Page 5 of Love and Order

CHAPTER 5

Joe chafed. How had he not realized?

Callie Wilson was presently looking through his files. He’d prefer to be there with her, calling attention to various details. But she’d encouraged him to return to the cabin before anyone else did. And he knew it wouldn’t have been appropriate for him to sit in Callie’s room any longer. He’d given Mrs. Ingram the story that they were old acquaintances—which was true—but they needed to keep an appropriate distance. Not spend endless hours together for seemingly no reason. Besides, she’d said she would rather read the files privately and think on them without him inserting his own slant. She promised they’d talk once she’d read it all.

He’d had no time to write up the previous few days’ happenings, although she’d been in town for those and wouldn’t need his chicken scratch to understand. But he had to get them recorded. He’d rehearsed the details so he wouldn’t forget anything. Soiled dove Sarah Jacobs, also known as Sweet Serafina, approximate age thirty, was killed in the secluded cabin a mile from Cambria Springs. Just as the other victims had been, her body had been peppered with multiple stab wounds—in her case, thirteen.

It would have been so helpful to see the body at the scene, but as chance had it, he’d ridden out of town the morning she’d been discovered, and Downing had taken it upon himself to deliver the corpse to the barber-turned-undertaker before he returned. So he’d missed seeing the woman where she was killed. And because Downing didn’t know Callie was also a Pinkerton, she hadn’t been notified. With the damage wild animals had done to Miss Jacobs’ body, the lawman had her buried immediately, so short of exhuming the corpse—which would raise questions they couldn’t afford—neither he nor Callie had seen her, at the scene or afterward.

Worse, no one could definitively describe the man Serafina had last been with.

Of all the luck.

His mind drifted to the cabin. He’d take another look at the interior, but especially scout the outside. He and Callie hadn’t had time to explore the yard before the sheriff arrived—and then the rider scattered their horses. He forced his mind to that incident. Was that the murderer, and if so, what had he accomplished by scattering their horses? He’d only delayed them. There was no guarantee he was the culprit. More likely, Downing was right—it was some drunken fool sowing his oats.

But was it?

This was the first time they were able to get to the crime scene soon after the murder, at least since the first two in Chicago and St. Louis. All the others had been more remote. Two deaths had occurred in this area in the past three months, so the murderer could still be near. He’d had the distinct feeling, as they traipsed through the woods the previous afternoon, that they were being watched. Nothing specific, just that old heaviness between his shoulder blades. Like during the war.

This case had him on edge unlike any he’d worked—but why?

Because women were being stabbed, and their bodies left to the elements—and the trail kept going cold until another body turned up. That would serve to remind him there was still a killer victimizing women of all sorts. Those with connections, like the first woman. Those with no connections, like the prostitutes. And those in between—women with families, children who depended on them. He didn’t want any chance that Callie Wilson would end up on that list, because … durn it all, he liked her.

His face heated.

“Rusty …”

His horse swiveled an ear toward him.

“I’m a blasted fool.”

Joe rode into the clearing. The cabin stood just as they’d left it. He dismounted and, this time, tied Rusty to a tree, not wanting him to run off again. Then, he paced the clearing, looking for the black horse’s hoofprints. It took some time to seek out the trail the rider had cut through the cabin’s yard, but once he found a track, partially obscured by grass, he bent and studied it. Not the best imprint.

He sighed, scanning for more tracks. The grass was thick enough to prevent leaving a clear print. He found a few other incomplete ones as he meandered back toward the trees. The nearer he got to the foliage, though, the less formed the tracks became until they petered out altogether beyond the tree line.

He looked at the cabin, mentally placing himself inside it when the horse had burst into the clearing. He was looking in the right place, yet there were no tracks. Not wanting to get too far from his horse, he moved down the path into the trees. The only tracks were Rusty’s, those he’d just made. He tapped his toe in frustration then stalked across the clearing, headed toward the path they’d taken in pursuit of their scattered horses.

No tracks. None. Not the mystery horse’s, nor their mounts’. Not even a boot print. And they’d left plenty last night. Snatching his hat from his head, he ran his fingers through his hair. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to be sure there were none to find.

“What am I dealing with … a ghost?”

Moving carefully, Callie washed, dressed in a summery yellow calico, and then arranged her hair. Grabbing her satchel, she headed toward the door but stopped.

Her derringer …

When Mr. Pinkerton sent her west, she’d promised she’d carry it wherever she went. Had Mrs. Ingram found it? Turning back, she checked the drawer in the bedside table. Empty. Callie checked the blue dress she’d worn yesterday, and her breath whooshed out when she found it still concealed in the pocket.

After checking the diminutive weapon, she looked at the odd white stains on her blue dress. At the time, she’d thought it was bird droppings, but now she wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t just one splotch. Instead, white marks crisscrossed the blue material in thin, sweeping lines. Was it sap from some ground plant? Hardly likely it was a bird’s leavings … She needed to attend to the stains before they set permanently. But after hours of deciphering Joe’s notes, copying some and summarizing others, her eyes needed a rest. She’d go through the rest this evening before returning them. So, despite her stiff, sore muscles, she was going out. She ought to wash the dress, but a walk outside sounded more appealing—and easier.

Heading downstairs, Callie called out for Mrs. Ingram, who appeared from the direction of the kitchen.

“Dear girl, you shouldn’t be up.”

“I can’t stay in bed any longer. I’m going to check on Lady at the livery.”

“I’d feel better if you had someone with you, but Hattie’s the only one here.”

“You needn’t send an escort. I’m fine. Just stiff. The walk will do me good.”

Concern creased her brow. “All right, then, but please be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you need anything while I’m out?”

“No, child. Enjoy your walk. You’re going just to the livery and back?”

She would be watching and listening for anything pertaining to her case. “That depends on whether I see anything I’d like to draw.” She patted her satchel. “I won’t leave town, and I’ll be back long before the evening meal.”

“That’s what I needed to hear.” The woman patted her arm. “Enjoy your stroll, dear.”

“Thank you.” She exited the house and smiled at the lone gentleman who tipped his hat as he drove past in a buggy. The walk to the livery was uneventful, with few people on the street. Odd. Were they so spooked by the recent murder they’d gone into hiding? The same street hadn’t seemed sparsely populated the day before when she’d headed out.

Upon reaching the stable’s entrance, the hostler met her.

“Can I help you?”

“I’d like to look around.”

He shrugged. “You looking for something particular? Maybe I can point you to it.”

“I wanted to look in on my gray mare, Lady. And … while I was out riding yesterday, I saw an especially beautiful black with three white stockings. Would you happen to know such a horse?”

The hostler thought. “You can look around, if you like, but I don’t reckon we got any black horses like you describe. The only gray we got is in that second row on the left. ’Bout halfway down. But she was brought in by a dark-haired fella last night, along with a chestnut.”

“Yes. Mr. Nesbitt. He’s a friend.”

“All right, then. The gray mare’s that way.” He waved again. “Let me know iffen you need something, Miss.”

She turned toward the nearest row. Lord, please let me find the horse from yesterday.

She walked up and down the rows, pausing at any stall containing a black horse—and there were few enough of them. Not finding the horse, she sighed. As she reached Lady’s stall, disappointment wound through her. She hadn’t really expected such a break to come easily, but she could hope.

Lady greeted her with a nicker. Joe had taken good care of her. Lady’s coat shone like she’d been brushed well. Her stall was clean and dry, and she was in good spirits. She spent several minutes with the horse before leaving the livery—this time, headed toward the mercantile.

As she turned onto Center Street, she noted the strange sound of a pipe organ playing a lively tune, and near the town square, a larger-than-average crowd. This must be where all the people had gone. Folks on foot had gathered around some central point, and farther back, men on horseback watched while interspersed among the waiting wagons with people standing in the beds, craning to see over the crowd.

A pipe organ … What was the attraction? She tried to put on some speed, but the lingering stiffness reminded her to take it easy. It would take time to regain her normal pace and abilities.

As she drew nearer, the lively music ceased and a booming voice, thickly accented with an English lilt, rose above the murmuring crowd. At the center of the melee was a dark-haired gentleman in a suit standing near a line of strange, boxy wagons, each painted red with black-and-gold accents. Though she was too far away to hear the man’s words, he obviously beckoned people to come near. The crowd complied. As she approached, the bold words on the wagons’ sides, painted in gold, came into focus.

D R . C HELLINGWORTH’S H EAVEN -S ENT M IRACLE E LIXIR

A medicine show? She’d heard of them, but she’d never seen one. This could be a fortunate turn. With so many people gathered, she could get a feel for the townsfolk—something she’d not been able to do since her arrival.

She meandered toward the swelling crowd, scanning for a spot where she might see some of the goings-on.