11th Hour Rose (Langston Brothers Series)

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Joe Winston met them outside the old brick building. “Evenin’.” He rocked back on his heels, one thumb looped through the top of his trousers.

  “Joe.” Davy nodded to the other man. “What makes you think Whitfield is missing?”

  “I haven’t seen Jesse since last night. We’ve been rotating through different shifts patrolling the city, watching Lilly, and monitoring Marcus Brady. Last night he watched Lilly, but he never showed this afternoon for his turn to follow Brady.” Joe shook his head. “This doesn’t feel right. I’d stake my badge that something happened to him.”

  “One of the Yankee guards spoke with him this morning outside the Hudson house. We’ll have to see if anyone has seen him since.” Davy adjusted his hat, deep in thought. Could Whitfield be the one who’d dropped the note by Lilly’s door? He’d certainly had access and no one would have suspected. The thought chilled Davy’s blood. “Let’s go inside.”

  The door proved to be unlocked and Davy stepped into Jesse’s small apartment, sweeping a shrewd gaze across the sparse interior. A table with one chair sat near the center of the room, an old lamp rested on a stool by a small, sheetless cot, and only a few scattered personal belongings littered the room. The other men followed him in.

  “Whitfield,” Davy called. “Are you home?” He glanced into the small second room—which really was more of a closet—and returned to the main room. A leather bound volume propped on a shelf caught his eye. The book appeared out of place and very unlike the plain spoken Jesse Whitfield. Davy rather doubted Whitfield even knew how to read. He quickly slipped the volume off the shelf and flipped it open.

  The first page held a yellowed newspaper clipping.

  MAYOR’S DAUGHTER MURDERED

  January 25, 1861

  Tragically the young daughter of New York City Mayor, Carl Potter, was found murdered yesterday.

  Davy nearly dropped the book. The article detailed seventeen-year-old Jessica Potter’s death.

  “George! Joe,” he called without looking up. “You need to see this.”

  Flipping to the second page, he swiftly read another aged clipping concerning Jessica Potter. A renewed sense of horror consumed his mind as he thumbed through the pages and discovered more articles about other women.

  “What have you found?”

  Davy passed the volume to George, every hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “You’ll have to see this to believe it.”

  “Let’s see here.” The sheriff pulled a pair of reading glasses from his vest pocket and flipped to the first page of the book. The color washed from his ever steady face. “Jesus,” he muttered, handing the macabre journal to the deputy.”

  Winston glanced from Davy to the sheriff with a wary expression. He leafed through the first few pages of the volume, giving his head a wry shake. “No. This can’t be Jesse’s. I don’t believe for a second that boy is a killer.”

  George shrugged. “I understand where you’re coming from, Joe. Truly I do. None of us would have expected him to be smart enough for something like this, but the evidence is here.”

  Davy paced across the room, deep in thought, half listening to the other men banter. Whitfield being the killer certainly explained a few things. Lilly’s attack after leaving the jail, it would have been easy for Whitfield to follow her. And then there was the letter she’d found earlier that day. However, he couldn’t quite reconcile Whitfield with the cold calculation of a serial killer. Davy shifted his attention back to the other men’s conversation.

  “Not only that,” Winston argued, “but the night Susannah Jensen was murdered we were on patrol together the entire time.”

  “Really?” George frowned in serious thought.

  “Yes, sir. I’m telling you, Whitfield is not the killer.”

  “The two of you must have split up at some point,” George reasoned.

  “We were together the entire night,” Joe insisted.

  The men fell silent for a long moment.

  “We’re going to have to launch a massive manhunt,” George said after a moment. “The bastard must have skipped town when Potter and Donovan came in this afternoon. We need to catch him before he moves on to another city.” The sheriff dropped into the vacant chair. “I’m getting too old for this job.” He hung his head and sighed. “Any chance you want to run for sheriff, Joe?”

  The deputy scoffed. “Not a chance, sir, I like my deputy job just fine.”

  “How about you, Davy?”

  “Run for sheriff, me?”

  “Why not?” George shrugged. “You certainly have the experience and public standing to run.”

  “Well, uh, I guess I never really considered it, George. I’ll think on it.”

  “Good, because I am ready to retire, maybe even get the hell out of Charleston.” He shifted back in the chair. “All right, back to launching a man hunt for Whitfield before he strikes again.”

  * * *

  Cuddled against the back of a comfortable, cushioned loveseat at Craig and Marissa Langston’s house, Lilly wrapped her hands around an oversize tea mug and shifted her gaze from Davy to her father. Disbelief left her numb. “Jesse Whitfield,” she murmured, slowly shaking her head. “I… I never would have believed him capable.”

  Davy sat adjacent to her, forearms rested on his knees, brow furrowed seriously. “Just because we have a name doesn’t mean this is over,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Your father and I are launching a full scale man hunt and the last thing I want is for you to be alone. I am going to speak with my brother about you staying with him and Marissa for at least one night.”

  “Oh, no,” Lilly insisted, leaning forward and setting her tea on an end table. “They have been so kind to me already, I don’t want to impose on their hospitality any more than necessary.”

  Davy stood and moved to the loveseat. He sat directly beside her, sliding one arm across her back and tipping her chin with the other hand. Despite her father being in the room, Davy’s soft, caring eyes roamed hers with abandon. “It is necessary, love.”

  Lilly sighed, cuddling into the warmth of his arm. “I just want this all to be over.”

  * * *

  The following day, Davy tugged his hat off a peg and prepared to exit the jailhouse. A few hours’ sleep and then a visit to Lilly sounded damn inviting.

  Every inch of the city was in the process of being scoured in search of Whitfield, and wires had been sent to all the surrounding towns for one hundred miles. Potter and Donovan had been cautiously pleased by the new evidence, but frustrated to learn that Whitfield had fled Charleston.

  Davy bid Joe and George farewell before pulling the door inward. Before he could step over the threshold a uniformed soldier burst through the door.

  “You the sheriff?” the young soldier asked breathlessly.

  George stood and strode around the edge of his desk. “Yes, Corporal, what can I do for you?”

  “Names Corporal Watts, sir. My commanding officer sent me to fetch you. We found a body in a field by the woods outside of town.”

  “Jesus,” Joe muttered under his breath. “Was it a woman?”

  “No, sir, it’s a man.”

  “All right, son.” George grabbed his hat from a wall hook as well. “You lead the way.”

  Davy followed the young soldier and the sheriff from the building with a sinking feeling. Perhaps their manhunt had come to fruition already.

  Thirty minutes later, Davy, George and Joe cantered on horseback down the meandering dirt road leading out of Charleston. Autumn kissed leaves of every shade—from golden yellow to blushing red—adorned the trees, and danced along the gentle breeze. Late season wild flowered peppered the browning grass, and the afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the harvest fields where workers labored over tobacco, cotton and corn crops. The ride would have been pleasant if not for their dark purpose.

  The young soldier led them to an overgrown field outside the old farm house owned by Davy’s stepmother, Genie Langston—f
ormerly Genie Harris.

  “So much for launching that manhunt,” Joe muttered, reining his horse beside the body.

  Corporal Watts rode over to three other soldiers waiting by the roadside.

  Davy maneuvered his mount alongside and dismounted, walking a half circle around the deceased man. Definitely Whitfield. The deputy lay face down in an abandoned field, shot square in the back. Twice.

  “It figures he’d have got himself killed outside the old Harris place.” Joe gestured toward the brick farmhouse visible one hundred or so yards down the road. “Near every man, woman and child in Charleston believe this farm is haunted after the murders a few years back.”

  “Don’t remind me about that nightmare.” George placed his back to the woods. “You boys were off fighting for the cause, leaving me to catch that madman by myself.”

  Davy knelt beside the body. “I think it’s safe to say he’s been here since yesterday. No longer.”

  Joe shook his head. “He hasn’t turned yet. We should get him out of here before he does.”

  “Probably wise,” Davy replied, distancing himself from the corpse, and turning his gaze to the sheriff. “I suppose our serial killer case is closed, but who do you suppose killed him?”

  “Maybe someone caught onto him,” George offered. “I suppose whoever it was did us a favor.”

  Davy stroked his jaw, deep in thought. At the back of his mind a detail hovered in the periphery, shrouded in shadow. Something was amiss and yet he could not quite put his finger on what. “That may be, but shooting him in the back doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “This ain’t right,” Joe stated firmly, striding to his mount and swinging into the saddle. “None of it.”

  The sheriff waved off the other man’s doubts. “We may never know exactly what happened here, but Whitfield is… was our man. Davy found that scrapbook in his apartment and he was with Lilly the night of her attack. However it came to pass that man hurt my daughter and I am glad to see him dead.”

  Silence lapsed. Davy pondered George’s logic. He so wanted for this ordeal to be over. In short, he wanted Lilly safe and in his arms.

  Before mounting his horse, Davy crossed to the waiting soldiers. “Corporal Watts, have your detail box up Mr. Whitfield and deliver him to the groundskeeper at the cemetery.”

  The Yankees looked none too pleased with the orders, but complied nonetheless.

  * * *

  Still at the Langston’s townhouse, Lilly paced the front room as though to tread holes in the rug. Impatient for news and feeling an imposition to Davy’s family, she wanted to go home. At home she was useful. She cooked, she cleaned, she sewed quilts, and reviewed law books. Here a myriad of servants did everything for her. Lilly enjoyed being self-sufficient. There was also the added boon that keeping busy kept her thoughts away from the worry that a madman might attack her again.

  Marissa had kindly kept her company for most of the day, but was busy trying to put her young daughter down for a nap.

  Lilly sighed, passing the bookshelf again, running her fingers along the spines, flicking her gaze across the titles with unseeing eyes.

  “Lilly?”

  Her heart leapt and she spun to find Davy striding through the open door, a grin adorning his handsome face. “It’s over.” Eyes twinkling, he opened his arms to her.

  “You mean…”

  “Whitfield is dead.”

  “Oh, Davy!” Relief swam in her head and the heaviness lifted from her chest. She took her first deep breath in days and ran into his waiting embrace. He gathered her up, pressing a trail of kisses along her temple. Lilly drew back, still smiling, and accepted a sweet kiss on her lips as well. She sighed happily, looping her arms around his neck. “Does this mean I can have a bit of freedom back?”

  David linked his arms around her waist, holding her close. He winked. “Within reason of course.”

  She laughed. His teasing was not lost on her, and rested her head against his chest. “We have so much to discuss.”

  “You mean marriage?”

  “I imagine we’ll have to marry quickly,” Lilly said, mind spinning with plans and new opportunities.

  “Why is that, love? Don’t misunderstand,” he said quickly, “nothing would make me happier.”

  “I should think any wedding plans would hinge on your date to transfer west with the Marshals office.”

  Davy pulled back, startled, searching her eyes. “Y-you want to go west?”

  Lilly nodded. “Very much. I thought it might be just the place for a forward-thinking woman with a good legal mind.”

  He frowned, the serious furrow marring his brow, and Lilly was certain he would argue with her. No doubt he’d lay forth twenty reasons why women were not fit for life in the west, and why Charleston was the more prudent place to raise a family. She steeled herself for the fight.

  “Life will be hard,” he said. “The conveniences you enjoy here in Charleston simply won’t be as abundant in the western territories. If you don’t wish to leave your family, I can stay with the Marshals office here in Charleston. After your father retires, I could run for sheriff.”

  Lilly shook her head. He offered a perfectly reasonable argument, but she knew that he did not really want to remain in Charleston. She recognized how he longed for travel more than he did himself. He’d joined the army at a young age just for that reason. The difference now was that he’d found a partner willing and able to join him in that adventure. “I am not dainty, David, and I’m not afraid of a little hard work. Besides, there are plenty of perfectly civilized towns to live in.”

  After a moment Davy’s expression softened and he smiled, the gesture sparking a warm glow in his eyes that poured through her like liquid gold. “You baffle me, Lilly, but I am learning not to argue.”

  Lilly laughed joyously, hugging him to her and giving him a quick kiss. “That makes you a very wise man.”

  11th Hour Rose

  Sixteen

  David sat solemnly before his desk leafing through Whitfield’s macabre journal. At least a dozen tasks loomed before him, begging to be finished before the next U.S. Marshal took over. With his wedding only two weeks away there was little time to accomplish everything. One duty he felt a personal, compelling need to complete was to contact each of the women’s families in this book and offer up some measure of peace.

  Together he and Lilly had visited the families who’d suffered in Charleston. A soft smile tugged his lips. Lilly had a truly wonderful way with people. She looked into their eyes with such kind patience. Funny that he’d never seen it before.

  His gaze dropped to the signature scrawled at the bottom of each strange journal entry. Bram Cusday. The very man Jessica Potter had corresponded with as an impassioned young girl.

  For a long moment Davy stared at the words, sadness heavy in his heart. To be so young, and so full of life only to have it snuffed out by the likes of Bram Cusday. The name trekked through his mind, tickling the back of his brain once again. He blinked and a flash of blood spatters on a white lawn shirt and silver vest flashed through his head. The letters of the name swam before his mind’s eye, rearranging.

  Davy’s eyes snapped open. “Oh, my god.” He shoved away from the desk so quickly the heavy chair toppled backward. He knew exactly who Bram Cusday was and it wasn’t Jesse Whitfield.

  “Lilly,” Davy choked, sprinting from the office without bothering to right the chair. “Please, Lord, not again.”

  * * *

  The last purple fingers of twilight faded from the sky as Lilly bid her soon to be sisters-in-law good evening.

  “Your wedding will be beautiful,” Cadence, Curtis’s wife, gushed. She flipped the length of her blonde curls off her shoulders and pulled a shawl around herself. “Thank you for letting me take part in the preparations. Curtis and I didn’t have much of a ceremony to speak of, and it was good for me to get out of the house. I haven’t left my girls for even a moment since they were born.”

&n
bsp; Lilly grinned, giving Cadence an impulsive hug. True happiness flowed through her to be joining such a wonderful family. She felt very blessed, complete. “I am grateful to both of you for the help. My cousin, Lavinia, is in a family way and not up to much in the way of activity.” Lilly shrugged. “Aside from her and Papa I have no relatives to speak of.”

  Cadence and Marissa exchanged a quick smile. “That will soon change. Once you and Davy marry, you’ll inherit all of the Langstons.”

  “I look forward to it,” Lilly answered joyfully.

  “You may live to regret it,” Marissa teased, and the three of them laughed together.

  The other women took leave, and Lilly waved as they disappeared down the street.

  With a contented sigh, she closed the door and rested her shoulder against the wall, ready for a moment of quiet. The last week had been a whirlwind, and there was still so much planning to be done before the move west. Her father had taken the news much better than expected, and as always, he supported her.

  Lilly shuffled toward the kitchen when a light rap at the front door interrupted her thoughts. She stopped and rolled her head back, wanting to ignore the summons and relax with a moment alone.

  The knock sounded again and her conscience got the better of her. Perhaps Marissa or Cadence had forgotten something. She treaded back to the door and quickly twisted the handle. Or maybe Davy had come to call. She’d scarcely seen him since the day he’d proposed. The prospect lit her with excitement from the inside out. She swung the door inward.

  “Oh, Mr. Brady.” Surprised, she squashed the flash of disappointment that the visitor was not David and smiled in genuine welcome. After all, Marcus had worked alongside the lawmen to catch Whitfield every step of the way.

  “Good evening, Miss Lilly, I just wanted to stop in and see how you’re faring.”

  “Perfectly well, thank you. I cannot thank you enough for your help.”

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Lilly.” He smiled warmly, removing his hat and twirling it in his hands. “Could I interest you in a walk this evening? We never did finish our conversation about your writing for the newspaper.”