11th Hour Rose (2 page)

“Do you believe him?”

“If she was he didn’t have any idea.” Davy’s gut clenched with familiar anguish. Frank’s devastation had been real. So real it had sent Davy reeling back to the darkest day of his life.

A hearty rap on the door broke Davy from the depressing chain of thought. The portal opened, admitting none other than his younger brother, Craig Langston.

“Doc.” George stood. “What can we do for you this morning?”

“Sheriff. Davy.” Craig nodded in greeting, his expression somber. “I’m glad you’re both here.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his inner breast pocket. “I found something on Susannah Jensen that you need to see right away.”

Davy rose, striding instantly to his brother. As a respected physician in Charleston, Craig and his partner, James Rowe, had examined each of the recent murder victims, lending their professional expertise to the search for clues.

“This letter was to Mrs. Jensen.” He handed the folded page to Davy. “Given the circumstances, the contents are fairly alarming.”

Davy unfolded the paper and glanced quickly down the hastily scrawled note.

                                          My dearest Susannah,

Tonight we begin the rest of our lives. Forever together. Meet me at the crossroad by the orchard at nine o’clock.

              —Bram

             
It appeared Susie Jensen had been having an affair after all. David passed the note to the sheriff. “We may have the name of a suspect.”

              George’s brow furrowed. “That is where we found Mrs. Jensen, but who the hell is Bram?”

              “If we knew that, the case would be solved,” Davy quipped dryly. He turned back to his brother. “Craig, thank you. This is a tremendous break.” Though it opened the door to a flood of new questions.

              “Of course,” Craig replied seriously. “If there is anything else you need…”

              Davy nodded before plucking his hat from the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some uncomfortable questions to ask people.”

              “Davy.” Craig’s voice stopped him before he reached the door. “In light of recent events, my wife would like to know if you’re still planning to have dinner with us tonight.”

              “Don’t plan on it,” he replied, tipping his hat in subtle salute before striding through the door.

“You’re welcome to stop by if you have the chance,” Craig called after him. “Curtis and Cadence will be there with the girls.”

Davy cringed, pretending not to hear the last as guilt slammed him square in the gut. His sister-in-law had given birth to twin daughters two weeks ago and Davy was yet to pay his respects. He’d been busy with work—two murders and now a third. No one would suspect the truth, that deep down he didn’t want to be reminded of all that had been ripped from his fingers eight years before. He would make a point of visiting Curtis this week.

Davy shook off the depressing train of thought and traversed the city streets, focusing on the investigation.
Bram
. He needed to ask friends and family of the other victims if they’d mentioned anyone by that name. He’d start with Elizabeth Hatchet. Her daughter Clara had been the first girl murdered a little over three weeks ago. He approached the widow’s modest house and paused, observing the small black ribbon tied to the door handle. His mood dropped from sour to black as he mounted the steps and then banged the brass knocker.

              The oak door opened a crack, revealing Mrs. Hatchet’s tearstained face.

              He removed his hat and bowed his head respectfully. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“What can I do for you, Marshal Langston?” Her voice was tired and strained.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to ask a few more questions regarding your daughter.”

Her eyes hardened. “I just finished answering questions this morning, Marshal. You law people need to decide who’s coming and when.”

Finished? Who had spoken with her today?
Not Sheriff Hudson. “Mrs. Hatchet, I assure you, we have no intention of disturbing you unless absolutely necessary, but—”

“You also assured me you’d catch the man who killed my daughter. Do not come back here until you do.” Mrs. Hatchet promptly slammed the door in his face.

He stood for a moment stunned, blinking twice before remembering to snap his mouth shut. Confused, he raked a hand through his hair and turned back toward the street. “What the hell?” Almost instantly his gaze collided with a tall sender figure, dressed in a simple blue day dress sashaying busily down the street. An involuntary growl rumbled deep in his chest as his fists balled in irritation and anger. “Lilly!”

Lilly Hudson’s strawberry blonde head did not so much as bobble in acknowledgement.

“Lilly,” he barked once more, stalking down the steps and into the road. He closed in on her with ground eating strides. “What are you doing here?”

She stopped abruptly as though startled by his gruff manner and faced him. “I was questioning Mrs. Hatchet,” she replied matter-of-factly.

David speared her with his most lethal glare. “I am aware of that. What I’d like to know is why?”

Her nose inclined to a haughty level, clear blue eyes sparking in challenge against his. “She is a potential material witness, and has valuable information as to the whereabouts of her daughter immediately before the murder. Now that we’ve had a third murder everything
must be reevaluated.”

A sound trapped somewhere between a guttural growl and a gurgle bubbled from his throat.
As if he didn’t know that.
Now Mrs. Hatchet wouldn’t speak to him. “
We
are not reevaluating anything.” He tugged impatiently on the brim of his hat and looked from the infuriating woman standing before him, to the Hatchet’s porch. Lilly was impossible. And nosy. With this electric way of moving that grated his last nerve.

“David—”

He snapped a silencing hand through the air—a technique he’d learned at
West Point
and perfected in his subsequent military career. He drew a ragged breath in an attempt to cool his flaring temper. In all, he considered himself a good-humored man, not patient, but good-humored nonetheless. So what was it about Lilly that set his every last nerve on the fray? He knew the sudden and extremely childish urge to yank her hair. He’d never had a sister it might be fun, perhaps even satisfying. Lilly was the closest thing to sisterly sibling rivalry he’d ever known, and it had been that way with every investigation for the last two years
.
Two miserable, agonizingly long years. “Did you at least write anything down from your interview?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I always keep detailed notes.”

“Good.” He held out a hand. “Give them to me.”

She clutched a blue cloth satchel to her chest. “Absolutely not. I’m more than happy to share information with you.”

“I wouldn’t need you to share information if you would stay away from my witnesses. Mrs. Hatchet won’t speak to me now that she’s answered all of your questions.” For emphasis he glared at the porch he’d just vacated. “Seeing as you are not officially investigating this case I think you could do us all a favor and hand your interview notes over cooperatively, for once.”

Her eyes shifted from his face, to the porch, and back again, but her fingers did not relax the death grip on her satchel.

“Give them to me.”

“No!” She half turned as he stepped forward attempting to grab the bag. “I am more than happy to show you my interview notes, but I’m not going to hand them over just because you’re behaving like an incorrigible brute.”

“Come, Lilly. Is that really the best insult you can muster?”

“The words I would like to use are hardly appropriate for the middle of a city street.”

“Ah, yes, and you’re such a lady.”

For just a moment her eyes flashed hot red and he knew the immense satisfaction of having pushed her over the edge. “Go to the devil you overbearing horse’s ass.”

“Now that’s an insult,” he mocked, swiftly reaching an arm across her shoulder, and snatching the satchel from her grasp.

“David.” She whirled. “Give that back.”

“Go home, Lilly.” He rifled through the satchel until he found her interview notes. “Now.”

“That’s stealing.” She crossed her arms, fixing him with a withering glare.

“It’s not stealing.” He rattled the papers in front of her face, taunting her. “I’m confiscating these as evidence. Leave.”

“No.”

“What do you mean
no
? You have no right and no authorization to be questioning witnesses. Now that Mrs. Hatchet is refusing to answer more questions you could have compromised the entire investigation.” Grabbing her elbow Davy, steered her bodily toward the sidewalk.

Defiant, she yanked away from him. “Your size doesn’t intimidate me, Marshal Langston.” She stepped forward to prove her point. “I could help if you’d allow it.”

“Help me?” He barked with ironic laughter. “You are nothing more than a thorn in my side.”

“Only because you’re so stubborn. And that is beside the point because I have a lead, Marshal Langston.”

He growled shaking his head. “Very well, Lilly. What is it you
think
you have?”

“I spoke with Clara Hatchet’s mother, Janet Carlisle’s mother, and Susie’s sister–”

“Wait a minute.” His hand sliced through the air once more, silencing her. “You spoke with all of them?” David glanced down at the notes clutched in his hand. “When did you start?”

“This morning.” Her eyes blinked innocently.

Well, he couldn’t fault her for efficiency. “Go on.”

“I found a common thread in the activity of the women.” She paused, presumably for dramatic effect, but Davy would just as soon have throttled her. “All three of them visited the dressmaker the week they were killed.”

“Jesus, Lilly. The dressmaker?” He clenched a fist in exasperation. “Hundreds of women visit a seamstress every week. That is flimsy happenstance at best.”

“But—”

“But nothing. This morning new evidence came to our attention. Possibly the name of a suspect. We’re not sure what it means yet, but now that you’ve harassed all of our witnesses the entire investigation may be delayed.”

She gulped, looking chagrined.
Finally.
“Oh.”

“There are specific questions I need to ask. Do you see now why you cannot run about half-cocked playing lawman?”

She flushed. “I didn’t know. I-I thought…”

“No, Lilly, you didn’t think. That is the problem.”

Lilly fell silent for a long moment. “You have the name of a suspect?” Any remorse at having compromised his investigation fled from her expression.

“None that you need know of.”

“Come.” She linked her arm through his, taking him completely by surprise and tugging him into the street, back toward the Hatchet’s house. “I have an idea.”

Tenacious.
There was no other word to describe the woman, except perhaps
impulsive.
Tenacious
and
Impulsive. What the hell was she thinking to go back to the Hatchet’s? “Lilly. Lilly, wait.” Davy dropped her arm and caught her fingers, dragging her to a halt. “What are you about?”

“Securing your interview.” She dropped his hand, darting quickly up the porch steps. Before he could stop her, she rapped on the door.

Davy approached from behind more than prepared to physically haul her from the porch if necessary.

The portal yanked open and Mrs. Hatchet flicked a cool glare from Lilly to David. “I told you not to come back.” She swung the heavy door as though to shut it, but at the last moment Lilly stuck her foot out, blocking the door open a few inches.

She smiled sweetly at the older woman. “Do forgive me for interrupting your morning again, Mrs. Hatchet, but Marshal Langston has just informed me of the most exciting news. It seems the name of a suspect has come to our attention just this morning.” Pure honey, thick and sweet, ran through her words. Lilly leaned into Mrs. Hatchet, her manner conspiratorial, but also completely genuine. “I cannot divulge too much at this time you understand, but would you be good enough to grant Marshal Langston a bit of your time?”

Mrs. Hatchet hesitated as her shrewd gaze sliced from Lilly to Davy. Finally she stepped back from the door and sighed. “Very well. It doesn’t seem you’ll see fit to leave me in peace anyhow.”

Grudgingly impressed, Davy removed his hat and followed Lilly into the house. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hatchet led them along the hall to a small, tidy parlor. “Mary,” Mrs. Hatchet called. “Bring lemonade please.”

Their hostess sat in a cushioned chair by the door while Lilly perched on the love seat. Davy waited for the women to settle themselves, contemplating the only chair left in the room—a narrow armed rocker, he’d never fit in it. He hesitated, pondering the best course of action. He couldn’t very well ask one of the women to move and he didn’t want to conduct the interview standing and risk intimidating Mrs. Hatchet. His gaze shifted to the open seat beside Lilly. There was no choice.

Davy crossed the small parlor and sat directly beside Lilly on the loveseat. The sofa was long enough to accommodate both of them but not so much as to prevent her thigh from pressing the length of his or their arms from brushing. She glanced up to him, startled, and for a moment her baby blue eyes locked on his.
Diamond eyes.
Her full skirt wrapped around his leg, and the sofa—the entire room—
shrank.
Thick dark lashes fringed wide round eyes and—

Lilly blinked, quickly looking away, successfully pulling Davy back to the task at hand. He gave himself a mental shake and ignored the intimacy of their seating arrangement.

“Mrs. Hatchet, before we begin, I must ask that you keep our conversation private,” he said seriously.

The older woman nodded, fatigue lining her visage though she kept her chin up and shoulders squared.