Page 14 of Love and Order
CHAPTER 14
Once Callie had locked herself into her dark room, the tears she’d suppressed during Rion’s visit burst out, and she flung herself across the bed and wept. Thankfully, this time, she’d held herself together through the entire visit—even laughing despite wanting to throw herself into his arms, sob, and pour out the truth so they could get to know each other again.
But she couldn’t allow herself to sink into her emotion, even in private. Not when a couple of things had been niggling at her since those first moments with Rion tonight. After allowing herself a brief cry to release tension, she rose and lit the lamp, keeping the light fairly dim. Pulling Joe’s files on the murders from under her bed, she thanked God he’d not yet asked for them back, nor had she offered them. They would allow her to verify details.
Retrieving notes on the first murder, she started skimming for the pertinent details.
Miss Nancy Carlin.
Niece of a United States senator.
Killed in a boxcar at the Chicago train depot.
May 19, 1868.
She skimmed farther. A faint memory of something she’d read niggled at her. What was it? She read down the next page until … there.
Miss Carlin’s uncle, Senator Warren Utley of Missouri, stated that his niece had come to Chicago to attend the Republican National Convention with his family, but she’d never arrived at their quarters as planned. Her body was found, cold, in a boxcar from the recently arrived train, lying in a bed of soiled straw. Also found in the boxcar were horse droppings, hay, and oats.
Her breath whooshed out.
Rion had said he and his horse had ridden the train from here in Colorado, arrived in Chicago, and found the city overrun because of the convention to nominate Grant.
Lord Jesus, please. This can’t be what it looks like.
Her thoughts spiraled. Rion was in Chicago at the same time the first murder happened. And the body was found in what could have been the very boxcar he rode in.
Oh, Lord God!
No. No! Of course it wasn’t the same car! Plenty of horses rode on trains. There was no proof that that boxcar had been occupied by Rion and his horse.
Yet as she jotted the details into her own file, her stomach grew queasy. She returned the papers on the first murder and withdrew the bundle detailing the second.
Mrs. Tilda Wadwell.
A wife and mother of two small children.
Found murdered in the St. Louis train yard.
May 12, 1869.
Her body had been found in a hidden area of the yard, her hair shorn, just as Miss Carlin’s had been. She’d gone missing two days prior, when impromptu celebrations broke out across St. Louis at the news that the Central Pacific and Union Pacific railroads had finally been joined in Promontory Point, Utah Territory, marking the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad.
She clamped a hand over her open mouth.
Had Rion not regaled her moments ago with the story of being in a St. Louis restaurant when a horse and rider galloped past, shouting that they’d driven the golden spike? He and others had flowed into the streets to dance and celebrate. But days later, he’d left, dejected, because he’d found no trace of Andromeda—just as he’d found no hint of Calliope a year earlier.
Lord Jesus, no. No, no, no …
Joe reached the boardinghouse with Downing close on his heels. Rion Braddock’s horses weren’t tied at the front where he’d initially left them when he first arrived. But Mrs. Ingram had told him to water his horses at the trough near the barn out back. Were they still there? He hurried to the structure, set far back on the property. The only animals occupying the building were the old horses Mrs. Ingram used to pull her wagon and Callie’s gray mare. She must not have wanted to waste time returning Lady to the livery, and with Miss Hattie’s little mare gone, there was room in the small barn for her.
“I’ll see how long Braddock’s been gone.” Joe motioned toward the front. “Wait for me beside the gate.”
“I’ll go saddle my horse instead. Meet me at the livery.”
“All right.”
Joe tried the back door, found it locked, and hurried around the wraparound porch to the front. It was open. When he burst in, several pairs of eyes met him from the parlor.
“Mr. Nesbitt,” one woman called. “Is everything well?”
“How long ago did Mr. Rion leave?”
The women looked between themselves. “Perhaps five minutes after you left. Is everything all right?”
“Is Cal—Kezia—here?”
“She saw him out and went immediately to her room. She said she was tired.”
He didn’t wait. Climbing the steps by twos, he nearly bumped into another woman as she descended the steps. He excused himself, raced down the hall to the base of the third-floor staircase, and took those in multiples also. Hurrying to her door, he knocked sharply.
“Kezia?”
Silence reigned.
“Please open the door.”
Again, not a sound from inside.
Heart pounding, Joe knocked louder.
“Miss Jarrett?”
This time, shuffling met his ears, and the key turned. Her door opened.
“What in heaven’s name …?” Her eyes were puffy and tired.
“Are you all right?” Why didn’t she open the door farther so he could see she was unharmed? “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Who?”
He ducked nearer. “Braddock.”
She gave that frustrated eye roll she did when perturbed with him. “I’m fine, Mr. Nesbitt. Why would he hurt me?”
“Callie, we need to talk.”
She shook her head. “Tomorrow would be better, if you don’t mind.”
“About the case …” He barely breathed the words, glancing down the hall.
Her shoulders slumped, but she stepped into the hall. “What about it?”
“I know Braddock’s some kind of … friend, or something … but how well do you know him?”
She folded her arms. “I was six when I last saw him. How well should I know him?”
“All right. Not well, then.” Joe blew out a breath, not liking what he needed to say. “After you left the meadow Sunday, some soiled doves arrived to watch the medicine show, so I got the other gals out of there before things turned sour. But as we were leaving, one of the doves grabbed Braddock and said, ‘You’re the one.’ And in the next breath, ‘You were with—’ I cut her off before she got the words out, but that same woman went to Downing and accused Braddock of being with Serafina shortly before she went missing.”
Callie’s cheeks paled. “If he was with her, Mr. Nesbitt, he was probably … doing what men do in such places.”
“Maybe.” Though Braddock had staunchly denied being of such ilk, and Joe had actually believed him.
She reached for the wall, looking suddenly unsteady.
Joe grasped her elbow. “Are you all right?”
“Feeling unwell, I suppose. Perhaps I’m still not myself after Lady knocked me over. I was settling in for the night.”
Concern raked down his spine. She’d been through a lot these past few days.
“We should at least question him. Where was he headed?”
Callie’s eyes slid shut, and she settled a hand on her stomach. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You really aren’t feeling well, are you?” He tightened his grip.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Go rest. I’ll ask one of the ladies to look in on you shortly.”
“Please don’t. I just want to sleep.”
He wasn’t sure about that, but he nodded. “All right, but—if you’re unwell, call someone for help.”
Mute, she backed into the room, shut the door, and locked it.
Almighty God, I’m losing my heart to that little gal. Please take care of her. And help me find Braddock before anyone else is hurt.