Page 19 of Love and Order

CHAPTER 2

Miss Mary was dead.

Rion’s mind spun until he nearly expelled the flapjacks he’d downed. Miss Mary was a kind soul who had always greeted him like an old friend when he’d go to Dutch’s Café. In fact, the way she smiled at him or paused to talk that extra minute when business was slow had always made him wonder if there wasn’t some interest there.

If his life was more conventional, he might just’ve acted on that wonderment. Miss Mary was sweet enough to make a man want to mend his ways.

In their whispered conversation, Downing had told him Mary had gone missing somewhere between the close of the café the Saturday night of the Founders Day Celebration and its opening the following Monday. That news had sent him reeling all the more. He’d been in Cambria Springs that weekend, and seeing all the extra folks that’d come for the festivities, he worried for Mary’s safety since the café was staying open extra long. So he’d promised to walk her the block and a half to her home.

He did get her home, durn it all! He’d walked her right to her door, waited whilst she unlocked it, and talked to her for a minute before she offered him her hand with a coy smile. Trying to be anything other than the backwoods simpleton he was, he squeezed her fingers, bid her farewell, and asked her to tuck herself inside. Disappointed, she had … And he’d sauntered off into the night, feeling stupid for not kissing her.

But Mary deserved a better man than him.

Only now, she was dead—and he might’ve been the last to see her alive.

Just like Serafina.

What was happening?

Downing’s heavy footsteps drew him from his thoughts.

“You all right, Braddock?”

“Not particularly.”

“Need anything for now?”

“Don’t reckon so.” Except to get free of this cell before they stretched his neck.

“Why don’t ya save us all time? Tell me where ya stashed Hattie.”

He lunged off the cot, going to the bars. “I ain’t seen her since Sunday, down at the medicine show. I ain’t killed a soul—not Hattie, Serafina, Mary, or anybody else.” So why in blue blazes did it sound like he had—even to his own ears? “I’ll thank you to quit accusin’ me.”

He paced back to the cot and slumped onto it, falling sideways as he pondered the sudden downturn of his life. One minute, his heart was pounding out of his chest as he realized little Kezia Jarrett was really Calliope. The next, she’s unfolding a list of demented murders of women—some he knew or had talked to—with all the evidence pointing conveniently at him.

God, You and me ain’t been on speakin’ terms in a long time—not since You let Calliope, Andromeda, and me get separated years back … and since You dumped me with that merciless scoundrel, Garvin. But if You’re pullin’ the strings, thank You for lettin’ my sister find me. Would You please let her be right—that You ain’t a God who’d let her find her family only to rip ’em away again right off?

He glanced around, not seeing the question-box of a woman who’d marched in a while ago. “Where’d that little gal go?”

Downing crossed to open the door. There, framed in the opening, was the old pine tree some fifteen feet away and, in front of it, the gal screaming her fool head off in that charming little southern drawl of hers.

“I chained her to the tree.”

“Chained her?” Rion pushed himself up, concern swelling in his chest. What was he thinking? It wasn’t right to chain any woman to a tree—but that particular gal looked no more than thirteen or fourteen years old.

“That was Cambria Springs’ jail before they built those cells there.”

He glared at the lawman. “You’re a durn fool, Downing! There’s a murderer on the loose—killin’ women—and you’re chainin’ one out in public like bait?”

“I won’t leave her there forever. Just long enough to prove a point.”

Downing closed the door again, though Rion rattled the cell bars. “Hey!”

The lawman faced him.

“Unlock her. Now!”

“Not doin’ it, Braddock. For both our sakes. Neither of us needs to listen to that woman’s incessant chatter.” He turned toward his desk. “Now settle yourself down.”

The heavy, plank door opened again, and Downing spun to face it as a form Rion instantly recognized stepped into view.

She stood in her classy blue riding habit, blond hair swept up in a braid she’d coiled at the back of her head, just beneath the top hat trimmed with lace and ruffles.

“Hello, Rion.” She stared straight at him.

“Who’re you?” The sheriff almost charged her, and she sidestepped with a yelp, straight through the door and to her right, shooting him an insolent look as she did.

“I am Maya Fellows, sir.” She began working her hands out of her gloves. “Mr. Braddock and I go way back.”

Downing eyed her, then turned on him. “That true, Braddock?”

Embarrassment lashed him. “It’s been a while, Maya. What’re ya doin’ here?”

She gave him a sad smile as she peeled off the first glove. “I came here hoping to catch the medicine show before it left town. You know how such attractions speak to my love of show business.” She meticulously tugged each finger of her second glove, loosening it from her hand. “I missed it but stayed the night. I was readying my horse for my return trip when the sheriff brought Trouble and Mischief into the livery and instructed the hostler to keep them. As soon as I saw them, I knew you had to be somewhere near, but it took time to discover where.” She gave the sheriff an unsure look, then closed the distance by half, tugging her second glove off as she did. “I never dreamed you’d be arrested. Why are they holding you?”

Behind her, Downing began to speak. “Mur—”

“A misunderstandin’.” He glared at Downing before returning his focus to Maya. “Just a misunderstandin’. We’ll get it sorted out.”

Sorrow pooled in Maya’s eyes as she tucked the gloves away and marched right up to the cell bars, extending her hands to him. “Is there anything I can do? Do you need money? I’ve told you, Papa has means.”

She’d made no secret of her father’s money. Those means oozed from every pore. What she’d ever seen in him, he couldn’t fathom.

He grinned at the familiarity of her small hands in his. His left thumb instantly sought the large oval birthmark that marked the back of her wrist, similar to how cream-laced coffee might stain a muslin tablecloth.

“I don’t know what I need yet. It’s all too new. But thank you.”

“I should stay in town, make sure you’re looked after and have the help you need.”

She pulled her hands free and turned, eyeing the chairs near Downing’s desk.

“May I, Sheriff?” She started for the blocky wooden seat, but the lawman gave a sharp shake of his head, stopping her in her tracks.

“Not now, missy. I got things to do. You need to go.” He hooked a thumb toward the front door. “Ain’t nobody stayin’ here but him.” Downing stabbed a finger toward the cell. “Leastways till I round up a deputy to sit with the ornery cuss.”

“You ought to go,” Rion called to Maya.

“I won’t leave town.”

“Go back where ya came from, durn it.” Women he knew were turning up dead. “Please head home, Maya.”

She turned to Downing. “Once you find your deputy, may I keep Mr. Braddock company?”

“That’ll depend on Braddock and the deputy. Now … out.” He waved toward the door.

Again, she turned Rion’s way. “I’ll be back. Are you sure you can’t think of anything you need?”

Stubborn woman!

“No.” Yes. He needed to get out of this cell and take his life back, but Maya wasn’t the one to ask for that kind of help.

She bid him farewell, and Downing opened the door for her. Once again, the young reporter woman shouted from the shade of the tree outside.

Once Maya left, Downing swung an oily grin his way. “And who was that, Braddock?”

“Just an old ghost hauntin’ from my past.”

His smile deepened. “Doesn’t seem she thinks that.”

A shiver gripped him. He needed to tell Maya and Calliope to stay far away. Women he knew were winding up dead.

If she’d held any humor for her circumstances, Lu had lost it an hour ago when the midmorning sky had darkened and thunder began to rumble. In the last few minutes, cold, fat raindrops had begun to splatter the ground, soaking her in the process.

“Sheriff!” Her voice had grown hoarse with all her shouting, but still he didn’t come.

“Somebody! Help!”

Anybody …

The pace of the rain quickened, and she darted out from under what little protection the pine tree offered and scooped a palm-sized rock from the ground. Hurling it, she watched as it arced too high and hit the roof of the building, rolling a few inches before it stopped. She huffed but picked up a second and tried again. This time, the stone flew true and hit the door with a thud. Blinking water from her eyes, she waited. And waited.

As she searched for another stone to throw, a mighty flash traced across the sky above, lighting everything in an eerie glow. At the same moment, a thunderous boom exploded around her. Heart hammering, she pulled into a ball, her arms over her head, and a scream tore from her chest.

“Please! Help!”

“We’re coming!” distant voices shouted back.

Lu huddled, trembling, both from the frigid raindrops and her own fear. Soon, sloshing footsteps hurried her way, and at the same time someone darted up beside her, a rectangle of yellow light fell across the soggy earth between the building and her. She looked up to find the face of the petite woman who’d left the sheriff’s office that morning, now shadowed by a western hat that dripped a curtain of water.

“We’ll get you inside. We’re getting the keys now.”

She nodded, and the other woman wrapped a slicker-clad arm around her, trying in vain to shield her from some of the pelting drops. Just a moment later, more splashing footsteps, and the woman’s earlier companion unlocked the cuff from around her wrist.

As soon as he got the shackle open, they all dashed to the log building’s wide porch. Lu barged through the open doorway, searching for the sheriff. The only one in the place was Braddock, watching from his locked cell.

“You all right, miss?” His eyes were wide, maybe even spooked, as he stared at her.

Another bright flash filled every window and door, and a heart-stopping boom went off, louder than the last.

“Get inside!” The man shoved her and the other woman farther through the door. When it clapped shut, she yelped, trembling as water cascaded from her clothes.

The other woman came alongside her, shrugging out of her long raincoat. “Are you hurt?”

Lu stared around the room, fear wrangling with anger. “Where is that chicken-livered sapsucker?”

“Downing went out the back about an hour ago, miss.” Braddock hooked a thumb to indicate the only door on the back wall. “He often ties his horse back there durin’ the day. I told him to let you loose first, but …” He shrugged.

Her gaze darted toward the door, and she slopped her way to it. Behind it was a darkened storage room with boxes and crates, a rack with several long guns, and on the far wall, another door leading to the outside.

“I’ll see if Downing has any towels or blankets you can use to dry off.”

Lu shuddered. “Please!”

The little woman hurried toward the storage room, and her companion checked the supplies on the shelves above the potbellied stove. He pulled down the big coffeepot from its hook.

“I’ll start some coffee.” Still clad in his long oilskin coat, he hurried outside and filled the pot from the rain barrel.

Inside the room, a match flared, and the woman looked around then lit the lantern hanging beside the door. “I don’t believe I got your name. I’m Kezia Jarrett, and he’s Stephen Nesbitt.” The woman indicated her companion outside.

A fresh chill grabbed her. “Lucinda Peters.”

“How’d you come to be chained to that tree?”

“That idiot, Downing, put me there. I got in a tussle with him about interviewing either him or the prisoner, and the ill-tempered bully chained me to the tree.”

Miss Jarrett gaped. “On what charge?”

“None.” She wrapped her arms around herself as more chills set in. “Just to make a point.”

Glancing around, Miss Jarrett pulled supplies from shelves until her arms were loaded. She laid them on the floor within easy reach. “I’ve found a towel, some blankets, and …” She perused another box. “They aren’t exactly fitting for a woman, but—” She shook out a pair of trousers and a shirt fit for a small man. Miss Jarrett sniffed the fabric. “They smell clean enough.”

“Anything’s better than these.”

Once she tossed them atop the towel and blankets, Lu shut herself inside, checked that the back door was locked, and fought her way out of the sopping layers.

“Thought Downing said he was gonna send his deputy whilst y’all went searchin’ for Miss Hattie.” Braddock’s hushed voice carried easily through the thin walls of the storage area.

Muffled footsteps crossed the room. “He deputized me and went on his own.” A growl tinged Mr. Nesbitt’s voice.

She dried herself, straining to hear anything further.

“Rion,” Miss Jarrett spoke, “we need to talk about the night she disappeared.”

So his first name was Rion … Rion Braddock.

Lu pulled the shirt over her head, rolling the sleeves so they fell at her wrists.

“Like I told Downing, I don’t know anything. I left your boardinghouse and went straight to the base of the game trail, then on up to the cave. Didn’t see no one. Didn’t stop nowhere. And there weren’t anyone in the cave to vouch for me.”

“Do you know where Annie Tunstall lives?” Again, Miss Jarrett asked the question, giving Lu pause. “Have you been by her place at all?”

She stepped into the trousers without unfastening the waist, which was huge around her slender frame. She looked for something she might use as a belt, to no avail, so hiking them as high as she could, she knelt and rolled the legs.

“I don’t know anyone named Tunstall or where such a family lives.” Braddock paused. “What part of town?”

Lu couldn’t make out the answer.

“Ain’t been in that direction in days. I been around the meadow where the medicine show was, over to the boardinghouse, and the roads in between. That’s it.”

“How are your tracks in that barn if you weren’t?” Again, Miss Jarrett spoke.

“You two are the detectives. You tell me!”

Both Mr. Nesbitt and Miss Jarrett … detectives? Was that meant as a mocking barb or a statement of fact? If the latter, detectives for whom? What detective agency would be interested in the disappearance of Hattie Ingram or the murders of two others in Cambria Springs?

Oh, goodness. Too many details. Too many questions. She needed her journal …

With a firm hold of her pants, she eased out the door, the strong scent of coffee meeting her as she did. “Pardon. I don’t mean to interrupt.”

Mr. Nesbitt’s eyebrows arched at her appearance, and Miss Jarrett stepped out of the open cell to peer her way.

“Would anyone have any twine or rope for a belt?”

Rion Braddock also came to the cell door and suppressed a grin, then disappeared back into the space.

Silent, Mr. Nesbitt went to the desk and riffled through the drawers, but after a moment, Braddock called out.

“C’mere, miss.”

Barefoot, she padded to the cell door where he met her with a faded red bandanna he’d rolled. He held it out to her but realized she’d not be able to tie it so, awkwardly, he nodded toward her middle.

“Can I?”

Her face grew hot, but she nodded, and the big man bent intimately close as he threaded the old bandanna behind her and tied it in a knot at her waist.

“That work?”

She loosened her hold on the pants and nodded. “I think it does. Thank you.” Self-conscious, Lu stepped back. “I appreciate it, Mr. Braddock.”

The man acted as if he might speak but simply nodded, then almost dove for the far side of the cell.

When Lu turned, Miss Jarrett stood nearby.

“I think the coffee’s about done, miss, but if you don’t mind, would you drink it out on the porch so we can speak to my brother in private, please?”

Brother … Kezia Jarrett and Rion Braddock were related?

Mr. Nesbitt had paced to the stove and was pouring cups of coffee.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to collect my journal.” She pointed to the floor of the second cell where it had landed hours earlier. “Then, I’ll return to the storage room and wring water from my clothes. They’re completely saturated.”

Mr. Nesbitt carried two cups over and handed one to Miss Jarrett and the other to her. “That’ll be fine, miss.”

“Thank you.” She padded into the other cell, collected her things, and returned to the other room.

With the coffee to fuel her, she quickly jotted notes, straining to hear more. However, the three kept their voices low, preventing her from hearing as easily.

Using a wooden pail she found, Lu wrung out as much water from her own clothes as she could, then laid them out to dry wherever she could find space. Unable to hear much, Lu draped a blanket around her shoulders and worked at finger-combing the tangles from her hair, hoping she might eventually glean more nuggets.