by Linda Tillis
He caught up with her just as the doors to the vehicles opened. Henry was being helped out of the estate car by what appeared to be a deputy. Another constable was climbing out of the second vehicle, which had “Sheriff” in large letters on the side.
“Oh dear, Henry, what’s happened? Where’s Margaret?” Mrs. Patrick cried, as she looked around for the young woman.
“Ma’am, are you in charge here?” one of the young men asked.
Samuel stepped forward. “My sister is the owner, sir. My name is Samuel Hinton. Can you tell us what has happened?”
“Be glad to, sir, but first we need to take care of this gentleman. He refused to see a doctor in town and said he had to get back to report to the young miss. I’m guessing he meant your sister.”
Samuel directed them all through the door and into the kitchen, where they got Henry into a chair. The poor man was as white as one of Mrs. Patrick’s sheets hanging on the line.
Shaken to the core, she turned to the kitchen maids and said, “Run fetch Mr. Bennett, and be quick, child, and you, Alice, run up and get Miss Mae.”
As the maids ran to get help, Samuel again asked the question, “Where is Margaret? Can you tell us what happened?”
The young deputy replied, “The owners of the market were closing for the day when they saw Henry’s car parked under a tree. They walked over to investigate and found Henry on the ground. All he remembers is getting out of the vehicle to stretch his legs. Someone must have hit him from behind. He says he didn’t see the girl again after dropping her off in front of the market. Her baskets of vegetables are on the back seat. The vendors remember her leaving, but she was nowhere near the car when they found Henry. We are searching the woods for her now.”
Mr. Bennett and Mae arrived just as the deputy finished speaking. Samuel turned to Mae and said, “Looks like Henry needs taking care of right now. If you ladies can handle this, then we’re going to step outside with the deputy.”
He motioned toward the door, and Mr. Bennett and the deputy followed him out. Once outside, he repeated for Mr. Bennett everything the deputy had said.
Mr. Bennett turned to the deputy. “Sir, how long do you think it will be before we hear something about Margaret?”
The young man replied, “My name is Deputy Wilkes, sir. I didn’t want to alarm the ladies, but it does not look good. The market owners say the woman had been gone for about an hour before they found Henry. Then it took them a while to get word to us. All in all, it was about a three-hour delay. We found several feet of drag marks moving away from the vehicle and heading toward the woods. Further into the woods, we found where a horse had been tied, and that’s when we called out the dogs. They will send word to the house as soon as they find the…young lady.”
Both Samuel and Mr. Bennett suspected the deputy had been about to say “the body.”
While the men were outside, Mae was cleaning Henry’s wound. The man had an egg-sized lump that had split and was going to need a couple of stitches. As Mae prepared the silk thread she would use, she kept talking to Henry, afraid he might pass out again.
“Henry, is there anything you can remember? Sometimes we don’t realize what we know until we talk it out. While I’m working, you just tell me what you know.” Mae had learned from her own horrible event that the more you talked about it, the more you could remember; sometimes more than you wanted.
Henry was telling them, once again, he couldn’t remember anything. Mae was on the third stitch when Henry’s voice got through to her. Her hands shook. She cut the silk thread, then said, “What did you say, Henry?”
Henry said, “I know it sounds crazy. One minute I thought I heard Margaret’s voice, and then the next minute I seemed to hear a man say, “Hello, little she-cat. Long time no see.”
Mae was clutching the back of a dining room chair when Samuel walked in.
“Mae, are you okay?”
Mae raised her eyes to Samuel, and he froze. Her eyes were wide with fear, a fear he’d hoped never to see in them again. Even as Samuel crossed the room to her, Mae reached inside herself and found her strength.
“Well, this is my first real nursing chore, and I guess I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I would be.” She gave Samuel a weak smile as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.
She turned to Mrs. Patrick. “Maybe I could use a sip of brandy after all.” Mae took the little glass and drained the golden liquid. She coughed, sputtered, and turned red in the face. Mrs. Patrick and the maids all laughed and relaxed a little.
“Samuel, can you help Henry to his quarters? Mrs. Patrick, if you clean all this up, I’ll just go to my room and wash up a little and get to bed. This has been a little more excitement than I’m used to.” Mae gave them all a watery smile and headed for the front of the house.
Chapter Nineteen
Margaret couldn’t breath. There was something heavy on her chest. She tried to push it off. Her senses were awakening from the sleep she’d been in. She could smell blood, and sweat from an unclean body. Even as she pushed against the weight, she recognized it as a man. Her eyes flew open, and she could see her attacker, and he was raping her.
Margaret was not a young virgin. She knew immediately what was happening, and that she was in terrible danger. Whether she fought or not, this man was probably going to kill her.
She did not want her last moments on this earth to be spent as a helpless victim. She knew when she left this life she would be in the presence of God, and this knowledge gave her strength, as well as peace. Even as she began to scratch and claw his face, she could envision the home she would be going to.
The man looked down at her, brushing her hands away from his already bleeding face, and he was surprised. She was almost smiling, and just before he knocked her out again he thought she had the face of an angel.
****
Frank Young rolled himself a cigarette, lit up, and looked through the open door of the train car. He had just caught the last westbound freight train for the night. It had been close, and he’d been a little worried. The horse he’d stolen a couple of days ago was not the fastest thing on four legs, that was for damn sure, but he’d made it. He’d had a little fun, made some good money, and all in all, it was a good day’s work.
The little she-cat had put up a good fight, just like he’d expected. It was a shame he couldn’t have brought her along for the ride, but she screamed like a banshee. It would have been too much trouble trying to keep her quiet.
He lifted his hand to his left ear and it came away bloody. Yep, she had put up a good fight. She had still been unconscious when he mounted her, but boy-howdy, when she woke up it was like riding a wild bronco. He remembered looking down on her face and thinking how innocent and pure it had looked. Then he had knocked her out again and finished the ride. Afterwards he had cut her throat.
He had a good five hours till the train arrived in Pensacola. He knew a place, on the wrong side of the tracks, where a man could do business and no one asked your name. He’d send a message to Hardwick from there.
****
Samuel made sure everyone was tucked in for the night, and then he made the rounds of the house. He checked the windows and doors on the first floor and then let himself out the kitchen door. He walked around the perimeter of the big garage and could see a light on in Mr. Bennett’s apartment. The two men who’d been helping him refit the barn had a small cottage on the other side of the lake. They’d been headed for home before the deputies had shown up. They were a couple of steady older men and could take care of themselves, so he mentally took them off the list of people he had to look after.
Mr. Henry had needed a few stitches. Samuel had been real proud of Mae, as she had stepped right in as lady of the house and fixed him up. She’d run the silk thread over the beeswax to help it slide. She made the neatest little stitches you’d ever see. Doc Walters would have been proud of her, too.
She had not fooled Samuel, though. Something had happened while
he was outside with the deputy and Mr. Bennett. Samuel knew his sister better than anyone. She’d worn the same haunted look the night of the event. He would question Henry again tomorrow, after the old man had some rest. He didn’t want to be pushy, but Henry must have said something to scare Mae so.
Samuel sat down on the edge of a stone planter at the northeast corner of the library, just out of the moonlight, and waited. He had no way of knowing if the deputies would find poor Margaret tonight or not, but he didn’t want them banging on the door and wakin’ the women, if they did.
Mrs. Patrick had given all the women a little toddy before she sent them to bed. Samuel had thanked her but refused it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d stayed up all night, watchin’ over Mae.
He could remember many nights of watching her toss and moan in her sleep. There had been nights when he would have sworn he heard his mother’s voice singing softly and Mae would stop tossing and slip into a deep sleep.
Samuel didn’t think they had anything to worry about. Whoever had taken Margaret would not be foolish enough to come around here. He would cut a trail to Jacksonville or Pensacola. It sure was strange, though. Mr. Bennett said there had never been a problem like this before, to his recollection. Samuel wasn’t one for coincidences.
He’d just laid the pistol down on the planter’s edge when a light in the distance caught his attention. It was a vehicle. Samuel stood, still in the shadows, and waited as it stopped in the drive. One of the deputies stepped out and turned toward the front door.
Samuel stepped out of the shadow and spoke. “Don’t knock on the door, please.”
The deputy almost dropped his gun as he tried to get it out of the holster. “Oh, it’s you! You shouldn’t sneak up on a person. I could have shot you!”
“I’m sorry, sir. I just didn’t want you to wake the women. They were a little upset earlier,” Samuel apologized.
“Well, they’re not going to feel any better when they hear the news. We found the woman. She was a good mile into the woods. It was not pretty.” Deputy Wilkes’ voice shook with the anger he was trying to hold in check. This was his first murder of a woman. The brutality of it had shocked him. He shook his head. “What kind of a man can do something like this?” he said, to no one in particular.
Samuel did not respond. He understood all too well just how depraved some men could be.
Mae stood at the window of her darkened room and looked down at Samuel as he spoke with the young deputy. There would be little sleep for her tonight. She was caught up in a revolving circle of bad memories. She could feel the cold steel of the little beauty in her hand. It had been a while since she had needed reassurance, but she was pretty sure she would be sleeping with Doc Walters’ gift for some time to come.
****
Hardwick was just coming in from a late game at a local establishment when the desk clerk flagged him down.
“Sir…” The young man handed him a sealed envelope. “This was delivered an hour ago.”
Hardwick tossed the young man a coin, then sat on one of the plush sofas while he read the enclosed note. When finished, he turned back toward the front door.
The liveried bellman jumped to his feet. “Can I get you a taxi, sir?”
“No, thank you. I think I’ll just walk off a last bit of whiskey before I retire.” He didn’t need a taxi driver remembering where he took a certain gentleman on this night. His step was light, the step of a very happy man. The deed was done. That damn Finch would be sending him a message in a few days telling him to come and claim what should have been his to begin with.
The slight weight of the derringer in his vest pocket made him feel invincible. The one thing left to do was erase the last possible link between himself and the little cat. He’d been walking almost an hour when he reached his destination. It was a rundown flophouse near the railway.
There was an exterior stairwell, allowing the men who used the place on an hourly basis to come and go without notice. The women paid a weekly rent for the rooms. On a good night, they could pay for the whole week and pocket what was left over. Hardwick opened the door at the top of the stairwell and stepped into a dimly lit, musty-smelling hallway.
Just as he reached number four, the door to number three opened. A small blonde girl, no more than sixteen, draped herself against the doorframe. “Well, it’s nice to see a real gent for a change.”
The girl must be new to the trade, as she was still reasonably attractive. He was here on business, so he ignored the girl. He knocked once, on number four, then entered and closed the door behind him, in one smooth motion.
The girl wondered what business the gent had with the bastard in room four. She had seen the man in four come in around eleven. He’d been pretty drunk. She’d managed to get into her room and close the door before he spotted her. She was good with faces, and she remembered this one with bitterness. He’d come in a couple of years ago.
He’d been rough, not too clean, and had rushed business before she got her money. Then when she’d asked for her money, he’d knocked her across the room, threw something at her, and stalked out, saying, “The little she-cat I got that from won’t be needin’ it any more.”
The next morning she’d picked the item up from behind a chair. It was a small, intricately carved ivory box, strung on a broken length of rawhide. It must have been a month or so later, as she was stroking the box hanging from her neck, that it popped open. She was amazed and delighted, and then saddened. Inside the small hidden space she found three curls of fine hair. One wrapped in pink ribbon and two wrapped in blue. Then she’d remembered the man’s words as he’d thrown the box at her.
Some poor mother had lost her babies’ keepsakes, and probably her life. The girl wondered if her mama had cut one of her baby curls to keep. She’d like to think so.
’Course, her mama had died when she was four, and her pa had sold her for twenty-five dollars when she was twelve. There’d not been many keepsakes in her young life.
Hardwick took in the whole room with a quick glance. The one window was open, and the faded curtains moved softly with the night breeze. Frank Young was sitting to the left of the window, finishing off a glass of cheap whiskey. He had some scratches on his face and his shirt was torn, but he was wearing an ear-to-ear grin. The man started to stand, swayed, and dropped back into the chair. Hardwick observed the empty bottle on the nightstand and smiled. Young was very drunk. Good, he thought, this will be easier than I expected.
“Did you take care of the cat?” he asked as he moved to the window.
“Yep, and she was a better fighter this time,” Young snarled. “But she won’t scratch anymore.”
Hardwick placed his left hand on the windowsill, leaned out, and took in a deep draw of cool night air. He slowly removed the derringer from his vest pocket with his right hand. He turned, placed the barrel of the gun against Young’s temple, and pulled the trigger before the man even registered what was happening.
The sound of the shot was not overly loud, but the whore in room three had surely heard it; that would merit a visit. Hardwick took one last look around the room. Young had fallen sideways against a dresser. He’d died before his face could even register surprise.
Hardwick returned the gun to his vest, stepped out into the hallway, and closed the door behind him. A very large man, with the uneven features of a street fighter, was approaching from the outside door.
As Hardwick was reaching for the doorknob of number three, it flew open and the blonde stuck her head out.
“There you are! You almost missed your appointment,” the blonde cried, as she grabbed the hand of the big man and pulled him into the room. Her round blue eyes met Hardwick’s for one long second as she was closing the door. He measured her fear by her trembling hand.
He stood still for a couple of heartbeats and then headed for the stairwell. It would be too risky to try to take out both of them. He needed to put some distance between himself and the late Frank
Young.
He checked his watch as he climbed the steps to the San Carlo Hotel. It was four fifteen in the morning. He would take a long bath, sleep until noon, and wake up a very rich man.
****
Garth stepped out on the porch and took a long look around. It was early morning, and there was just a hint of cool air, like winter was just over a hill somewhere, unseen but close. He’d lived in this house for twenty-two years. It had started as a two-room cabin and then grew to accommodate a large family. He’d added windows with screens in the kitchen for better ventilation. There was a washhouse with a hand pump. He should feel a little sad at leaving, but there was so much life ahead of him he could not, in truth, regret it.
He and Cyrus, with the help of Mrs. Peters, had packed up all the furniture and household items. Mae had wanted it all for her “home.” She believed all those homey things would make the women feel more comfortable.
As he gazed at a late blooming rose, he whispered, “Ruth, honey, this will always be our place, but I’m about to move on and build a new place in life, one I’ll be better equipped to handle because you made me a better man. If there is one thing I’ve learned from our time together, it is we should never take life or love for granted. I’ll always be grateful for your love and wisdom.” The door opened, and he turned to see Cyrus standing in the doorway.
Cyrus looked around, then looked into Garth’s eyes and said, “Were you talking to Mama?”
Garth’s heart did a little skip, and he was not sure what to say.
Cyrus saved him the trouble. “I talk to her, too. Sometimes I’ll have a question about something I know she’d be able to help me with, if she was just here. Then I’ll sleep on it, and the next day whatever it was will come to me and I’ll know she answered me.”
Garth’s chest swelled with love for this, his youngest son, who still kept his mama in his heart. He put an arm around Cyrus’s shoulder. “Yes,” he said, “I was talking to Mama. I was telling her we were only able to move on because she had made us all so strong.”