11th Hour Rose Read online

  11th Hour Rose

  Melissa Lynne Blue

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  11th Hour Rose

  Copyright © 2012 by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Cover Design by Rae Monet

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  For more information: www.melissalynneblue.com

  11th Hour Rose

  Dedication

  For my wonderful and supportive friends and critique partners, Stacey, Marie, and Ashley. Without you three specifically this book wouldn’t be here today.

  Also Thanks to my husband and my mom…

  11th Hour Rose

  One

  Charleston, South Carolina

  September, 1868

  Another murder?

  Lillian Hudson threaded through the crowd of roiling Charleston citizens, clamoring like the rest for a glimpse of the third crime scene in as many weeks.

  Twilight rolled through the skies, casting the city in a blanket of blue and purple, adding to the aura of fear shivering through the air. Horse-drawn carts clattered on the hard packed streets while speculative shouts rose up over the din.

  “It’s one of them damn Yankee soldiers what done it!” one man called out.

  “Aye!” A variable chorus replied.

  “Them blue bellies need to hang. Every last one!”

  Lilly huddled deeper into her woven shawl both horrified and morbidly fascinated by the prospect of another slain woman. As the only daughter of the county sheriff she’d grown up around the law. Widowed in his early thirties, George Hudson had discussed nearly every detail of his cases with Lilly. At this point she was as well versed and educated in the law as any barrister. Not that the fact seemed to matter to anyone other than her papa. She’d been petitioning the South Carolina Supreme Court for a license to practice without success for three years now. Apparently women were viewed too fragile for law practice—hogwash!

  “It’s Marshal Langston!”

  All around her the collective body hushed and shifted inward. Lilly’s gaze instantly honed in on the commanding figure of U.S. Marshal David Langston. Standing more than a head taller than the bulk of the crowd, his powerful shoulders and overall titan’s form made him impossible to miss. A brimmed hat slanted low—almost dangerously—over his face, concealing the irritable blue eyes Lilly knew all too well lay beneath.

  “Marshal, our wives and daughters aren’t safe in their beds!” An angry man Lilly didn’t readily recognize stepped into the lawman’s path. “What are you going to do about this serial murderer?”

  Expression hard, the marshal carved an unwavering route through the throng. “Let me pass.” His cool, booming tone resonated with authority, quieting even the most ardent bystanders clamoring for answers and atonement. Citizens slid from his path as though standing on sheets of ice.

  Lilly ducked her chin and continued sidling covertly forward. While her father may indulge her interest in criminal investigations and value her opinions, David Langston—a close colleague of her father’s—had little such patience. Best to keep out of his sight for as long as possible. Lilly turned sideways, easing through the crush. As the sea of heads and shoulders thinned, she spied her father standing with a handful of deputies, and several of the Yankee officers stationed in Charleston to enforce marshal law. While not quite able to see the crime scene Lilly was close enough to hear the anguished murmurs emanating from the lawmen.

  Marshal Langston shoved through the last of the onlookers and joined the others. “Christ,” he muttered, wiping a hand over his jaw. “This is a bloodbath.” He swept the hat off his head and knelt, disappearing from sight. “Is this…?” the rest of his words were inaudible from Lilly’s vantage point.

  “Yes, it is,” her father replied gravely. “A damn shame. She’s so young.”

  Lilly shivered, stalling as a wave of sadness washed through her. Thus far all of the victims had been in their mid-twenties, she assumed this woman was as well. What waste to see such young lives cut short.

  “Sheriff,” the marshal reappeared, speaking directly to her father. “Get what you need—sketches, evidence, and then take her to my brother’s clinic.” He swept a reproachful glare across the crowd. “Lieutenant Cook.” He turned to one of the Yankees. “You and your soldiers get this crowd under control. This isn’t a circus freak show.”

  “Consider it done, Sir.” The lieutenant made a sweeping gesture with his arm, indicating the crowd. “Ladies and gentleman, please return to your homes. There is nothing left to see here.” He and the other bluecoats fanned into the pack and people began to dissipate.

  Lilly held her ground, waiting for the cluster of men standing directly in front of her to filter away. A flash of torn fabric skirt appeared behind the thinning forest of shifting legs. She stepped around a trio of men, surprised to see just how close she was to the crime scene. Her gaze fell to the young woman so still and motionless on the ground.

  She gasped, chills of horror racing down her spine. “Oh, my god.” She stumbled forward. “Susannah.” No. This couldn’t be. She’d been with Susie earlier that afternoon. They needed to make pies for the festival that weekend. Lilly swayed, struggling to maintain her balance. Her vision grew fuzzy and faraway as though watching a dream through someone else’s eyes. This wasn’t her first murder, far from it, but there was so much blood and Susie looked so…a wave of dizziness assailed her. She didn’t even look like Susannah. Everything was happening so fast.

  “Damn it, Lilly,” Marshal Langston’s angry voice pierced the haze surrounding her mind. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I-it’s Susie…” she stammered as the dizziness escalated to full blown spinning. “David.” She meant to reach for him, but her fingers did little more than flutter as her knees threatened to buckle. His arms slid around her. He was like steel, an anchor, and as her head fell against the solid wall of his chest she drew a ragged breath, balling his shirt into her fists.

  He pulled her closer. “Are you all right?” he murmured, his warm breath whispering through her hair.

  Lilly turned her face into his chest, willing the macabre vision of Susannah’s lifeless yet pleading eyes from her mind. “I… don’t know.”

  “Come.” He linked a supportive arm about her waist, leading her behind a coach parked by the alley. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he tilted her face toward him. His pale blue eyes glowed an unnatural silver in the moonlight. “You shouldn’t have seen that,” he whispered. His calloused thumb grazed her cheek and genuine concern lined his handsome face. “No one should ever have to see that.”

  Nodding weakly, she let the strength and heat of his arms surround her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was Susannah Jensen until I saw her.” Susie had been a good friend. During the war they’d spent hours together sewing uniforms and quilts, and when resources had run low they’d even learned to spin their own thread, weave fabrics, and dye clothe. They’d poured over any news and letters that happened to come through. Susannah’s husband had returned home… Lilly’s beau had not.

  “You shouldn’t have come out here.” His voice took on a bit of the irritated edge she was so used to. “Go home.”

  “Home? No.” The shock was ebbing and she pulled away growing incredulous. She was a grown woman of twenty-five, and a lawyer—almost. “I’m not leaving, Marshal Langston. Susannah Jensen was my friend, and I can help.”

  “Help? Good God, Lilly
, how is it helpful when you’re swooning in my arms?”

  “I wasn’t swooning, David.” She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing in challenge.

  “I would beg to differ.” He stepped around the conveyance. “Whitfield!” He hailed one of the deputies then turned back to Lilly. “I’m asking Deputy Whitfield to escort you home. I have enough to deal with without worrying what you’re up to.”

  She flushed at his chastising words. “But—”

  “No,” he barked. “You have no business here nosing around in other people’s lives, Lilly.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing? I have been assisting my father for years, and—”

  “Enough.” Steel sharp as any blade gilded his tone, warning her into immediate silence. David moved in on her, brow furrowed dangerously. “You want to help? Why don’t you ride on out to Susie’s farm and inform her husband that his wife has been murdered.” Acid dripped from his voice. “That’s where I’m headed when I’m through here. Do you want that responsibility, Lilly?”

  Reflexively, she moved backward as David stepped closer, but she was trapped against the coach. She could have told him that she’d done so many times. That her father believed heartbreaking news was best served with a woman’s touch, but instead she kept silent. Listening. This man radiated an air that was broken… wounded… with a bleeding heart acutely visible in his eyes.

  “Do you have any idea what it is to lose the one person in this world you’re supposed to watch sunsets and grow old with?” He closed the distance between them, leaning over her until their noses nearly touched. “Do you know what it is to lose your life?”

  For a long moment their eyes locked. Searching. “Are we talking about Frank Jensen, or you?” she asked quietly.

  He froze, blinking in surprise. The angry furrow melted from his brow and brought back the face of a younger man. Younger in all but his eyes… Lilly’s heart lurched just a little. She reached out and brushed the single blond lock from his forehead as though the simple act might sweep the pain from his gaze. “Davy…”

  “Don’t.” He caught her hand and squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face slightly into her palm. After a long moment he released a pent up breath. The serious furrow returned to his brow and his hard gaze fixed on her once again. “I’ll have a deputy escort you home.”

  She opened her mouth to protest.

  He lifted a finger. “Do not argue with me or it will be one of the Yankees.”

  11th Hour Rose

  Two

  “This investigation is going to be a mess.” George Hudson shifted in the wooden chair behind his desk the following morning. “Three victims, none of whom have anything in common, except age and looks, and now we’re going to have to pattern this out and catch the bastard before he strikes again, likely next week on a Thursday.”

  “I know.” Davy kicked at a loose board on the scarred floor. Sunlight streamed through the window behind the sheriff’s head, dancing across his foot and promising a beautiful late summer day. The brilliant rays and blue sky only darkened his already glower mood. Clouds would have been much more fitting. “I’m going to wire the Marshals office in Washington. See if they can spare a few men or provide us with any information about similar murders.”

  “Good, we need to get a handle on this case before things get out of control.”

  “Three dead women,” Davy muttered. “I’d say it’s already out of control.”

  The sheriff was silent for a long while. Davy knew he was thinking as he was, a serial killer was the last thing this city needed.

  “Hey, George?” Davy propped a foot on the desk edge, rocking back in his chair.

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep Lilly out of this one.”

  “Right, Marshal.” A snort of wry laughter escaped him. “You try stopping her.”

  Listening to the creak of the chair beneath his weight, Davy couldn’t seem to get the vision of Lilly’s face out of his head when she’d seen Susannah’s body. Lilly was a busybody of the worst sort and a damn thorn in his side, but she meant well, her heart was in the right place, and… and what?

  He supposed he wanted to protect her from the evils he contended with every day.

  “Did you speak with Frank Jensen, yet?” George asked.

  Davy nodded. “First thing this morning.”

  George scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Anything?”

  “No. He’s been away from town for two days helping his brother harvest. It’s the first crop Belle Acres has managed in five years. Frank swore his wife hadn’t been involved with another man.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “If she was he didn’t have any idea.” Davy’s gut clenched with familiar anguish. Frank’s devastation had been real. So real it had sent Davy reeling back to the darkest day of his life.

  A hearty rap on the door broke Davy from the depressing chain of thought. The portal opened, admitting none other than his younger brother, Craig Langston.

  “Doc.” George stood. “What can we do for you this morning?”

  “Sheriff. Davy.” Craig nodded in greeting, his expression somber. “I’m glad you’re both here.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his inner breast pocket. “I found something on Susannah Jensen that you need to see right away.”

  Davy rose, striding instantly to his brother. As a respected physician in Charleston, Craig and his partner, James Rowe, had examined each of the recent murder victims, lending their professional expertise to the search for clues.

  “This letter was to Mrs. Jensen.” He handed the folded page to Davy. “Given the circumstances, the contents are fairly alarming.”

  Davy unfolded the paper and glanced quickly down the hastily scrawled note.

  My dearest Susannah,

  Tonight we begin the rest of our lives. Forever together. Meet me at the crossroad by the orchard at nine o’clock.

  —Bram

  It appeared Susie Jensen had been having an affair after all. David passed the note to the sheriff. “We may have the name of a suspect.”

  George’s brow furrowed. “That is where we found Mrs. Jensen, but who the hell is Bram?”

  “If we knew that, the case would be solved,” Davy quipped dryly. He turned back to his brother. “Craig, thank you. This is a tremendous break.” Though it opened the door to a flood of new questions.

  “Of course,” Craig replied seriously. “If there is anything else you need…”

  Davy nodded before plucking his hat from the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some uncomfortable questions to ask people.”

  “Davy.” Craig’s voice stopped him before he reached the door. “In light of recent events, my wife would like to know if you’re still planning to have dinner with us tonight.”

  “Don’t plan on it,” he replied, tipping his hat in subtle salute before striding through the door.

  “You’re welcome to stop by if you have the chance,” Craig called after him. “Curtis and Cadence will be there with the girls.”

  Davy cringed, pretending not to hear the last as guilt slammed him square in the gut. His sister-in-law had given birth to twin daughters two weeks ago and Davy was yet to pay his respects. He’d been busy with work—two murders and now a third. No one would suspect the truth, that deep down he didn’t want to be reminded of all that had been ripped from his fingers eight years before. He would make a point of visiting Curtis this week.

  Davy shook off the depressing train of thought and traversed the city streets, focusing on the investigation. Bram. He needed to ask friends and family of the other victims if they’d mentioned anyone by that name. He’d start with Elizabeth Hatchet. Her daughter Clara had been the first girl murdered a little over three weeks ago. He approached the widow’s modest house and paused, observing the small black ribbon tied to the door handle. His mood dropped from sour to black as he mounted the steps and then banged the brass knocker.

  The oak door opened a crack, revealing Mrs. H
atchet’s tearstained face.

  He removed his hat and bowed his head respectfully. “Good morning, ma’am.”

  “What can I do for you, Marshal Langston?” Her voice was tired and strained.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to ask a few more questions regarding your daughter.”

  Her eyes hardened. “I just finished answering questions this morning, Marshal. You law people need to decide who’s coming and when.”

  Finished? Who had spoken with her today? Not Sheriff Hudson. “Mrs. Hatchet, I assure you, we have no intention of disturbing you unless absolutely necessary, but—”

  “You also assured me you’d catch the man who killed my daughter. Do not come back here until you do.” Mrs. Hatchet promptly slammed the door in his face.

  He stood for a moment stunned, blinking twice before remembering to snap his mouth shut. Confused, he raked a hand through his hair and turned back toward the street. “What the hell?” Almost instantly his gaze collided with a tall sender figure, dressed in a simple blue day dress sashaying busily down the street. An involuntary growl rumbled deep in his chest as his fists balled in irritation and anger. “Lilly!”

  Lilly Hudson’s strawberry blonde head did not so much as bobble in acknowledgement.

  “Lilly,” he barked once more, stalking down the steps and into the road. He closed in on her with ground eating strides. “What are you doing here?”

  She stopped abruptly as though startled by his gruff manner and faced him. “I was questioning Mrs. Hatchet,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  David speared her with his most lethal glare. “I am aware of that. What I’d like to know is why?”

  Her nose inclined to a haughty level, clear blue eyes sparking in challenge against his. “She is a potential material witness, and has valuable information as to the whereabouts of her daughter immediately before the murder. Now that we’ve had a third murder everything must be reevaluated.”