff Coons slogged behind him somewhere, but there was no time to wait. Jackson ran up the sidewalk to the house, passing Andy, who bolted right by him.

  Jackson raced into the house, heard the sound of a man’s voice in the kitchen. He charged into the room to see Jacob on top of Daisy. Her body lay rigid beneath the man, whose ramblings grew louder. Jackson’s rage overwhelmed him, and he became someone else.

  “Paddy!”

  Jacob looked up. His crazed eyes flashed wide as Jackson pointed his gun and fired a bullet through his head.

  Jackson’s heart pounded as the man fell backward to the floor. He raced to Daisy, heaving Paddy off her legs. He scooped her into his arms.

  She clutched her throat, gulping desperately for air.

  She was alive.

  He exhaled in relief, blinking back tears. Forcing himself to loosen his embrace, he allowed her some space to catch her breath.

  He held her in his trembling arms as her lungs filled with air. He kissed her temple, the top of her head, while the frantic rhythm of her breathing subsided to a more normal pace.

  Unable to restrain his emotions a moment longer, he drew her against his chest, rocking her gently. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against her ear. “I forgot about the Westcott Ball. I never should have left you alone. I’m so sorry.”

  She gazed up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her parted lips trembled, her voice a raspy whisper. “Andy?”

  “He’s safe,” he assured her.

  She slumped in relief, and he loved her all the more for risking her life for the boy. He choked down the lump of emotion that caught in his throat.

  Reflections of the traumatic horror she’d endured shone in her bloodshot eyes. Jackson saw his whole world in her eyes, in the pale face staring up at him. His rage at almost losing her returned full force, roaring inside his chest like a violent storm. It took all the strength he possessed to restrain himself from plugging another bullet into Paddy’s dead body for trying to murder the woman he loved.

  * * * *

&
nbsp; The remainder of the night and following morning passed in a dizzying blur. Jackson’s body ran on taut nerves and coffee. He sat next to Daisy in the library, holding her hand as Sheriff Coons and his deputies assisted the coroner in removing Paddy’s body from the house.

  To spare Andy from the gruesome aftermath, Jackson had asked the Wymans to take the boy back to Barston. Daisy had agreed that Curtis and his family were probably frantic in their worries for the missing boy, and the Wymans had been happy to help.

  Jackson could hardly wait for the questioning to be over so he could concentrate on Daisy. She’d been through so much. Bruises covered her throat, and it pained her to speak. The wound on her shoulder had torn open, but she insisted she was fine. But she was still digesting the ordeal, and Jackson would feel better after the doctor examined her.

  Sheriff Coons and his deputies returned to the library, then listened intently as Jackson relayed the chain of events that had led to the death of the man who’d killed five people in this county alone.

  “According to the wanted notices Kotterman retrieved, Paddy O’Boyle is wanted for murder in two other states,” Jackson said.

  Sheriff Coons leaned forward. “I’ve just been informed that they’ve discovered four graves in the field at the Shaw farm.” He turned his grim focus to Daisy. “He admitted murdering the family?”

  Daisy nodded. “And writing letters in Mr. Shaw’s name to explain their disappearance.”

  “Devious son-of-a-bitch,” the sheriff mumbled.

  “Since Paddy had been holed up at the farm for weeks, he had ample time to study Marty’s handwriting,” Jackson said. “During that time, he altered his appearance as well. It wasn’t until Andy showed up after the fire that he emerged as Jacob Squires. He’d pretended he’d just arrived from Pennsylvania, but he’d been in Barston for months, hiding at the Shaw place.”

  “O’Boyle set the fire,” the sheriff clarified to the deputy who was scribbling the details in a notebook. “He’s also the one who placed advertisements in the papers, under Marty’s name, stating his wife had run off, and he wasn’t responsible for her debts.”