A Visitation of Angels

by Carolyn Haines

  “You’re welcome to join us in Mobile. Our door is always open to business associates and friends.” One thing for certain, if Michael was up to anything untoward, Uncle Brett would sort him out. And in the meantime, I might learn something beneficial about my case.

  “Thank you.” He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You travel a good amount to pursue your investigations, don’t you?”

  Again his knowledge caught me unprepared. “Yes, a bit. I haven’t made it as far as New York City or San Francisco, but I’d like to.” I played it casual, but Michael’s thorough knowledge of me and Pluto’s Snitch was deeply unsettling. Staring into Michael’s placid blue eyes, I sensed something alert and dangerous hidden behind the façade of mild interest. Had Michael dived so deeply into my past because he truly wanted a meeting with my uncle or was there something else at work? Whatever his reasons, he’d worked extraordinarily quickly. Mission had no telephones or even telegrams. The flow of information was stifled by the isolation. Somehow, though, Michael Trussel had managed to find out plenty.

  “I’ve heard you’re here to look at property for your uncle. He trusts you to do such a job?”

  “Uncle Brett is busy, and I can determine the value of a piece of land. Ruth Whelan’s property is perfect for what he wants—a modest house, good water, and it’s on a creek that’s deep enough for a small boat. He loves his boats, as you can imagine.”

  “Do you think he’ll bid on Ruth’s property?”

  “I think he will, but he may change his mind and want to go farther north, maybe into the Smokies.” Now I wondered if he really had just come to pump me about my uncle’s intentions. I wanted to think he was interested in more than a real estate deal, but I didn’t know his true motives. “Do you know when the property is liable to go up for sale?”

  He shook his head and signaled the waitress for another round of drinks. When she brought them, he ordered for both of us—a sample platter of the bar-be-cue with potato salad and baked beans. Normally it would have chafed me for a man to assume so much, but with Michael, I found it flattering.

  “Where are your parents?” I jumped in with a question before he could.

  “They’re dead.”

  “I’m sorry. Any brothers or sisters?”

  “I’m not close with my family. My brothers are successful businessmen. They frowned on my decision to be a private investigator in what they called a sordid profession of prying into the lives of others.”

  I couldn’t help the grin that matched his. “I’ve heard that too.”

  “But you look into the secrets of the dead as well as the living.”

  There was no point denying it. “Sometimes the past is the root of a problem.”

  “Can you see dead people?”

  Reginald had warned me not to reveal too much. For all I knew, if I admitted anything, they might hang me as a witch. “This isn’t a conversation for now. When you come to Mobile, I’ll tell you all about what I do.”

  “Agreed.”

  The food arrived and I realized I was starving. The delicious French 75s had relaxed my inhibitions. I reached for a rib and ate it while holding it with my fingers, enjoying the tangy sauce that had been cooked into the meat.

  Michael followed suit. “There’s nothing sadder than a person who tries to cut the meat off a barbecued rib.”

  “Sad,” I agreed. We drifted into silence as we ate and listened to the small band that played in a corner of the café. Banjo, fiddle, and guitar, the musicians laughed and teased some of the dancers.

  “Do you like to dance?” Michael asked.

  “I do. But I’m not all that good at it. I like to waltz.”

  “I figured you for a Charleston practitioner?”

  “I’ve practiced in front of a mirror, but I look pretty awkward. I need a teacher.”

  “I can fill that position.”

  Was he really offering to teach me to dance the Charleston? “Surely not here?”

  This time he really laughed. “No, not here. When I visit Mobile. I’m sure we can find a suitable place to work on your dance technique.”

  He sounded serious about visiting Mobile and that pleased me. “I’m stuffed.” I pushed my plate back. I had to be careful with my emotions, but I also had to press him. “I heard about the little girl who fell in the well.”

  “Hildy Morse, yes, the whole thing is just terrible. Hildy was bright. And a handful. She didn’t mind her mother. She was always running away from home. Mrs. Morse tried hard to keep Hildy safe, but the child had a wild streak. She loved the woods.”

  “How did she fall into a well?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question. She was smart. And while she was wild, she wasn’t careless or stupid. She had to be looking into the well. She must have been, to have fallen down it. But why would a child look into a well?”

  “Could I see the well?”

  “Why?” His eyes widened. “Do you know something about Hildy?”

  “Of course not,” I lied. “I’m just curious. You were a Pinkerton, aren’t you curious?”

  “Indeed I am. I’ll pick you up tomorrow and take you to the well. I want to be sure Mrs. Morse isn’t home—you can understand why having a stranger poking around would upset her. She’ll be at the mortuary at nine preparing the body. We can go then.”

  It sounded ghoulish and almost cruel, but I wanted to see the well, to see if perhaps I could connect with Hildy to find out what had really happened to her. I didn’t have to reveal to Michael anything I saw, and there was always the chance Hildy would show up at Hattie’s house in the morning. But if she didn’t, this might be a chance to learn something on my own. Reginald would be busy in the courthouse with the trial—which I couldn’t attend because of my gender. But I could see if Hildy had anything else to tell me. Being at the location where she died might make it easier.

  “What time does the McEachern trial start tomorrow?”

  “It’s been postponed.” He reached for his wallet and laid out money for the bill.

  “What?” I couldn’t believe it. We had more time.

  “I shouldn’t tell you, but I don’t see what it will hurt. There’s some talk that Hildy Morse was murdered. If that’s the case, it throws some doubt on McEachern as Ruth’s killer. Folks aren’t going to believe that there are two killers in Mission, a place where there’s been only one murder in forty years, and that was over money. Lucais decided to postpone the McEachern trial until he determines what happened to Hildy. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “Does Lucais Wilkins think Hildy was murdered? Was there evidence that she was murdered?”

  “He hasn’t said that, but he decided to postpone McEachern’s trial until Hildy’s death is settled. The town is too stirred up.”

  That was the first reasonable decision I’d heard in Mission. “Does he think McEachern may not be guilty?”

  “Just the opposite. Lucais is certain McEachern is a cold-blooded killer, but he’s afraid the town might believe otherwise because there’s a dead child, one who may have been killed while McEachern was in prison. To hang a man, there has to be true community support. Lucais is just covering all his bases.”

  “What do you believe about McEachern? You’re a Pinkerton, trained in investigative work. You live here and have heard all the evidence against McEachern, I’m sure.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “It does to me.” And I meant it.

  “McEachern doesn’t know when to mind his own business.”

  That wasn’t an answer. It was more of a warning. “Do you believe he murdered a woman?”

  “Someone did, and it’s as easy to believe it’s him as another.”

  “It’s important to me that you answer me honestly.”

  He handed the money he’d laid out to pay the bill to the waitress. “In my opinion, there’s not enough solid evidence to hang a man. The person who killed Ruth is right-handed, and McEachern is left-
handed. I don’t think he’s guilty, but that won’t stop Lucais from hanging him. There’s something between those two and I’m not certain what.”

  “Is it Ruth’s property?”

  He shook his head. “There’s something more than a piece of property.”

  “What’s the physical evidence against McEachern?” I was pushing hard, but it was now or never.

  “It took a strong person, someone who could really swing that cleaver, to kill Ruth the way she was killed. McEachern visited Ruth. He’d tried to buy her property but she didn’t want to sell. He’d made statements in town that he meant to have it.”

  “There are plenty of stout men here in Mission and more than one with an interest in Ruth Whelan’s property. The men are all strong from timbering and farming. Weak men don’t make it here. Or weak women for that matter. If there were evidence of another motive, another murderer, would that make a difference?” I didn’t mention the journal I’d found or my quickly growing suspicion that whoever had killed Ruth was after information, not property. Reginald had warned me to get information, not give it away.

  “Probably not to Lucais. McEachern was a regular visitor of Ruth. Some folks said he was sweet on her, that he didn’t like the way she made a living. The general opinion is that Slater McEachern killed her in a fit of jealousy when she refused to give up…prostitution.”

  “Had he offered to marry her or provide for her?”

  “I don’t know. Lucais thinks so. He believes McEachern pressed her but that Ruth didn’t want to marry him.”

  “Is there something objectionable about him, something that would make a woman averse to a proposal?” I thought of his work-roughened hands, the slight brogue, the lilt of his voice—all things I found enjoyable.

  “You’d have to ask a woman,” Michael said. “Or maybe someone you know.”

  The jolt of fear that came with his words made me realize I’d grown too at ease with Michael. “I think we should go.”

  “Yes, it’ll be late when we get back. I don’t want to ruin your reputation.”

  “I don’t live here so I don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Live here or not, you still have to worry about what people think of you in Mission. I worry about it.”

  His words came to me as a rebuke and warning. I stood up and walked out of the little diner.

  The night was pitch black, the moon and stars covered by scudding clouds. Michael’s last remark in the diner had set my nerves ajangle. I couldn’t be certain that Michael had threatened Reginald, but I also couldn’t determine if his remark had been innocent. He knew a lot about me and my family. What had his research told him about Reginald? My partner could be in grave danger.

  “When are you leaving Mission?” Michael asked as he handed me into the car.

  “Soon. My business here is almost complete. I need to find the date when Ruth Whelan’s property goes on sale in case my uncle would like to submit a bid. There are a couple of other sites I’d like to see in nearby locations, then we’ll head back to Mobile.”

  “Then you and Mr. Proctor really weren’t here on a case?”

  I didn’t want to outright lie, because it could prove dangerous to Reginald, Elizabeth, and me. “As you know, I have an interest in ghosts and such. I’m a writer. I find my best inspiration for a story comes from real life. When I heard about the brutal murder of Ruth Whelan, I wondered if it would make a good story. You know, how her spirit might linger. It’s good fodder for a tall tale.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  His question caught me off-guard. “What do you mean?”

  “I know you have a gift, Raissa. I know what your investigation agency does. I know you can see and communicate with the dead sometimes. Have you had a chance to talk with Ruth?”

  I settled back in the seat as he drove out of the parking lot. I had to figure out the smartest answer. “No, I haven’t. But I’d like to. Perhaps she’d tell me who killed her.” Was I drawing a target on my own back? I didn’t know.

  “How did you come by this gift? The more I know, the better I can try to protect you.”

  I wasn’t certain I believed him, but lying about something he already knew seemed unwise. “I’ve always had it, though I convinced myself not to see for a time. My husband’s death overseas…opened this door again.”

  “And do you see him?”

  “Not often enough.”

  “You aren’t over him, are you?”

  I let the cooler night air lift my short hair off my face and neck. “No, I suppose I’m not. I wonder if I’ll ever be.”

  “Probably not.” Michael reached across the seat and took my hand. “I don’t mean that to sound hard or cruel, but when you truly love someone and lose them, you’re irrevocably changed. It doesn’t mean you won’t be happy again or find love, but this love for your husband will always be there too. Another layer.”

  He spoke as if from experience. “Have you lost a love?”

  “I have, but it’s a story for another time.” He pressed harder on the accelerator and the car shot down the darkened road, the headlights creating a hole in the wall of trees that made the darkness so much blacker.

  I was content to ride in silence, trying to organize my thoughts and emotions about the evening that had just passed. I had a gentle stirring of feelings for Michael. I couldn’t deny it. I found him attractive and intriguing. And also dangerous. I didn’t know which side he played for—the truth or those in power. I couldn’t risk Reginald or myself in an effort to find out.

  We made a sharp curve a little too fast and something broke out of the woods in front of the car. The headlights illuminated a man who wore a strange green hood with eye and mouth holes cut out. He pointed a gun at us and pulled the trigger. The windshield of the car shattered, and Michael hit the brakes hard. The car slewed in the sand as he tried to hold it steady on the road. The trees and road and night sky swirled as the car went out of control. I gripped the dashboard, prepared for the inevitable wreck. The car’s front wheels hit deep sand and locked. We were thrown into a slide that ended against two trees. The jolt of the wreck whipped my head into the dash with a solid crack. I fought the darkness that came down around me, but I was no match for it.

  Chapter 14

  When I came to I couldn’t move. My head throbbed and my body ached in places I never thought had feeling. It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t paralyzed but that I’d been tied to a tree trunk in a sitting position. About five feet away, Michael had met the same fate. His head lolled on his chest, and blood covered his shirt. Had he been shot? I couldn’t tell, but I had a terrible feeling that he was horribly injured, maybe dead. His body looked completely limp.

  The headlights of Michael’s car shone on us, and a figure stepped out of the woods. The man was a silhouette in front of the lights, but I could see he still wore something over his head and face: a green hood.

  “What do you want?” I tried to fight my bonds but I was still weak and disoriented.

  “You don’t get but one warning here. Leave.”

  The voice might be familiar. Maybe the grocery owner, Vernon McKay, or even Deputy Gomes. I knew I was grasping at straws, but I had to fight. “Why should I leave? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “No questions. No answers. Get your fancy man and drive out of town tomorrow. You won’t get another warning.”

  He walked out of the light and into the darkness. I waited for him to return, but he didn’t. In the distance I heard other voices. I waited for as long as I could before I wiggled out of my bonds. I hadn’t been tied tightly. There’d been no intention of holding me there. The rope was meant only to detain me until the men could get away. I hurried to Michael, who was beginning to moan. I untied him and eased him to a prone position on the ground. His eyes fluttered open and I read confusion.

  “What happened?”

  “We had a wreck.”

  “A wreck?” He tried to sit up, but I held him down with
one hand. He was too weak to resist.

  “Some man stepped out in front of us. He deliberately made us crash. He shot at us.” I couldn’t tell how badly Michael was injured or even if he’d been shot.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. He was wearing a green cloth on his head. Like the men you told me about. The Green Men.”

  Michael stilled. “Are they gone?”

  “Yes.”

  He inhaled and forced himself into a sitting position. “We have to get out of here.”

  “They left. We’re okay for a minute.”

  “We aren’t.” He squinted against the pain as he sat up straight. “We have to get out of here. Can you drive?”

  “If the car is operable, I can.”

  “Get me into the passenger seat if you can. If not, leave me and get out of town. Go to Victoria and get the sheriff. If someone else steps out in the road, run over them.”

  “Who are these people?” He was scaring me. I hadn’t completely trusted Michael, but now I had no one I could turn to. If the men returned, intent on killing us, I wouldn’t be strong enough to stop them.

  “They’re part of the church council. They run everything and they don’t like strangers.”

  “Are you shot?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Just cut from the glass. Are you hurt?”

  “Bruised, but nothing serious. Take my hand.” I grasped both of his hands and set back on my heels, fighting my own pain. Finally I hauled Michael slowly to his feet. I saw his glasses on the ground and retrieved them. “Why did they attack you?” I tried distracting him with talk as we hobbled to the car. I could only pray it would still run. We’d slammed into the trees on the driver’s side, which was badly damaged, but I hoped the engine hadn’t been harmed.

  “I wasn’t abiding by their rules.”

  “Because you took me to dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did they know you weren’t simply getting information out of me?”

  He sank into the passenger seat. “Because they would have sent someone else for that mission. Someone they trust more than they trust me.”