Herald Of Death

by Kate Kingsbury

  Yet she did know Madeline’s powers. She had seen them for herself. As close as she was to the fire, Cecily shivered. She had dealt with killers of all kinds, and in many forms, yet this one seemed to pose more threat than any of them.

  Maybe Baxter was right. Maybe this time she was taking on more peril than was wise. Part of her wanted to heed her husband’s warnings and let P.C. Northcott take care of the murders, as was his duty.

  Cecily leaned back and closed her eyes. She must be getting old, to allow such weakness. This was one of the most interesting cases to come her way. Even if she did succumb to her caution, the intense desire to dig out the details and unravel the puzzle would not let her rest.

  Besides, after all these years, Sam had asked for her help. She could not let this opportunity slip out of her hands. No, she must do what she could to bring this evil man to justice. If needs be, she would ask Madeline to help her. She was confident that her friend would be a match for anyone.

  Thus resolved, she rose and tugged on the bell rope. She would have Samuel ready the carriage right away. With luck, Lester Salt would be able to send her on the right path.

  Pansy picked her way through the snow, wincing as lumps of the cold white stuff found their way over the tops of her boots to sting her ankles.

  On the first day of the storm she’d been excited to see the flakes falling so thick and fast, but now she’d had enough of it. She peered up at the gray sky, praying that the ocean winds would turn warm and bring the thaw.

  Soon the Christmas guests would be arriving, and it wasn’t much fun drying out boots and shoes, cleaning up the mess in the foyer, stoking the fires in the bedrooms, or heating the beds with bed warmers.

  The summer guests were so much easier to take care of, and personally Pansy couldn’t wait for the winter to be over with, Christmas and all.

  She found Samuel in the stables as usual, romping with Tess. The big dog bounded over to her, ears flopping and tail wagging furiously.

  Pansy crouched down to throw her arms around her furry neck. Samuel had found the stray wandering around the courtyard, half-starved, her coat matted and muddy.

  Looking at her now, Pansy thought, as she stroked the silky head, it was like looking at a different dog. Samuel kept her bathed and fed, and she was quite the most beautiful animal Pansy had ever seen.

  “Did you come to see me or my dog?” Samuel asked, his voice teasing as he approached them.

  Pansy smiled up at him. “Both.” She stood, giving Tess a final pat. “Madam wants the carriage readied and at the door as soon as possible.” She tilted her head on one side. “She didn’t say where she was going.”

  Samuel’s face assumed the mask he always wore when she questioned him about his jaunts with madam. “Most likely she wants to do some Christmas shopping.” He opened the gate to one of the stalls and whistled to Tess. “Here, girl. In your kennel. You can stay warm there until I get back.”

  Pansy watched him close the gate, wishing she had somewhere warm and cozy to snuggle up in for a while. The question she wanted to ask him buzzed around in her head, but she didn’t quite know how to ask it.

  He was halfway across the stables before she called out, “I heard Doris is coming for Christmas.”

  She would have liked to have seen his expression when she told him, but he had his back turned toward her. He kept going for another step or two before turning to face her.

  “Coming here to the Pennyfoot?”

  “Yes.” She walked toward him, trying to read his thoughts, but Samuel was very good at hiding them. “Her husband and little girl are coming with her.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You still like her, don’t you?”

  “I still like her, yes. We worked together a long time, and she’s a sweet lady. That doesn’t mean I want to be with her. I’ve told you that over and over.” Samuel spun around and marched over to the door, flinging words over his shoulder. “She’s married, Pansy. Stop fretting about her.”

  He disappeared, leaving Pansy to nurse an ache that never quite went away. Samuel loved her, she knew that. He didn’t have to say it, she could tell by the way he kissed her and all the nice things he said and did for her. Still, if only she could hear the words, just once, she’d know for certain, and all these nasty feelings about Doris would go away for good.

  Dejected now, she plodded back to the kitchen, silently cursing the snow at every step. Would she ever be sure of Samuel’s love? Right now, it didn’t seem too likely.

  Staring back at the sky, she changed her prayer. Let it snow. Hard. Piling up six or seven feet. That way, Doris wouldn’t be able to come, and she could have Samuel all to herself for Christmas. Hunching her shoulders, she opened the kitchen door and went inside.

  “His name is Lester Salt,” Cecily said, as she climbed up onto the creaking, cold leather seat of the carriage. Shivering, she drew her scarf tighter under her chin. “He’s the new manager of Thomas Willow’s shoe shop.”

  “In the High Street,” Samuel said, nodding. “I know where it is. It’s going to be busy down there today, m’m. You might have a bit of a walk to the shop.”

  “That’s all right, Samuel. I’m sure the shopkeepers will have cleared the pavements.” She heard the big bay snorting as Samuel took the reins. She felt sorry for the poor animal. It wouldn’t be easy for it to drag the carriage through all this snow.

  If only the rain would start and wash the cold mess away. She was really becoming quite anxious about her guests. This had to be the worst Christmas season weather she could remember in many years.

  The carriage jolted forward, sending her back against the seat. Her hat tipped in front of her eyes and she straightened it, securing it more firmly with a hat pin. Bracing herself for another rough ride, she thought about the questions she would ask Lester Salt. She needed answers and as soon as possible.

  The gentleman who filled the doorway at the shoe shop was nothing like the assistant she had imagined. Dressed in a loudly striped suit with a red waistcoat, starched white collar, and bow tie, he looked more like a circus ringmaster than a shoemaker.

  He extended a massive hand as if about to take her fingers in his, which Cecily managed to avoid by pretending to brush snowflakes from her cape.

  Seemingly unaffected by the slight, Lester Salt boomed, “Welcome to Willow’s shoe shop! How may we assist you this bright morning?”

  Considering the sky was dark gray, Cecily thought the greeting a bit pompous. “I’m Mrs. Baxter, of the Pennyfoot Country Club,” she announced, forestalling Samuel, who was about to introduce her. Judging from Lester Salt’s demeanor, she decided, the man would not stand on protocol, and she had no time to waste. “I am here to ask you a few questions about Thomas Willow.”

  The shoemaker’s change of expression hardly registered before it was wiped away by an effusive smile. “By all means, Mrs. Baxter! Come this way!”

  He ushered her and Samuel into a small parlor at the back of the shop, leaving a couple of young lads to take care of any potential customers.

  “It is indeed an honor to greet you, Mrs. Baxter,” he gushed, as he beckoned her to sit down. “I know your husband well. Such a nice man. Very well-spoken, if I may say so.”

  Cecily wondered what Baxter would make of that. “Thank you, Mr. Salt. My husband would appreciate your kind words.”

  “Not at all, m’m, and please, do call me Lester. Everyone does.” He laughed, a rather harsh sound that grated on her nerves.

  “Thank you, Lester.” She chose a chair by the fire, where a pair of muddy boots sat next to a half-filled coal scuttle.

  Samuel hovered near the door, looking anxious as always. Mindful of his sacred promise to take care of her, no doubt. Cecily was quite certain that Baxter had promised all sorts of dire consequences if Samuel failed to keep her safe.

  She couldn’t help noticing that the sofa and armchairs were of poor quality brocade, though the faded curtains a
t the window had once been very fine velvet. The sideboard and mantelpiece were bare of ornaments except for a large clock ticking above the fireplace. A small table at her side held only a book, its pages marked with a slim piece of paper.

  The title intrigued her. Tales of a Mystic. It was the heading on the bookmark that held her attention, however, until Lester spoke.

  “Now, then,” he said, smoothing his drooping mustache with his fingers. “What can I do for you today, Mrs. Baxter? A nice pair of leather boots, perhaps, or a pretty pair of satin shoes to match a tea gown? I have a pair in black satin that are just exquisite.”

  Sorely tempted, Cecily had to focus on the task at hand. “Actually, Mr. Salt-”

  “Lester.” He shook a finger at her in mock disapproval. “Remember?”

  “Pardon me. Lester.” She crossed her ankles, beginning to dislike this rather overbearing man. “As I said earlier, I’m here to talk to you about your former employer, Mr. Thomas Willow.”

  At the mention of the name, Lester’s face momentarily darkened, then his expression changed to the false melancholy of a true salesman. “Ah, poor Thomas. He taught me all I know. Such a dreadful end. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing to a defenseless old man.” Lester wrung his hands. “I was simply devastated to hear the dreadful news. Left to die by the roadside in the bitter cold of a snowstorm. Whatever is this world coming to, I ask you?”

  Cecily watched him closely. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

  Now Lester looked shocked. “Goodness, no. True, there weren’t many people who liked him all that much, though I got along with him all right. He was rather a dour old devil, always seeing the worst in people. I used to say his only friend was his dog, and Thomas didn’t treat him very well. He was always kicking or slapping him about.”

  He glanced over to a corner of the room, where for the first time, Cecily noticed a mangy-looking dog lay sleeping. “He’s a bit of a mess right now, but as soon as I have time I’m going to give him a bath.”

  The dog looked as if it needed a lot more than a bath, Cecily thought, but she kept her comments to herself. “I understand you are managing the shop now,” she said, looking back at Lester. “Do you happen to know the new owner?”

  Lester’s eyebrows twitched. “Oh, you haven’t heard? Thomas left me the shop in his will.” Again he uttered the brash laugh. “Of course, it will be a few weeks before everything is official, but I must keep the shop open for the customers.”

  “How very fortunate for you.” Cecily paused, then added, “It must have been quite a pleasant surprise.”

  Lester locked his hands across his chest. “Nobody was more stunned than I to hear the news, Mrs. Baxter. Most unexpected. Thomas once told me he planned to leave the shop to me but I didn’t believe him, of course. I thought he was merely saying that to keep me in his employ.”

  Cecily pursed her lips, wondering just how truthful was that statement. “So you are happy with the arrangement?”

  “Well, of course!” Lester sent a hunted glance at the door, as if he wished the conversation were over. “It isn’t every day someone gives away a thriving business. Of course, Thomas had no relatives, as far as I know. He never married, and there was no mention of siblings in his will.”

  “I see.” She wondered how to phrase the next question, then decided to just ask it. “Can you remember where you were the morning Thomas died?”

  As she’d suspected, Lester seemed offended by the question. He tossed his head, and smoothed back a lock of dark hair that fell across his forehead. “I was right here, Mrs. Baxter, where I’ve been ever since it happened, taking care of the shop as always. Thomas had taken Rex for his morning walk, and when he didn’t return at the usual time I became concerned, particularly since the snow had been falling steadily all morning. When Rex wandered into the shop without Thomas, that’s when I knew something was wrong. I was responsible for alerting the constables that he was missing.”

  “I see.” Cecily glanced once again at the book by her side. “I understand that Mr. Willow was killed with a whip belonging to Jimmy Taylor.”

  “So I understand.”

  Lester’s mask of joviality had slipped considerably, and Cecily stepped carefully with her next words. “Was Mr. Willow acquainted with Jimmy?”

  Lester blinked, then said quickly, “Ah, that I don’t know. I, however, did know the boy. I didn’t care for him. Rather a scrapper, if you ask me. Always looking for a fight. To be honest, if Jimmy hadn’t died first, he would have been my first suspect on the list.”

  “Ah, but he did die first and, it would seem, killed by the same person who killed Mr. Willow.”

  “Precisely.” Lester cleared his throat. “Well, if I can’t do anything more for you, Mrs. Baxter, I must ask you to excuse me. This is a busy time of year for us, as you know, and if I leave the apprentices alone for too long they tend to make a mess of things.”

  “Oh, of course.” Cecily rose and followed Lester to the door as Samuel snapped to attention. “Well, thank you, Mr. Salt. I appreciate your time.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Baxter.” Lester opened the door, looking at Samuel as if he were something the dog had dug up. “Anything to oblige such a good customer as your husband. Please tell him I shall be happy to provide him with new shoes when the time comes.”

  “I shall indeed.”

  She was about to walk through the door when Lester asked abruptly, “Tell me, Mrs. Baxter, do you have a personal interest in Thomas’s death?”

  Cecily smiled. “I take a personal interest in anyone in Badgers End who dies by violence, Mr. Salt. I consider it my duty to do what I can to see the killer apprehended and punished for his crime.”

  “Very commendable, I’m sure.” Lester gave her a toothy smile. “Well, good day to you, m’m. Please visit us again.”

  Not if I can help it, Cecily thought, as she stepped briskly outside and down the pavement to where the carriage waited. She had taken a dislike to Lester Salt, and while it was none of her business where Baxter had his shoes made, she sincerely hoped he would find another shoemaker to keep him well shod.

  CHAPTER 7

  Baxter was waiting for Cecily when she returned to the Pennyfoot. He had ordered their midday meal to be served in the suite, and together they enjoyed a large plate of ham, hard-boiled eggs, cheese, sweet pickle, sliced apple, and pickled onions, followed by a delicious pear tart and Devonshire cream.

  “How is the investigation coming?” Baxter asked, as they sat on either side of the fireplace, sipping on a glass of delicious cream sherry.

  Cecily, who had been anticipating the question, did her best to sound casual. “Quite well, thank you, though so far I have no answers. Other than the whip, I can’t seem to find what links Jimmy Taylor to Thomas Willow.”

  Baxter grunted, took another sip of sherry, then murmured, “What surprises me is that no one saw either man killed. By all accounts, both men died in broad daylight. You would think someone would have seen something happening.”

  Cecily put down her glass. “I doubt if many people were out walking in all this snow.”

  “Maybe not when Thomas Willow was killed. But it wasn’t snowing when Jimmy Taylor died.”

  Cecily stared at her husband. “You’re right. It wasn’t. I wonder…” She paused, considering his words.

  Baxter raised his eyebrows. “You’ve thought of something?”

  “I don’t know.” Cecily leaned back on her chair. “I was wondering if perhaps Thomas Willow saw who threw the rock at Jimmy, and therefore had to be silenced.”

  “Ah!” Baxter nodded. “That would certainly explain the connection between them, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps. Then again, there’s the little matter of the gold angels and the missing locks of hair.” Madeline’s words came back to haunt her. A mind that will stop at nothing.

  Unwilling to tangle with such thoughts right then, she brushed them aside. “Someone w
ent to a lot of trouble to connect the victims. I think our villain is trying to send us a message.”

  “Such as?”

  Cecily shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose when I find that out, I shall be closer to finding the killer.”

  “Precisely, which begs the question: Why would he go to the trouble of giving you clues to his identity?”

  “Perhaps,” Cecily said quietly, “he’s the kind of killer who enjoys playing a game.”

  Baxter stirred, his face creasing into a frown. “I don’t like the sound of that. Perhaps you should think twice about helping out that confounded constable.”

  Annoyed with herself for saying too much, Cecily managed a light laugh. “Don’t worry, Bax. I have no intention of playing games with a murderer.”

  “I certainly hope not.” Baxter reached for the bell rope and gave it a tug. “I have some papers to take care of this afternoon. This blasted snow is preventing me from going into the city. I’m really considering moving my office down here permanently.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You are? I know we’ve mentioned the possibility in the past, but you’ve always been so reluctant to move your work back here.”

  “That’s because I didn’t have an office of my own to work in.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Since you are so seldom in yours, however, I might as well use that one, and I can simply leave on those occasions that you need it.”

  Cecily clasped her hands in delight. “I think that’s an absolutely wonderful idea.”

  “I shall have to go into the city to clean out everything there, however.” Baxter walked toward the door. “I thought I’d go tomorrow if the trains are running. I’ll have everything transported down by the Royal Mail. I should get it all here before Christmas.”

  Cecily followed him to the door. “I’m so happy for you, Bax. There’ll be no more getting up in the dark to catch the train, no more coming home late at night. You will be so much happier and rested working in the Pennyfoot.”