An Untimely Frost (12 page)

C
HAPTER
21

A
sa Mayhew watched Lilly cross the street to the restaurant. Once she was inside, he turned and went into the telegraph office.

“Hello, Sheriff,” the telegraph operator said. “How've you been?”

“Fine, Charles. You?”

“Very well. What can I do for you this afternoon?”

“The lady who was just in here. Did she send something?”

“Sure did. Message went to St. Louis. Who is she anyway?”

“She's a Pinkerton agent trying to locate a missing person.”

Charles Presley's eyes grew wide behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. He gave a
tsking
sound. “A Pinkerton agent! What's the world coming to?”

“Going to hell in a handbasket, that's for sure,” Mayhew said by way of agreement.

“Who's she looking for?”

“Reverend Harold Purcell and his family,” Mayhew supplied. “I doubt you'd remember them. You'd have been just a kid when they lived here.”

“I don't remember them, but I've heard the talk,” Presley said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “None of it good. I can't imagine any preacher stealing from his flock.”

“Me either. Anyway, people around here just want to forget the past, and she's running all over town stirring up old memories.”

Mayhew offered the younger man a conspiratorial, manto-man smile. “I don't suppose you could tell me what was in the message she sent?” Seeing the reluctance on Presley's face, the sheriff softened the request. “I know you're not supposed to blab about that stuff, but it would sure put everyone's mind at ease if I knew she planned to be moving on soon. The quicker she finds what she's lookin' for, the sooner she'll leave town.”

Charles Presley nodded. “I understand.” He turned and reached for the piece of paper that held Lilly's message and handed it to the sheriff. “It went to someone called Pierce Wainwright. Sounds like she's on to something, doesn't it?”

Mayhew read the cryptic message aloud.
“Finally know everything after so many years. Two died instead of one. Will explain when next we meet.”

“Do you think this Wainwright person is the one who wants to buy Heaven's Gate?”

“I don't know,” Mayhew said, jotting down the message and then handing the original back to Presley. What was going on? What had Miss Long stumbled across out at Heaven's Gate that led her to believe that Prudence and Sarah had both been killed there? No doubt about it, the Pinkerton lady was smarter than he'd given her credit for, and sure enough bore closer watching.

“Let me know if she gets a reply, will you?” he asked the telegraph operator.

Presley rubbed his palms down his pants legs. “Sure thing, Sheriff. Sure thing.”

C
HAPTER
22

T
hough she wasn't all that hungry so soon after her meal, Lilly crossed the street and returned to the café, choosing a seat where she could watch Sheriff Mayhew's actions. He'd been passing by when she'd barreled into him, so the only reason he would go inside would be to snoop around about the message she'd sent. She forked up a bite of raisin pie and smiled with a sort of perverse satisfaction. Well, he wouldn't get much information from the brief missive she'd sent to Pierce. Let him make of it what he would. She might have been more forthcoming about her progress into the investigation if he had been more helpful to her.

A few moments later, she watched him exit the office and don his western-style hat. Even from across the street, Lilly could see the dissatisfaction on his face. He glanced down at a small piece of paper in his hand and then stared at the restaurant. Lilly was glad she was seated at one side of the window where it was doubtful he could spot her. Then he stuffed the paper into his breast pocket and headed down the street. Lilly had little doubt that the message she'd sent to Pierce was on the scrap of paper, and wondered what he thought of her mysterious comment. Amused that he was checking up on her, she paid for her refreshment and went toward her final stop of the day, Eloise Mercer's place.

The small house where the town's shady lady lived and plied her trade was a shotgun affair, with a sagging roof, peeling paint, and a rotting porch with an ancient canine lying near the door. Lilly approached the porch warily, uncertain of her reception from the mongrel. But he only lifted his head to regard her with milky eyes and thumped his tail by way of a welcome.

Eloise Mercer answered Lilly's knock promptly. Though it was late afternoon, she was wearing a faded pink seersucker wrapper over little else if Lilly had to guess. Near Virginia Holbrook's age, the years had not been so gentle with Eloise Mercer. Her dull brown hair was tangled, and powder caked the lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes. Her face was puffy from too much sleep and too much liquor. Indeed, she held a glass of some golden liquid in one hand and a pungent-smelling cigarillo in the other.

Drunker than Cooter Brown, she seemed to float in a smoke and alcohol cloud. Like Colleen McKenna, there was a hard edge about her, yet the challenging lift of her chin seemed to dare Lilly to find fault. Instead, she found herself comparing the stranger to the house at Heaven's Gate. Even with years of misspent living having taken its toll, it was obvious that Eloise Mercer had once been quite beautiful.

“Miss Mercer?” Lilly said with a slight smile, holding out her badge. “My name is Lilly Long, with the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. I was wondering if I might ask you a few questions.”

The woman's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “It's Mrs. Mercer,” she corrected. “Why on earth would you need to talk to me?”

Lilly wasn't sure why the news that Eloise was married was such a surprise. Tamping down her curiosity, she went into her spiel about the potential buyers and their inability to locate the Purcells. “I saw your name on the church membership roll and wondered if you could tell me anything about him or his family.”

Without a word, Eloise Mercer stepped aside. Encouraged, Lilly entered the small, shadow-shrouded parlor. The obese yellow cat dozing in a nearby chair raised its head to peer at her through squinted eyes. Like the dog, it reached the conclusion that she was of no importance, lowered its head, and closed its eyes once more; the loud sound of its purring seeming to vibrate the chair itself.

Clothing, dirty glasses, and various other bits and pieces of clutter littered every surface. The furnishings, though once nice enough, had grown shabby with time and lack of care. A fire smoldered in a fireplace whose chimney needed cleaning, if the smoky interior was any indication. The closeness of the room emphasized the woman's discomforting odor. While all Lilly's senses rebelled, she couldn't deny a pang of sympathy, an emotion she knew instinctively would not endear her to Eloise Mercer.

“Have a seat,” her hostess said, scooping up the cat.

Lilly regarded the fine covering of cat hair in the chair's sagging cushion and the questionable blob of something on the arm. “Thank you,” she said, “but I'm a bit chilled. I'll just stand by the fire.”

“Suit yourself.” Eloise sat in the chair and settled the cat on her lap.

“So you want to know about the Reverend Purcell.” Smiling a smile that could only be described as derisive, Eloise drew deeply on the slender cigarillo, but the cloak of bravado she wore didn't obscure the torment in her eyes, a look Lilly had seen too often in her own eyes after marrying Timothy Warner.

“Any information you may have about him or his family would be greatly appreciated. For whatever reasons, those I've talked with so far have been a bit close-mouthed about him, including the sheriff.”

Eloise laughed and took another deep draw that sent her into a fit of coughing. When the spell passed, she said, “Well, Pa never was too fond of the preacher.”

A jolt of surprise widened Lilly's eyes. “Sheriff Mayhew is your father?”

“Oh, yes.” Eloise gave a grandiose wave of the hand that held the glass of liquor. “Asa Mayhew, citizen of the year. Deacon in the church. Pillar of the community. Hypocrite.” This time, instead of favoring the smoke, she lifted the glass to her lips.

Deciding that it was wiser to leave that insult alone, Lilly said only, “I admit your father didn't seem overly fond of Reverend Purcell, though he didn't say anything overt against him.”

“Of course he didn't.” Eloise didn't elaborate, just sat there looking at Lilly with that direct, challenging gaze.

At a bit of a loss as to how to continue, she said, “I suppose it's natural for people to be hesitant about discussing him after the way he took advantage of the congregation.”

Eloise's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Oh, no, good Christians that they are, they wouldn't want to speak ill of anyone.”

She stood, dumping the cat to the floor, where he landed squarely on his feet. Heading toward the fireplace, Lilly's hostess flung the small remainder of tobacco into the halfhearted blaze and turned to face her. Lilly resisted the urge to take a step back.

“Fortunately for you, I have no such problem, departed as I am from the narrow path,” she said with a bit of bravado.

Lilly wasn't sure when she'd ever felt so uncomfortable in someone's presence. Not even Colleen had made her squirm so. Eloise Mercer had a “devil take you” attitude that was as fascinating as it was disturbing.

Without warning, she proceeded to call Harold Purcell names Lilly had seldom heard, even among the theater troupe, whose language was often as colorful as a sailor's. “He was a taker,” Eloise said finally, her hate-filled gaze daring Lilly to look away, daring her to say otherwise. “A taker, and a user and a leaver. He tore apart a lot of families in this town, and I pray to God he rots in hell.”

“What do you mean, tore apart?”

“You seem like a smart woman, detective lady. Figure it out. Now get out of here. I have a friend stopping by after work.”

Startled by the venom in the woman's voice and unable to make sense of what she'd said, Lilly did as she was told and headed for the door. Standing in the aperture, she turned. “Did he ever mention to you where he'd come from, or where he might have gone, or wanted to go?”

“Not to me.”

“Can you tell me if there was anyone in town he was particularly close to whom he might have confided in?”

“I suspect he was
close
to a good many people, Miss Long, and he did them all wrong.”

Struggling to make sense of the statement, Lilly murmured a soft “Thank you” and closed the door behind her. She stood on the small covered stoop, her mind whirling. Standing on Eloise's front porch, Lilly decided to call it a day and think through the things she'd learned. She wondered what could have happened to bring Eloise Mercer to this point in her life, and how Harold Purcell, charismatic, well-prepared, knowledgeable preacher . . .

. . .
and thief . . .

. . . could have ignited such hate in her.

On her way to the hotel, Lilly stopped by the telegraph office again, this time sending a message to William, telling him she would soon exhaust her leads in Vandalia and that she planned to go to Springfield in two days. She didn't fail to notice that—thanks to the sheriff's visit—the telegraph operator regarded her with a speculative gleam in his eyes that had not been there earlier. Nor did she doubt that as soon as she was out of sight that the man would waste no time informing the sheriff of her plans. She smiled. She really didn't care if he knew where she was going or when.

It wasn't that she expected to find the Purcells in Springfield, but since more than one person had mentioned the city in connection to treatment of Sarah's illness, it was worth checking out. Besides, she had no idea where to go next, and she hated to admit defeat. She would explore every possible avenue before giving up and returning to Chicago.

Telegram sent, she started back to the hotel, mentally exhausted from trying to make sense of what she'd learned, physically weary from walking all over God's creation, and emotionally spent from the inexplicable sorrow she felt in the presence of Eloise Mercer.

What she needed was respite from the questions and speculation roiling around in her mind, but she wouldn't get any real relief until the following evening when she attended the play her friend Lenora Nash was performing at the Fehren. Nora, a competent actress a few years older than Lilly, had been with the troupe in the days when Arnold Feldman managed—or mismanaged—the company. She'd left several months before Arnold absconded with their funds and Pierce had taken over the ensemble. Lilly had always liked the spunky, freckle-faced Nora, who lived life with an enviable zest.

Unlike the once-beautiful Eloise.
Blast it all! Why couldn't she forget Eloise Mercer? Poor thing. She'd had a husband at some time. Lilly wondered if he still lived in town. Had they parted because she possessed loose morals, or had his poor treatment of her caused her to turn her back on decency? As a young, impressionable girl, had her faith been crushed when she realized that the very man who was supposed to be helping her to heaven had lied and stolen from his flock? Is that why she'd given up on God?

She had no idea what lay behind the woman's hatred of Harold Purcell, but she understood well the anger and disappointment at realizing someone you cared for had feet of clay. Kate had been one of those people. When Lilly had grown up enough to understand the meaning of the parade of men who'd shared her mother's bed and understand the circumstances of her conception, Kate had become one of those people. Lilly's feelings for Kate had undergone a drastic change, and for a while, she'd detested her mother. Despised what she'd done, what she was. She'd even hated her mother for getting herself killed.

As a woman grown, Lilly realized that it had taken a lot of courage for Kate to accept the scorn of society by bearing a child out of wedlock rather than take vows she'd known she couldn't keep. At least her mother had possessed enough maternal instinct to not end Lilly's life by swilling a potion of pennyroyal or seeking out some quack to gouge her unplanned child from the womb. Neither had her mother left her on the doorstep of some orphanage in one of the cities the troupe passed through.

Fighting the wave of depression that always accompanied memories of Kate, Lilly forced her thoughts back to Eloise Mercer and her puzzling comments. What had happened between her and her father? Was her chosen occupation the wedge that had driven them apart the way she'd felt separated from Kate? What had Eloise meant when she said Harold Purcell tore families apart and that the reverend was
close
to a lot of people and wronged each and every one? The most obvious possibility was that he'd dallied with the women of his congregation, but thus far that was pure speculation on Lilly's part. Not a breath of such a suggestion had crossed anyone's lips.

All she really knew was that the more questions she asked, the more were raised, and so far, no one had given her any clue to where the Purcells might have gone. Which left only Springfield on the off chance they had gone there to seek treatment for Sarah.

Shoulders slumped, footsteps dragging, she stopped to peer in a window filled with spring dresses in pastel prints. As she stood there, she again felt the eerie sensation of being watched. Not wanting to alert the observer, she used the storefront glass as a mirror, trying to spot someone who was paying her undue attention. She saw no one.

She ground her teeth in frustration. She was exhausted, and her mind was a muddle of unanswered questions and old memories. She didn't need some phantom following her. Squaring her shoulders, she turned and started toward the hotel. Passing by the Presbyterian Church at the corner of Main and Third Streets, she walked south along the courthouse block. A wagon loaded with grain-filled gunnysacks headed east on Gallatin, and a man crossed Third. Something about him seemed familiar. At the corner, he unrolled a paper and began nailing it to a tree.

Drawing closer, Lilly saw that the broadside touted a boxing match on Friday afternoon on the courthouse square. She realized that the man doing the nailing was none other than the one she'd bumped into on the train. Somehow she wasn't surprised to learn that he was one of the rowdy boxers who'd kept her from getting any sleep.

Hoping to pass without him noticing her, she started around him, giving him a wide berth. At that precise moment, he stepped back a couple of paces to check his handiwork and almost knocked her over. She staggered backward, the books she was carrying tumbling to the ground. Once again, he turned and grasped her shoulders to steady her.