“A Night Ambush: Murder of C.L. Peterson by Unknown Assassins: An Unknown Woman and a Half-emptied Revolver the Only Clues.”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
The moon had climbed considerably higher by the time Annie stirred in Nate’s arms and said, “If you still want to ask me questions, you’d better start. If I am too late getting home, Beatrice is going to start worrying. Shall we sit down?”
What she really wanted to do was lift her head to be kissed, but that would make a declaration she wasn’t prepared to make, yet. The events of this evening had changed everything, and nothing. She did know that now was not the time to examine her emotions, or act on them.
Nate sighed and stepped back, leaving her chilled. He said, “Let’s sit here. Will you be warm enough?”
“Yes, this is a wool coat, I’ll just button it up.” Annie walked around the bench to sit down. “That’s odd, one of the buttons is missing. I hadn’t noticed.”
“That’s not all you didn’t notice.”
Nate’s voice sounded strange to Annie. Harsh, angry. She started to ask what he meant when he took her right hand and placed it over her heart. Shocked by the intimacy of this gesture, his hand, heavy and warm, pressing her hand against her left breast, Annie didn’t register at first what her fingers were encountering, until her index finger snagged on an opening in the material.
“My goodness, my coat seems to have a tear in it! Must have happened when that man first grabbed me. I wonder if the Miss Moffets will be able to repair it?”
Nate had removed his hand from hers as soon as she began to speak, so she was able to pull the coat material out to look more closely at it.
“It’s not a tear,” he said sharply. “I had a good look at it when I went up to change. It is a slit, from your assailant’s knife. I think it must have caught on your button, which probably deflected it, otherwise you might have been severely wounded, even killed.”
Annie sat down heavily on the bench, stunned, “You don’t think it was just a random robbery, do you?”
Nate sat down beside her. “No I don’t. Did he say anything about taking your purse?”
“No, he didn’t. He just said my name.” Her heart rate accelerated. “Oh, he knew who I was! I had forgotten that.” Annie paused, trying to recreate those first moments when the man had appeared at her side and grabbed her, his hand over her mouth, her feet scrabbling to get some purchase, her arms pinned to her side.
Nate said, “Annie, I think we have to consider the possibility that this was a deliberate attempt on your life.”
Annie burst out, “I just have difficulty believing that! Maybe it was another attempt to frighten me off.”
Nate shook his head sharply. “Look, I could buy that the notes, the push off of the horse car, maybe even the barrels were all designed just to frighten you, scare you away from the Frampton séances. But tonight was different. Someone arranged that you be in that place at that time, so he could stab you.”
“A trap, you said that earlier,” Annie said, her words no more than a whisper.
“A trap, because I didn’t send the telegram, someone else did, obviously someone who knew that a message that mentioned the Framptons would get you out at this time of night. I guess by picking a restaurant near my home they hoped to convince you it was legitimate. But why were you going up Vallejo?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. When I got to Nielson’s, a young boy ran up and asked my name, and then he said you wanted me to come to the boarding house. He gave me a piece of paper with your house number written on it. Then he ran off.”
“So all your attacker had to do was wait in the alley for you to pass by.”
Annie thought about this and said, “It makes sense that the Framptons, or someone working with them, would use a telegram from you to lure me, since they know we are working together. But what if you had been visiting me this evening, as was planned? How did they know you weren’t at my place?”
“Because the man who assaulted you followed me tonight,” Nate said, sounding surprised at his own conclusion. “It seems obvious to me now. You see, when I left home tonight I noticed this fellow loitering on the steps that lead down to Kearny. I would swear he was the same man as the one in the alley. If he followed me, he would have seen me enter Franklin’s Steak House. I was attending a Republican Party dinner. All he would have had to do, once he saw me go into the restaurant, is continue down two blocks to the Western Union office and send the message.”
Annie frowned, trying to picture the sequence of events. “But it all seems so risky. I might have not been home, or I might have refused to respond to the telegram, or decided to take Kathleen with me,” she said.
Nate shifted on the bench, as if in pain, then he said angrily, “Don’t you see? If you didn’t come, there was nothing lost. He would have simply tried something else another time; and, if you had brought Kathleen, I don’t suppose someone who was intent on murdering you would quibble at killing your maid.”
The image of Kathleen’s lifeless body, imposed on the real memory of a battered Nate sprawled on the ground in the alley, shattered Annie’s delicately constructed calm, and she began to tremble.
Nate gathered her in his arms, saying, “Annie, love, it’s all right; he didn’t succeed, you’re safe.”
“Because you were there to save me,” Annie whispered into his shoulder. “If you hadn’t come, I would be dead.”
“But I did come,” Nate replied and pulled her closer.
Some time passed, and Annie’s breathing gradually slowed. She then remembered the question that had been nagging at her, and she pulled back from his arms and said, “But why did you come? You said you arrived at my house right after I left, which is why you knew where to look for me. But why were you there?”
Nate looked out over the Bay, the moon bathing his face in soft light, reminding her anew of how the chiseled lines of his face made him look like a bird of prey. He moved uneasily next to her and didn’t answer her question. After a few moments she tried again, saying, “Nate, you said the man followed you to a Republican dinner, which I assume would have gone on for some time. So, why did you leave early and come to my house?”
“Because, as I sat eating my steak and listening to the speeches, I realized what a prime fool I had been, and I needed to tell you right away. A fool to even think twice about getting involved in politics, to think you would be impressed if I did. I know you better than that. I know myself better than that. Looking at Crocker sitting up there, being praised for his brilliant business acumen and statesmanship, all I could think of was the poor Chinese workers who died building the Central Pacific, and that petty spite fence he just built up on Nob Hill.”
Nate turned back to her and continued, “I know there are good men in the Republican Party, even good men sitting at that dinner, but I also know full well that once a man asks for a job, or a favor, from the party leadership, he’s expected to put party above principles. That’s not the kind of man I am, or want to be.”
“Oh, Nate,” said Annie, moving back into his arms, “I didn’t think you were. But I still don’t understand . . . Nate, what is that?” she pulled back again, shocked at encountering the feel of a leather holster at his side. “Are you wearing a gun?”
“Yes. I thought it best to be prepared, so I got it when I went up to change,” Nate said, matter-of-factly.
Annie, pulling his coat open, made out in the moonlight the polished wooden handle of a revolver sticking out of an unadorned holster attached to a leather belt around Nate’s waist.
“An 1860 Colt?” she asked, thinking she recognized the firearm her father always had in his saddle holster.
“My brother Frank’s. He died at Shiloh. How did you know?”
“My father. He taught me to shoot with one. Said I couldn’t ride alone on the ranch until I could defend myself against rattlers.”
Annie remembered that when she first met Nate he had reminded he
r of the strong, laconic ranch hands from her childhood. This first impression had faded, and she had begun to think of him as primarily an urbane gentleman. The colt turned the man beside her into someone both more familiar but also more dangerous than she had previously imagined.
“What do you think, do we go to the police?” Nate asked after a few moments of silence.
“I don’t know. What would we tell them? You said last night that there wasn’t enough concrete evidence against the Framptons for the police to act on. Since they hold séances on Saturday evening, they would be sure to have firm alibis for tonight.”
Annie looked out over the San Francisco Bay and sighed. “We don’t even know for sure that it was the Framptons who were behind this. Why would they be? I already told Simon I was no longer going to attend the séances. It just doesn’t make sense. And why aren’t they going after you? It must be something from the séances themselves.”
“I agree. So what if you exposed their methods? At the very worst they would have to move on, which is what they probably did when they left England. You must have been close to uncovering a serious crime, by them or someone else connected to the séances.”
Nate paused and then continued, “If we could find the man who assaulted you, find out who hired him, that would help. But I don’t know how to do that without bringing in the police, and I know you don’t want that kind of exposure. I could leave you out, just tell them I was assaulted.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. Maybe Beatrice’s nephew, Patrick, could help us. If you described the man, he might recognize some local hoodlum. Then we would have something specific to take to Detective Jackson.”
“That’s a good idea. We should also go over everything you’ve learned so far with Patrick, see if there is anything we’ve missed that would explain why you pose such a threat that someone would try to have you killed.”
Annie shuddered. Every time Nate said those words, she felt a blow to the framework of her existence. How do you become a person whom someone wants to kill? How do you go about your day, knowing some unknown person is out there plotting your death? Some bad man. In her mind Annie heard Eddie, sitting across from her at Woodward’s Gardens, telling her that Maybelle wanted her to watch out, because “the bad man isn’t very happy with you.”
Was it possible that Maybelle really was her own protective angel, her own lost child? For one moment, Annie wished fiercely that was true. Then her more rational nature kicked in, and she had a sudden frightening thought. If Evie May, even in one of her incarnations, knows who was behind the attacks on Annie, might not she be in danger as well?
Chapter Forty-seven
Sunday afternoon, November 2, 1879
“A Row between the Spiritual and the Material—The Dark Séance and Paraffin Circle Exposed”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
Annie sat at the small round table in her bedroom and looked at the neat list of names that she had just written on a piece of paper, entitled “Motives.” Usually on Sundays, Annie attended the substantial mid-day dinner with her boarders, the only meal during the week she routinely took with the rest of the members of the house. Today, instead, she’d slept in and had Kathleen bring a light luncheon to her room, thereby avoiding any contact with either Beatrice or Esther.
She knew she was hiding from her friends, but she wasn’t ready to handle the outpouring of love and concern that would follow any attempt to tell them about the events of last night. Consequently, she had maintained the distance she had established after the party, simply telling Beatrice, who was nodding off in the kitchen rocker when Annie got home around ten, to instruct Kathleen not to disturb her in the morning and to convey her intentions to skip dinner to Mrs. Stein.
When Beatrice had started to ask about Nate and the telegram, Annie had hardened her heart and told her it was simply a mix-up, but that she was very tired and was going right to bed. This was pretty much what she said to Kathleen this morning when she prepared her bath. Thank goodness, the young maid hadn’t pressed her further, and, since she was needed in the kitchen, she hadn’t been there when Annie undressed and discovered the bruises on her shoulders and ribs from the man’s initial mauling.
She had asked Kathleen if she had plans to see Patrick this evening when he got off patrol, and when she told Annie he was stopping by the house around seven, Annie then told her that Nate was coming over after supper, and that the two of them hoped they would be able to speak with Patrick. Annie smiled to herself, thinking that this snippet of information would have to satisfy her friends for the rest of the day.
Meanwhile, she had promised Nate she would try to figure out which of the people she’d met at the séances might have committed such a serious crime that they would try to have her killed rather than risk exposure. Last night she had thought that it would be difficult to find anyone who would have a sufficient motive, today she wasn’t so sure.
First, there was Mrs. Larkson, with a grandmother who conveniently died, leaving her money, and a mother-in-law, whose death must have been devoutly wished for. Mr. Sweeter could have been an accomplice to either of these women’s murders, or simply a blackmailer who wouldn’t be happy with the idea of Annie’s meddling. Then there was Mr. Ruckner, who, according to Nate, had inherited a good deal of money from his wife, and Harold Hapgood, whose parents died and left him a thriving business. She supposed either of those men could have been murderers. Judge Babcock probably hadn’t killed anyone, but he might be deranged enough to try to have her killed if he thought she might be interfering with his access to his beloved daughter.
Even Nurse Herron might be responsible for the death of one of her patients, either on purpose or through negligence. Annie had trouble imaging Mrs. Daisy Mott as a murderess, but she certainly had a passel of dead relatives, and, who knows, maybe she would kill to preserve that special recipe for plum pudding. Of course, there was the fact that Maybelle warned her of a “bad man.” However, she wasn’t going to try to convince either Nate or Patrick that they should rule out all the women as suspects based on a message from Evie May or one of her protective spirits.
Annie was just trying to figure out if Mrs. Nickerson would have any reason to wish her dead, when she heard a sharp knock on her door. Wondering if this was Mrs. Stein, and if she could put this dear woman off any longer, Annie opened her door to see Miss Pinehurst standing there.
Her boarder appeared quite breathless as she said hurriedly, “Mrs. Fuller, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I just had to speak with you.”
“Dear Miss Pinehurst, don’t apologize. Do come right in and sit by the fire, you look positively frozen,” said Annie. While Miss Pinehurst must have stopped in her own room next door to remove her hat and coat, it was patently clear she had recently come in from outside. Her usually neat hair was windblown, and her dark wool skirts were decidedly damp.
Annie ushered the clearly agitated woman over to sit in the armchair next to the fireplace, and she asked her if she could make her some tea, pointing to the cozy covered teapot sitting on the table where she had been working.
“That would be lovely, Mrs. Fuller. I am afraid I was so anxious to get back here to tell you my news that I walked all the way from Sukie’s, and it’s begun to drizzle.”
As Annie added more hot water to the pot from the kettle that sat on the grate, Miss Pinehurst leaned forward, stretching out her hands to catch the warmth from the fire. Annie thought that, despite her disarray, the older woman looked particularly attractive. The cold air from outside had turned her usually pale cheeks pink, the dampness had coaxed her soft chestnut waves to frame her face, and her dark brown eyes positively snapped in the firelight. With shock, Annie realized that Lucy Pinehurst looked happy.
Putting the cup of hot tea down on the small side table next to Miss Pinehurst, she offered her cream and sugar. When this was declined, Annie pulled a chair over, sat down, and said, “Miss Pinehurst, please tell me, what’s happened?”
/> “Mrs. Fuller, I don’t know how I can thank you. Sukie has decided not to go to the Framptons, ever again, and it would have never happened without your help and God’s blessing. Oh, Mrs. Fuller, after all these months, my Sukie’s come back to us, and we finally prayed together for Charlie, and her new baby. Truly her healing can now begin.”
“Miss Pinehurst, I am so pleased. But tell me what caused this change of heart?”
Miss Pinehurst delicately dabbed at her now-moist eyes and then took a long sip of her tea. Leaning back in the chair, she said, “I believe all the details you gave me from your investigations on Sunday were the beginning. I wrote Sukie a letter; I knew she wouldn’t listen to me in person. Mr. Vetch, her husband, said, although she threw the letter into the fire, she did so only after she read it. She again pleaded with him to come with her to the next séance, and he said that he would, but only if afterward she would be willing to listen to any concerns he wished to express.”
“She agreed to those terms? I’m surprised,” said Annie.
“Mr. Vetch confessed to me later that he suspected that this had been a false promise on her part. Nevertheless, he could tell during Thursday’s séance that she was paying close attention to the music and lights. He said, ‘Your sister is not stupid. Once she knew how the tricks were done, it was hard for her not to see how fake everything was.’ Of course, Sukie is also stubborn, so afterward she said that whether the lights and music were fake or not was irrelevant, because Charlie spoke through Evie May, and that was real.”
“That was what I was afraid she would say. From my own experience, I can tell you that Evie May is hard to dismiss.”
“Yes, but that is what was so unexpected, it was Sukie’s private meeting on Friday afternoon with Evie May that shattered Sukie’s belief that she was really communicating with Charlie.”
Miss Pinehurst stared into the fire for a second, then continued. “Mr. Vetch did agree to go with her, but he told her that he could not believe that any son of his would ask him to betray the confidence of his employer, and that if Evie May asked any questions about Mr. Ruckner or the bank he would refuse to answer, and he would never come again.”
Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 35
