A Season Beyond a Kiss

  “Where is she now?”

  “Upstairs sleeping. At least, she was a few moments ago. Right now, I’d rather not see her disturbed any more than she has been, if it’s at all possible, Rhys.”

  “I can talk with her later.” The sheriff reached across to the silver service and helped himself by pouring another cup of coffee. “Do you suppose Nell came out last night to have a look-see at you and your guests?”

  Jeff lent his attention to the liquid in his own cup as he silently debated his options. Though it might well incriminate him in the girl’s murder, he saw the need for further explanations. “Nell came out here to the plantation the middle of July, shortly after Brandon and I had left you and your men to search Gustav’s warehouse for stolen goods. On the porch of this very house, she accused me rather loudly of being the father of her unborn child. When my wife came out, Nell had the audacity to suggest that Raelynn and I get an annulment. At the end of July, I saw her briefly at Farrell’s where she had started working. Then, about a week ago, she came out here again, I suppose to show me that the infant bore some resemblance to me.”

  Rhys lifted his brows to a lofty height, but Jeff waved away the man’s unspoken question with a slash of his hand. Long ago he had come to the realization that his friend was very adept at coaxing people to talk. Largely by facial expressions and silently biding his time, Rhys managed to encourage confidences. Yet Jeff saw no point in withholding information about Nell’s accusations. If Rhys didn’t already know about them, then Jeff suffered no uncertainty that the man would find out the truth quickly enough. All he had to do was ask the servants working in the house. In spite of some peoples’ suppositions, no doubt arrived at because of the sheriff’s affected speech, Rhys was neither a fool nor a dimwit.

  “If the boy favors me some small whit, Rhys, then it’s because he was sired by a man who may bear some resemblance to me. I’m not the child’s father, not by any stretch of the imagination.” Jeff sighed and decided to start over from the beginning. “More than a year ago, I hired Nell on for a time to make monogrammed linens for the house. I had heard that she was talented with a needle, and as it turned out, I was very pleased with her work and paid her a good wage. One night, while I was asleep in my room, she slipped into my bed and began fondling me. When I woke up and realized what she had been doing, I sent her packing.”

  “I take it that nothing of an intimate nature happened between you.”

  “Definitely not! If Nell was a virgin when she slipped into my bed, then that’s how she left it. But as close as I came to climbing on top of her in my sleep, I didn’t dare take any chances with her being in the house. I certainly didn’t want to have to do the honorable thing by her. As soon as she had packed her belongings, Thaddeus took her into Charleston and got her a room there. Obviously it didn’t take her long to find herself a man who wouldn’t kick her out of his bed, because she had her son almost nine months to the day I let her go.”

  “Do you think she deliberately tried to get pregnant to implicate you?”

  “I really don’t know what she did. I never made any effort to understand her reasoning behind it all. She was nothing more than a child to me. Believe me, when I realized who was in bed with me, it was like taking a plunge into an icy pond.”

  “Apparently she considered herself in love with you.”

  “A brief infatuation, possibly. She would have grown out of it in time . . . if she had lived.”

  “Did you and your wife wake up at the same time this morning?”

  “No, I left her sleeping in our bed.”

  “Did she follow you down immediately after you left her?”

  “Sadly enough, no. She came later, and the way things looked at that time, I’m afraid her first impression was rather faulty.”

  “Meaning she came to the conclusion that you had killed Nell?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Have you explained to her what happened?”

  “I tried to, but she ran away and locked herself in another room.”

  “And she’s there now, asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the servants?” Townsend asked. “Were they all in their beds?”

  “All but a dozen hired men I had charged to keep watch over the roads east of us and to warn us against a possible attack from Gustav, but they were stationed too far away from the stables to see or hear anything.”

  “Do you think Gustav is somehow involved in this?”

  “It’s my earnest belief he’s in it somehow. I don’t know that he would actually pay one of his men to kill Nell just to cast the blame on me, nor do I believe that he would do such a deed himself, especially now that he has only one arm that’s of any use. With all the men who work for him, who knows what any one of them is capable of doing, given a strong enough incentive. Though it’s difficult for me to believe any of them would actually kill a girl just to get me involved, I suppose anything is possible.”

  “Didn’t Olney Hyde threaten to kill Raelynn while she was their captive?”

  “He did.”

  “I seem to recall that Gustav was pretty insistent about keeping your wife, and now it seems that Nell’s murder has driven a wedge between you two. It could be Gustav’s aim to see that division lengthened into a legal separation or possibly even your hanging.”

  “I’m sure Gustav would enjoy that, considering what we did to him that night.”

  “Olney Hyde is definitely living up to his name,” Rhys reflected ruefully. “That rascal is hiding out just like a wily fox. Although I’ve heard enough rumors to know that he’s still around, I haven’t yet been able to catch him.”

  “As I told you in late July, my wife spoke to him outside my shipping company. That’s when he told her that Gustav was sorry that I was still alive. Olney also said that his parents came here from England when he was but a boy. He boasted about being able to hide out in the swamps. Perhaps that ability comes with the name.” He offered a terse smile at his poor attempt at humor. To be certain, his heart just wasn’t in it. Every time he said his wife’s name, he was inundated by memories of her flight from the stables. “From what I’ve learned since then, Olney knows the lay of the land around here as well as anyone, if not better. In view of that fact, I’m not at all surprised he can stay hidden. The only one I know who’d be able to find him is Elijah, and I’ve already sent him out to have a look around the stables.”

  Rhys set his cup and saucer down on the tray beside him and, bracing his hands upon the arms of the leather chair, hefted himself to his feet. “It’s about time I did the same.”

  “I’ll walk out with you.”

  Upon nearing the barn, they were joined by Elijah who offered some possible theories. “Earlier rain wash some tracks away, leave ground soft for two different pair that come later,” the scout informed them. “Fancy, handmade boots make one. Other not so fancy make second pair. Both men go out back o’ stables and into paddock alongside where horse was taken. Maybe fancy boots chase other.”

  “Fancy boots certainly doesn’t sound like Olney Hyde,” Rhys muttered, glancing aside at Jeff.

  “No, more like something I would wear,” Jeff admitted. “But I haven’t been inside the paddock in several days.”

  “Let’s have a look-see at what you’ve found, Elijah,” the sheriff suggested, “and then, I’d like to hear what you make of all of this.”

  It was just as the scout had said. One pair of footprints not only resembled those that Jeff made with his own boots, but they were as close in size as identical twins. The other set of tracks had been made by a man with much larger feet and who overran his shoes along the outer edges.

  Rhys peered at Jeff. “Did you get a good look at Olney’s feet when we raided Gustav’s warehouse?”

  “I wasn’t interested in his feet,” Jeff quipped sardonically. He faced Elijah with a query. “What can you tell us from these tracks?”

  “Fancy boots came afterwards, scuffed s
hoddy ones. Fancy boots return to stable. Other ones end where hooves dig deep in mud, like when horse carries rider.”

  The sheriff glanced beyond the area in which they were standing. “Did you find any other tracks around the house or in the drive?”

  “Passage of many feet an’ horses’ hooves leave no hint of girl’s arrival. Thick, short grass on lawn around house conceal too well. Elijah could find nothing.”

  “So which pair of tracks do you think belong to the murderer?” Jeff queried, going back to their earlier topic.

  Elijah lifted his lean shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe after man murder Miss Nell, he stole horse ta escape. Someone see him in barn, give chase. Maybe true, maybe not. It could be other way just as easy.”

  “Follow the mare’s tracks,” Jeff instructed. “See where they lead. In the meantime, I’ll show the sheriff the stall where Nell was killed.”

  Rhys waved the scout off and then faced Jeff. “Let’s get this nasty business over with.”

  Jeff accompanied Rhys into the stable and stayed in the aisle outside of Ariadne’s stall as his friend examined the body and the wound. After several minutes, Rhys sat back on his haunches and glanced around at Jeff.

  “Looks like the girl was stabbed as many as three times at very close range. One gash actually looks like it stopped bleeding; at least one or both of the other two killed her.” Rhys casually scanned the area around Nell. “She hasn’t been moved or touched since you left her?”

  “No, I told Sparky to leave her be.” Jeff gestured briefly to the bloody weapon lying in the mulch. “The knife is over there. That’s where I dropped it after Raelynn became frightened.”

  Rhys lifted the weapon gingerly. The stains on the gleaming blade revealed its cruel use all too clearly. “Haven’t I seen this before?”

  “I take it with me when I go hunting,” Jeff informed him with measured care. “You probably saw it during one of our trips together. When I’m at home, I usually keep the knife on top of my desk in my bedroom to slice apart pages of new books, which, before Raelynn came along, was my habit to read at night in bed. Since I used the knife before the ball to cut a loose thread, I would assume it was taken sometime during the festivities.”

  Rhys tested the keen edge. “Pretty sharp, isn’t it, Jeff?”

  “Like I said, I take it with me when I go hunting. I keep it that way on purpose. I never know when I might venture out to get some wild game. But then, when it’s sharp, it makes a cleaner cut when I slice apart pages.”

  “It’s a handsome knife. How did you come by it?”

  “My father gave it to me on my twelfth birthday. It serves as a memento of times gone by. It always came in handy when Brandon and I used to go fishing and hunting as boys. We camped out a lot, and since I had the sharpest knife, I always got the chore of whittling down green branches to roast our food over a fire.”

  Glancing back at the dead girl, Rhys shook his head sadly. “Such a damned, beastly waste.” After a lengthy pause, he blew out his breath as if he had found this particular task especially grievous. “Once in a while I used to see Nell going into a church near my office. If I can borrow a wagon and have your men wrap her body up in a blanket, I can take her remains into Charleston and ask the pastor there if he’d perform the burial. I’m sure that would be a relief off your mind.”

  Jeff’s own breath eased outward slowly. “An immense relief, Rhys.”

  “Why don’t we go up to the house now and have a look in your bedroom while Thaddeus and Sparky take care of loading the body?”

  They were just leaving the stairs at the end of the second-story veranda when Cora came out of the French doors of the master bedroom carrying a pair of muddy boots.

  “Ah’ll have dese here boots clean fo’ yo’ in jes’ a jiffy, Mistah Jeffrey,” she announced, about to hasten away.

  “Wait a minute,” Jeff bade, delaying her with a hand upon her arm. “Where did you find those?”

  “In your bathin’ room, Mistah Jeffrey, behind de door. Ah seen ’em in dere when I was a-cleanin’. Sho surprised me ta see ’em so muddy, yo’ bein’ so particular an’ all ’bout your clothes an’ things. Don’t yo’ wants de boots cleaned, Mistah Jeffrey?”

  Jeff cast a worried glance toward Rhys. “I didn’t get them muddy.”

  “Calm yourself, my friend.” The sheriff clapped a hand upon his shoulder. “You’re not going to be convicted of a crime because of a pair of muddy boots. Now tell me, are they yours?”

  “Yes, of course, they’re mine, but I haven’t worn them in nigh to a week. And as we both can see, this mud is fairly fresh.”

  “So, in the last week someone could have taken them from your room without your being cognizant of that fact,” Rhys mused aloud. “Then, too, perhaps they did so last night, along about the time they took your knife from the desk. Were the doors of your bedchamber open all that time?”

  “Yes, of course. They’re generally left standing ajar as long as the weather permits. Last night was pleasant enough. I saw no need to close them.”

  Rhys faced the housekeeper. “Did you find anything unusual while cleaning Mr. Jeffrey’s rooms this morning, Cora?”

  The black woman nodded eagerly. “Well, suh, dere was somethin’ mighty peculiar ’bout dat snuffbox I found on de floor near Mistah Jeffrey’s desk. As far as ah know, he ain’t ne’er sniffed de stuff.”

  Arching a brow at a dubious angle, Rhys considered the tiny receptacle that she had given him. When he glanced up at the other man, a small measure of his unquenchable humor rose to the surface. “Do you sniff the snuff on occasion, my friend?”

  “Good heavens, man, no,” Jeff rejoined with an abortive laugh.

  “Does your wife?”

  Jeff rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No, dammit, at least not that I’m aware.”

  “Olney Hyde really doesn’t appear the type either,” the sheriff pondered aloud.

  “Dere was somethin’ else dat ah figgered was kinda peculiar, too,” the housekeeper volunteered.

  Jeff settled a curious stare upon his housekeeper. “What was that, Cora?”

  “Yo’ know dat wood box yo’ bought Miz Raelynn back in July?”

  “Her father’s coffer?”

  “ ‘Tweren’t no coffin, Mistah Jeffrey. Ah mean dat small, li’l box about so big,” briefly she indicated the size by spreading her hands, “what was a-settin’ on top o’ Miz Raelynn’s chest o’ drawers.”

  “I know the one, Cora,” Jeff assured her with an amused smile, his first for the day. “What about it?”

  “Well, suh, ah found it on your desk, an’ it looked ta me like somebody done took a knife an’ tried to pry open de seams in de bottom.”

  “But it was unlocked.”

  “Ah knows dat, Mistah Jeffrey, but jes’ de same, dey chiseled holes in de wood linin’ de very bottom.”

  Jeff glanced toward his desk in search of the chest but found it gone. “Where is the coffer now?”

  “If’n yo’ means de box, ah took it downstairs ta see if’n Kingston could smooth out de gouges.”

  “I’d like to see it,” the sheriff informed her. “Can you fetch it for me, Cora?”

  “Sho thing, Mistah Rhys. Ah’ll go be back directly.”

  Rhys faced Jeff. “You said this box belonged to Raelynn’s father?”

  “Yes, we found it in an import shop. Cooper Frye obviously sold it to the shopkeeper shortly after their ship docked.”

  “Cooper Frye is her uncle, is he not?”

  “Raelynn doesn’t want to admit that, but the man claims to be. Supposedly he was lost at sea at an early age and came back to England a few months before Raelynn’s father died. From there, Raelynn, her mother and Cooper Frye sailed here to the Carolinas.”

  Cora returned with the coffer in short order and gave it over to the sheriff. Just as she had said, the wood in the bottom of the interior had been seriously pitted.

  Rhys examined the box for a moment and then
shook it near his ear. “I don’t know why anyone would mar the inside. There doesn’t seem to be a secret compartment. If there is, it certainly doesn’t sound as if there’s anything in it.”

  Jeff looked the coffer over briefly and came to the same conclusion.

  “I’d really like to talk with Raelynn now, Jeffrey,” his friend said. “Perhaps she’d know why someone tampered with the box.”

  RAELYNN LET THE SILKEN DRAPERY FLUTTER FROM HER hand as she stepped away from the French doors. She had heard the sheriff’s arrival and, through the glass paned portals, had seen him accompany her husband to the stables. Upon their return, she had hoped that the lawman would be leaving. She desperately wanted, nay needed, more time to reclaim her composure before confronting Jeff about what had happened in the stables, but it seemed that that reprieve was not to be granted. Already she heard hurrying footsteps approaching her room. A moment later Cora scratched on the door.

  “Miz Raelynn, Mistah Jeffrey say de sheriff wants ta speak wit’ yo’. Dey’d like for yo’ ta come down directly ta de study.”

  “Send Tizzy upstairs to help me dress,” Raelynn instructed through the portal. “I’m still in my nightgown.”

  “Yas’m, ah’ll tell de sheriff he gonna have ta wait awhile afore yo’re able ta come down.”

  Half an hour later, Raelynn paused at the foot of the stairs to listen to the low timbre of male voices drifting from the study. To stand before Jeff now, remembering how he had looked in the stall, would be extremely difficult for her. Her emotions were fraught with her own terrible fears and suspicions. As Jeff’s wife, she knew she should have been more loyal and believed him incapable of murder, yet the fact remained, the image of him standing above Nell with a bloody knife in his hand had been forged into her memory as solidly as an iron spike driven into a timber.

  When Raelynn entered, Jeff promptly left his seat and, in a gentlemanly manner, came around to hold a chair for her. Rhys had also risen from the edge of the desk where he had been leaning. His eyes followed her until she had settled herself stiltedly into the proffered chair.