Weak Flesh (27 page)

In Meghan's opinion Wade was little more than a blustery braggart. Since she wasn't at all afraid to confront him, she decided to begin there. Wade would confess that he gave Nell the ring and explain why he didn't get it back when she broke up with him.

Feeling relieved to have planned a course of action, she perfected the modified bicycling suit and told her father she'd work at the schoolhouse for a few hours and see him at dinner. He looked pleased to see her peddle off on the machine.

While riding swiftly toward Main Street, she perfected her plan, first to confront Wade and immediately after to speak with Mrs. Nolan. She'd force the woman to admit, that not only was her daughter irrationally shy – perhaps even broach the root cause of it – but her husband was not all he appeared to be.

"False face doth hide what the false heart doth know," she thought grimly as she approached the saw mill where Wade worked. That applied to many of the Tuscarora City residents.

#

The report on the blood sample arrived from Charlotte in the late afternoon. As Gage had anticipated, the log found by Tracker Thompson's hounds was the murder weapon. The blood on it was human, and according to the laboratory findings, minute strands of blonde hair undetectable with the human eye were embedded along with the blood in the log's grain.

How then, Gage wondered, had the murder weapon showed up so conveniently at the Narrows when he'd used every deputy available to search the river bank at the time of Nell's disappearance? Had her killer kept the log as a sort of – what? – remembrance of the murder?

He nearly shuddered to think of it. He knew killers often kept items that belonged to their victims. The Chippewa brave considered a trophy from his enemy of great value.

Was it something like that, then? Had the killer kept the murder weapon and then discarded it when the body was discovered? Had he used the log to relive the experience of killing? Gage knew there were such generates.

From outside his office, he heard the sounds of scuffling and raised voices. He looked through the glass window to see Will Pruitt and Sergeant Henderson wrestling a struggling Michael Hayes into a cell.

What the hell?

#

James Wade wasn't at the saw mill. The foreman informed Meghan with great flourish that Wade had been arrested before she and Tucker left for the Swamp. Why hadn't Gage mentioned that fact to her, she groused silently? She'd wasted the afternoon!

Her temper rose further as she catalogued all her grievances again Gage, so that when she reached the end of Main Street, impulse rather than sense drove her. She turned right in the direction of the Jolly residence, rather than left toward the Nolan house.

After all, she argued, she'd rather promised Gage she wouldn't visit the Nolans again after Mr. Nolan had left those ugly bruises on her arm. But she'd made no such agreement about the Jollys, even though she suspected Gage planned to interrogate Mrs. Jolly again and would be annoyed at her scooping him, so to speak.

True, the Reverend had grabbed her arm the morning he'd startled her, but she couldn't believe the man was dangerous. A bad-tempered drinker with forceful, and in her mind erroneous, opinions about women, but surely not murderous.

The white picket fence looked benignly harmless as it surrounded the neatly clipped lawn and blue delphinium and white larkspur flowering in beds near the windows. Meghan left her cycle outside the fence and walked up the narrow path. She rapped on the front door and waited, wishing she'd thought to bring a peace offering with her, a jar of apricot preserves from last year's crop, perhaps.

The Jolly house was situated at the end of Riverside Street, set apart from the other residences in the area by a grove of fruit trees, now looking naked in the winter afternoon.

Standing on the porch landing, Meghan sensed the extreme isolation of the street. No horses or cows moved about in the stable to the right. Not even a household cat or dog prowled around. Where had their little maid gone, she wondered?

She raised her hand to knock more loudly when she heard a loud crash from behind the house, to the left, she thought, nearer to the trees. She hesitated, knowing she'd interfered enough with the Jollys' private life, but propelled by the certainty that husband and wife both kept dark secrets that could shed light on Nell's murder.

Strolling casually around the left side of the house, she heard the muffled sounds of arguing voices. She paused. The Reverend's deeper voice lacked its normal blustering, sounding strangely timid and unsure for such a dynamic man.

Mrs. Jolly's high tones fairly screeched like an injured cat, so that Meghan could make out only an occasional word.

"Dare – why would I – cannot tolerate – and – "

Reverend Jolly's lower tones carried more clearly. "Only once, I swear. It won't happen again. I've apologized. What more can I do?" he pled, sounding so unlike what Meghan was accustomed to that she wondered briefly if it were Mr. Jolly at all. "It was a long time ago."

Meghan crept forward to hear more clearly.

Chapter 30

Gage raised his voice over the brouhaha as he limped into the reception area. "What in hell is going on?"

Then he saw Michael Hayes in the jail cell, haggard, jacketless, and wearing a torn shirt. The smell of spirits permeated the air. "Ah, shit," he mumbled, "not again."

"Sorry, Marshal," Pruitt said.

"Where'd you find him?"

"Getting shit-faced at Sam's Tavern," Henderson accused from behind the oak barrier. "Likely been there all day."

"He's in bad shape, Gage." Pruitt lowered his voice and stepped away from the cell where Hayes sprawled on the cot. "Looks like he's been drinking steadily for a couple days. Got in a brawl with another patron. I didn't figure him for that kind of fellow."

"Let him sleep it off, then." Gage sighed deeply and turned away, tossing the warning over his shoulder. "But he'd better not mess up the Station House again. Bring Wade into my office, Will. I have some questions to ask him."

As he passed Henderson on the way to his office, Gage paused. "Would you like to help with the interrogation, Sergeant?"

Henderson looked startled, but a moment later a huge grin spread across his broad face. "Hell, yes, Marshal!"

Minutes later James Wade slouched in the guest chair while Gage stared hard at him and Henderson leaned against the wall, his meaty arms folded over his barrel chest. He would prove a good foil to Gage's milder manner.

The Sergeant kicked at Wade's chair, nearly toppling him. "Sit up, you little runt. Show the Marshal some respect."

Wade looked as if he'd protest, took in Henderson's ruddy face, and straightened up in his chair.

"I don't know what more I can tell the Marshal," he complained, never taking his eyes off the Sergeant. "I ain't had nothing to do with what happened to Nell."

"Maybe," Gage conceded slowly, "but you know something you're not telling us."

While Wade tried to look innocent and injured, Gage merely narrowed his eyes and stared at him.

Wade shrugged. "Like what?"

Gage fiddled with a pencil on his desk, let the silence in the room grow while Wade shifted uneasily, glancing ever so often at the huge presence of the Sergeant at his right shoulder.

"Like what?" he repeated.

Gage let the accusation drop into the well of silence. "Like the ruby ring you gave Nell to commemorate your – what? – engagement? Relationship? Sexual encounters?"

Wade jumped like someone had prodded him with a sharp stick. "Don't know what you mean," he mumbled, but his startled eyes told Gage otherwise.

"We found the ring, Jim." Gage leaned forward and put a sympathetic look on his face. "It has her initials inside the band, and Nell's sister told us where she got it. We know you gave her the ruby ring."

Gage stood and walked around the desk to lean his hip against the top, holding back a wince at the tug of pain in his thigh. He'd changed into the spare trousers and shirt he kept in the office, but could feel the heat of the wound through the bandage and his pants.

"Don't be stupid, Wade," Henderson snarled. "It'll go easier on you if you come clean without the Marshal havin' to beat it outta you."

Wade's brow beaded with sweat and his narrow face shone with apprehension. His fingers jumped on his thighs.

"Now, Sergeant, I hardly ever get physical," Gage reproved mildly, "but I'd like to explain to the solicitor how Mr. Wade cooperated with us. After all, maybe it was just an accident."

He paused and stared down at Wade. "Was that it, Jim? It was an accident?"

"I didn't kill her," Wade mumbled, "but – but – "

"But what?" Henderson interrupted and Wade flinched. Gage leveled a warning at the Sergeant. Don't stop an imminent confession, the look said.

Gage thought about the messages he'd gotten, the Biblical references to unnatural behavior. He'd assumed the writer referred to Carver, the unnatural father, but maybe ...

He switched tactics.

"Come on, Jim. We all know what Nell was like. She was a sensual, passionate young woman." Gage glanced up to see the startled and embarrassed look on Henderson's face, but he'd also seen the flicker of confirmation in Wade's eyes.

Gage lowered his voice confidentially. "Nell probably had different – inclinations from what your usual girls like."

Henderson was a clever man and caught on quickly. He joined Gage and leaned against the desk, his feet crossed at the ankles. "Yeah, that's right, Marshal. I heard some talk about the Carver girl."

Gage nodded, continuing the charade even though the truth of Wade's perversities sickened him, and he hated besmirching Nell's name any further. "She liked the men in her life to get rough, isn't that right, Jim? It's not your fault if there were bruises on her flesh. It's what she wanted."

"I heard tell there are women like that," Henderson added. "Not just whores either."

The ugly inferences permeated the air like the foul smell that sometimes came from the Dismal Swamp.

"You can't be blamed if things got out of hand because Nell egged you on," Gage said gently.

"She did! Goddamn right she did!" Wade burst out. He jumped up as if he couldn't contain himself. "She liked it, Nell did. She wasn't the perfect little lady her father thought she was."

"Apparently not," Gage said dryly.

"What was it that Nell liked?" Henderson asked, his beefy hands clenched across his chest.

Wade seemed not to notice the disgust on the other men's faces, seemed glad to unburden himself. Gage heard the suppressed excitement in his voice.

"Nell liked me to choke her," Wade said, faltering a bit, then hurrying on. "She said, she said the excitement was what she wanted, made it more thrilling."

That could account for the bruises on Nell's neck, Gage thought. Bruises that looked like they'd come from a single hand, the thumb and fingers pressing around the neck.

Gage dropped his mild manner while Henderson flanked Wade on the other side. "Did it ever go too far, Jim? Did Nell complain that you were hurting her? Did she threaten to tell someone, maybe accuse you of assault?"

He hurled the questions like stones while Wade sank under the weight of them. He doubled over in his chair. "No, no, no! That didn't happen. I didn't kill her. She drowned, for God's sake!"

That admission had the ring of truth. Gage looked at the pitiful form of James Wade and realized the man was a letch, but probably didn't have the stomach for murder.  

"Put this poor excuse for a man in his cell," he told Henderson, "until I can figure out what to charge him with."

#

The Reverend jerked as he saw Meghan step around the corner of the house. "What are you doing here?" he blustered.

Mrs. Jolly sat on a wooden bench, facing the patch of land that served as the vegetable garden during the growing season. A heavy blanket covered her legs. Mr. Jolly stood beside her like a hungry crow, all angles and sparseness.

"You've got no business here," he accused. "Spying on us, listening in on private conversations."

Meghan kept her eyes on Mrs. Jolly. While the woman's voice had sounded angry a moment ago, her face now looked calm, almost serene, as if she'd just discovered something greatly to her benefit. What was going on between these two odd people?

Mrs. Jolly waved a hand. "Help me inside," she commanded her husband. "I wish to speak to Miss Bailey alone."

"But – but Madeline," he objected. "You should rest, m'dear. Don't exert yourself."

"I'm fine," she snapped. "Take me inside and prepare tea for us."

When they'd settled into the parlor and Mr. Jolly had served tea and thick slices of bread with butter and jam – much like a servant, Meghan observed in astonishment – Mrs. Jolly dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"Leave us. I want privacy," she commanded regally.

Meghan sat in bewildered silence for a long time, sipping her tea and pondering the extraordinary change between the Reverend and his wife. Gone was the frail, timid woman. Gone the domineering, overbearing man.

Their roles appeared to be reversed. What in the world could account for such a strange transformation?

"Mrs. Jolly," she began at last, picking her way through her thoughts like thorny patch, "I – I was hoping that you'd – that you would – "

"Nonsense, Miss Bailey, don't grovel." She broke off a slice of bread and popped it calmly into her mouth. "I'm ready to tell you the whole sordid story."

She leaned forward and pierced Meghan with a look of ferocity she couldn't have imagined coming from the older woman. "But you must tell no one. No. One. Do you understand? Not a single person. I will not have my personal business bandied about in common gossip."

"I – I may have to tell the Marshal if it relates to the case."

"It doesn't," Mrs. Jolly pronounced. "It's about the ridiculous behavior of an arrogant old man, and while I'm happy to know the truth, I won't be the object either of tattle tales or of pity."