An Untimely Frost (11 page)

A hint of sorrow shadowed his eyes.

“What is it, Sheriff?”

“Beggin' your pardon?”

“You seem . . . sad.”

“Oh,” he said with a slow exhalation of breath. “It's just that the poor little thing got tuberculosis and had to be quarantined at the house. No one in town had set eyes on her for several months before they all up and disappeared.”

“That is a shame,” Lilly agreed.

“When Purcell first vanished with the money, several of the congregation thought that maybe he'd taken it to get Sarah better medical care in some bigger city,” he offered. “Folks could almost forgive him for that. On the other hand, the church would have probably given them the money if he'd asked, so that idea didn't hold water for long.”

“I'd think not. Besides, why would they need money for medical assistance? From the looks of things, it seemed to me that Purcell and his family lived in a pretty high style on a preacher's salary. The house alone had to be expensive, and it's furnished with some very costly pieces. If they were desperate for money, they could have sold some of their things instead of stealing from the church.”

“I thought the same thing,” he admitted with a nod. “Something didn't seem right about them from the first, but then, rumor had it that Mrs. Purcell came from money, and I had no way of knowing any different.”

“If that was true, why steal?” Lilly asked, trying to take advantage of the sheriff's sudden willingness to open up.

“Again, I agree. When we started checking into things, Pop Powell told us that the weekly offering had always been considerably more than what the reverend had been depositing on Mondays, and James Reihmann said it went way up after Purcell left. It looked like he'd been skimming all along.”

His eyes held a glimmer of his earlier anger. “He may be just a man, Miss Long, but I, for one, hold those in his position to a higher standard. A thief is a thief, preacher or not.”

“It appears he
was
just a thief, masquerading as a preacher,” Lilly said. “A true hypocrite.” She smiled at the sheriff. “Did you know that hypocrite is a theatrical term?”

“You don't say.”

“In the past, a player might perform several roles, so they wore masks to differentiate one from the other.”

Mayhew nodded thoughtfully. “That means hypocrites wear masks so to speak, pretending to be someone they aren't.”

“Yes.”

“I'd say Purcell fits the bill perfectly.” He looked her square in the eye. “I may as well stop beatin' around the bush, Miss Long. No doubt you'll find out sooner or later. I despised the man. He was nothing but a liar and a cheat and—” He stopped, aware that he was saying too much. “Sorry, ma'am, there's just some things I feel real strong about.”

“As I do, Sheriff. And you never found any trace of Mrs. Purcell or Sarah . . .”

“Not a thing. There was a big storm Monday night, and whatever tracks they might have left were beat out by the rain by the time we got there on Tuesday. I sent some telegrams to other cities, but I never heard anything. Mrs. Purcell and Sarah seemed to have disappeared the same way the reverend did.”

“What was your opinion of Mrs. Purcell?” Lilly asked.

“Prudence was a right handsome woman,” the sheriff offered. “All the Purcells were easy on the eye, but Prudence had this sort of . . . I don't know . . . anxious look about her all the time. The reverend claimed it was because they'd lost three of their children, all sons. It wasn't that she was unfriendly, just sorta . . . well, not as outgoing and helpful as you'd expect a preacher's wife to be. The daughter was the same.”

Hmm. Interesting. “Did you ever hear any of the family mention a place they'd lived or wanted to go?”

“I never did. Could be some of the church members did.”

Lilly jotted something in her notepad. “You've been a lawman many years, haven't you, Sheriff?”

“All my adult life,” he told her with a hint of pride.

“In your opinion, do you think someone was killed in that bed?”

“I can't think of anything else that would have made that kind of mess.”

From what Lilly had seen, she would have to agree. She tossed out an idea that had been nagging at her. “Have you considered the possibility that one—or both—of the Purcell women might have been the victims?”

“Like maybe someone killed Mrs. Purcell and Sarah and did away with their bodies?”

Lilly gave a little shrug. “It would explain why they never turned up.”

“I've thought about it,” Mayhew admitted, a gleam of speculation in his eyes. “So did Doc. It was one of the reasons I didn't press harder to find them. With things just abandoned as they were, we also had a pretty good idea who might have done it”—he shrugged—“if that's what happened.”

Lilly offered a slight smile. “The Reverend Purcell himself?” she suggested.

“You know, Miss Long, you're right smart. For a woman.”

C
HAPTER
19

L
eaving the sheriff's office, Lilly walked the three blocks to the doctor's house, marveling at the mildness of the weather after the unexpected snow flurries the day before. Halfway there, she again experienced the nagging feeling that someone was watching her, but when she turned to check she saw no one. She concluded it was nothing but the surreptitious staring of curious citizens who knew she was in town asking a lot of questions.

On her second knock, a small, rotund man in gray pinstripe trousers, charcoal-gray vest, and wine-hued cravat opened the door. His snowy hair was parted down the middle and combed back with the aid of some sweet-smelling pomade. A neatly trimmed mustache brushed his upper lip and bracketed the corners of his mouth.

“Dr. Ramsay?”

“Dr. Nathan Ramsay, retired, yes,” the physician said, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “And who might you be?”

Lilly extended her hand. “Lilly Long,” she told him. “I'm with the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, and I wondered if you could spare a few moments to answer some questions about former patients of yours.” No sense keeping her line of work under wraps now that she'd confessed to the sheriff. Everyone in town would know who she was and why she was here by nightfall.

The doctor released her hand and smiled, an action that made his eyes nearly close and pushed his plump cheeks into rosy knots that resembled dried crabapples. “Since I was giving my wife a terrible trouncing at chess, I'm sure she'd be pleased to take a few minutes from the game and make us some coffee. Please, come in.”

Lilly stepped through the door and followed him into the parlor. A woman whose build and demeanor were almost an exact match to the doctor's sat with her round chin in a plump hand, contemplating a chessboard, her forehead puckered into a frown.

“You've been granted a brief reprieve, Hattie!” the doctor said jovially, gesturing toward Lilly. “This is Miss Lilly Long with the Pinkertons. She'd like to ask me some questions, and I'd like for you to make us some fresh coffee and bring us a slice of that marvelous spice cake you made yesterday.”

The older woman's face had taken on a concerned expression when she heard the word
Pinkertons
, but she gathered herself in an instant and took Lilly's hand in a brief gesture of greeting.

Hoping to set her mind at ease, Lilly explained, “We have a client trying to locate a family who once lived here. I've been asking around hoping someone would be able to point me in a direction they might have gone.”

“Oh? Which family is that?” Hattie Ramsay asked.

“The Reverend Harold Purcell.” Her gaze included them both. “I understand you were the family physician, Dr. Ramsay. I wondered if you perhaps knew the family from church as well.”

The doctor's expression changed little, but he nodded in affirmation. “I was their doctor, but we didn't attend the same church.”

“Nathan and I are Lutherans,” Mrs. Ramsay said. “So I didn't know them personally. I did see them around town from time to time. They were a handsome family. It was quite the scandal when the reverend took off with all that money.”

“So I hear,” Lilly said.

“I really can't tell you anything else, Miss Long, so if you'll excuse me, I'll go make the coffee.”

“Of course.”

After her hostess left the room, Lilly took the chair the doctor offered and watched while he relit the pipe that lay in a small brass tray. Finally he seated himself across from her.

“I treated them, yes,” he said at last. “They were a pretty healthy bunch, just the usual garden-variety illnesses—colds, sore throats, influenza, and such. And I did see Mrs. Purcell during a pregnancy. She had a baby boy who was born prematurely and died soon after.”

“So Sheriff Mayhew said,” Lilly told him.

“I haven't a clue as to why it came so early,” he said, his thoughtful expression suggesting that it was a subject he'd given much thought to. “The pregnancy seemed normal in every way, and when the baby was born at least two months early, it was perfectly formed.”

“Perhaps it was God's will,” Lilly said, remembering Rose's stock answer when awful, unimaginable things happened.

“Oh, clearly,” the doctor said. He took a long draw on his pipe. “Prudence changed after that,” he said. “She was never much of a talker, but she grew even more withdrawn. Then, when Sarah got sick, she hardly spoke, just sort of went away, like a turtle pulling into its shell.”

“Sarah had tuberculosis, I understand.”

“So I heard.”

Lilly frowned. “You didn't diagnose her?”

“No,” the doctor said with a negative shake that sent the cherry-scented pipe smoke swirling about his head. “Nor did I treat her. I assume they took her to another doctor somewhere. Perhaps someone in St. Louis or to St. John's in Springfield. I do know she was in strict quarantine. I never saw her once in the months before they left.”

Mrs. Ramsay arrived with the refreshments, effectively ending Lilly's questioning. Neither the doctor nor his wife could shed any light on the Purcells' stealthy departure, but agreed that perhaps the speculation that Harold had taken the money so that he could seek treatment for his daughter was correct, but unlikely.

After partaking of the excellent cake and coffee and thanking the Ramsays for their hospitality and help, Lilly took her leave, more perplexed than ever about the Purcells. What possible reason could they have had for not using their family doctor for Sarah's illness?

C
HAPTER
20

L
illy went to the church next, a lovely redbrick building with a towering steeple surrounded by several budding trees that sheltered the adjacent cemetery. She found the current minister, a stooping, scrawny individual with more hair on his face than his head, working on his Sunday sermon.

After introducing herself and explaining her situation, she asked, “I was wondering if you have access to any records or correspondence from Reverend Purcell's tenure here that might tell me a bit more about him? Things about the congregation, his family, where they moved here from, or some other clue as to where they might have gone when they left? I'm eager to find out anything that might lead me to them now.”

“It was a terrible thing, what he did to the people of this town,” the preacher said. “It gives the church a bad name, but what's done is done, isn't it?” He offered her a wan smile. “All my predecessors' records are in the storage room. If you'll come with me, we'll have a look.”

Lilly followed him to a stuffy little room whose only source of illumination was a single window overlooking an alley. The small space held an old podium, some pews that needed repair, and a wall of whitewashed shelving. The shelves held odds and ends, stacks of old songbooks, and ledgers with years and names of the previous ministers written on the spines. It didn't take long to find one with Harold Purcell's name, and a quick thumbing through told Lilly it was just what she needed. It held a list of members, and a registry of births, marriages, and deaths. Another ledger itemized the church's finances. They also found a small bundle of letters, tied with twine, bearing Harold Purcell's name.

“Would you mind if I take these with me, so I can look through them at my leisure?” Lilly asked. “I'll return them in a few days.”

The preacher smiled. “Keep them as long as you like. It isn't as if I have a need for them.”

“Thank you,” she said, arranging the journals and letters into a neat stack.

By the time she left the church, it was almost noon, and she decided to have lunch at one of the restaurants on Gallatin Street and look over the contents of the books while she ate.

An hour later, she was fed and had a new goal in mind: to speak with as many of the church members as possible. She'd conferred with her waitress about the list and made notations in her notebook as to which of the church members were still alive and living in the area. Among those still living in town were the banker and one of the town's attorneys. One of the women, Lilly was told in a whispered aside, was the town's tart. Another was the elusive Mrs. Holbrook. If not fruitful, Lilly's afternoon promised to be at least interesting.

After talking to half a dozen men and women who'd worshiped at the reverend's church, she began to get a clearer picture of the man and his family. Though many were cautious with their comments, others seemed to have known the preacher only in a superficial way. Most of Purcell's former brethren described him as a “no-account scoundrel,” a “rotten thief,” or worse, which certainly didn't speak well of the reverend.

The women, too, were unable to tell Lilly anything meaningful. For all that he had preached a good sermon, not a one had commented on his having made a positive impact on her life, yet without fail, they all described him as handsome, or charming, or charismatic, and one even said that in her opinion, he'd been a bit of a flirt. More often than not, knowing their comments might be construed as uncomplimentary to the preacher, they were accompanied by a blush and a ducking of heads. Men and women alike claimed he knew his scriptures, delivered a good sermon, and had a way about him that drew people. He'd seemed so devout, but then, actions spoke louder than words, didn't they?

Prudence was described much as the sheriff had depicted her. Pretty, but aloof, with her daughter much the same. Like the sheriff, they all felt terrible about the young girl's awful disease, and a few of the ladies concurred with Sheriff Mayhew's theory that the preacher had taken the money for his daughter's treatments. Evidently, few, if any, knew of the abundance left behind at Heaven's Gate, or they might not have been so charitable about the reverend's trespasses.

She decided to do one more interview before returning to the hotel, but seeing the telegraph office across the street, she decided to send a message to Pierce, telling him of the return of her memory the previous day.

As she stepped inside the small office, she decided that the room's greatest asset was an abundance of sunshine. The varying shades of wood tones on the walls were as bland as the man behind the counter. Youngish and prematurely balding with spectacles and a bow tie, the softness around his middle spoke of his lack of physical activity.

He waited with patience while Lilly tried to think of how to word the message so that the whole town of Vandalia would not know her business. Operators were supposed to be discreet, but she was sure that this man would not hesitate to pass on any juicy tidbit that might cross the wire. She decided to settle on simplicity. She would see Pierce and Rose soon enough and explain everything then.

 

Finally know everything after so many years.
Two died instead of one. Will explain when next we meet.

 

Satisfied that Pierce would understand what she meant, she paid the operator and stepped back out onto the sidewalk. She was so intent on returning her change to her reticule while holding the church ledgers in her arms that she didn't notice the man passing the office until she'd careened into him, something that was becoming an annoying habit. Reaching out to steady herself by grabbing his arm, Lilly looked up and saw the sheriff looking down at her with a quizzical expression.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, stepping back.

He tipped his hat and smiled at her. She imagined he'd been an attractive man in his youth; he was still fine looking with his craggy features, sardonic smile, and thick salt-and-pepper hair.

Looking at the books she carried, he said, “I see you've been busy. Do you have any ideas yet about where the Purcells might have gone?”

“I have a lot to process,” she hedged. “So I believe I'll look things over and have a piece of pie at the restaurant across the street while I mull things over.” Lilly forgave herself for the small fib. Actually, she was interested in the sheriff's actions.

Realizing that his questions would get him nowhere, he offered her a mocking smile. “I wish you luck, Miss Long,” he said, stepping aside for her to pass.

“Thank you, Sheriff Mayhew. Good day.”