A Circle of Dead Girls Page 22

  Rees glanced at Boudreaux’s body. ‘Please,’ he said to Asher. ‘Let me know when the funeral will take place. I’d like to be there.’

  Asher nodded and wordlessly clapped Rees on his shoulder.

  When Rees entered the farm’s gate, Lydia came out to the porch to greet him. Very aware of her eyes resting on him, Rees unhitched Hannibal and walked him around the yard. He found himself reluctant to speak to her. He knew she hadn’t wanted him to go into town and no doubt David had told her everything about the circus. But no matter how reluctant he was to go inside, he could not walk the horse forever. At last he released Hannibal into the pasture and went to the porch.

  ‘David told me what happened,’ she said. Rees nodded. ‘I am so so sorry. I know you liked Boudreaux.’ Rees looked at Lydia. She must have been washing dishes; her sleeves were turned up and she held a white towel in her hands. ‘David told me they – the circus people that is – think Boudreaux was shot in your place.’

  ‘Stop,’ Rees said, holding up his hand. ‘I can’t talk about this now.’

  ‘But it might not be true—’ she began.

  ‘I just can’t.’ He forced the words past the emotion clogging his throat. Lydia bit her lip. He knew he had hurt her feelings but even if he’d wished to talk about the tragedy he couldn’t. Besides, he knew her. She was so loyal she would defend him even when his actions were indefensible. She could not understand. Although they were but a foot apart, he felt as though he were looking at her over a wide and unbreachable gulf.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I kept your dinner warm.’ Rees did not think he could eat a morsel but he followed her inside. Sharon and Joseph were playing some noisy game beside him but he hardly noticed. He sat at his place and picked up his fork. When Lydia put the warm plate before him he only pushed the potatoes and the lamb around and around. At last he put down his cutlery.

  ‘I’ll see if David needs help,’ he said. Lydia said nothing as she watched him leave the kitchen.

  But spending time with David was no easier than it had been with Lydia. He too, just as Lydia had done, watched his father from the corner of his eye until Rees wanted to shout at him.

  Rees suffered through the regard for nearly half an hour before he threw his seed bag to the ground. ‘I need to go back into town,’ he said.

  ‘What? Why?’ David looked at him.

  Rees hesitated. Why indeed? He had promised Boudreaux he would be safe and failed. Rees wasn’t sure he wanted to continue looking into Leah’s death. He feared he would fail at that as well. But what else could he do?

  ‘I’m going to talk to Aaron,’ he said. ‘Rouge put him in jail and I have some questions.’

  David did not speak but Rees felt his son’s eyes following him as he walked away.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Bruises darkened Aaron’s jaw and a scabbed cut slit one eyebrow. His all black clothing was torn. He’d been roughed up, probably by Rouge, but it had not diminished his truculence. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded of Rees as he clutched at the bars and pressed his face against them. Although he had been involved in a fistfight, his hands were not marked at all. The Shakers were pacifists and Aaron had not fought back. Not this time anyway. Rees remembered when a grieving Aaron had attacked another Shaker. ‘I told you I didn’t murder Leah. Or anyone else.’

  ‘I want to ask you something else. Why did you join the Shakers?’ Rees asked.

  Aaron blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve been told that joining the Shakers saved you from your criminal past. What did you do?’

  ‘Criminal past?’ Aaron uttered a short bark of laughter. ‘I was a farmer. Not some city nob.’ He turned and shuffled to the stone bench.

  ‘Wait,’ Rees said.

  ‘You’re wasting time,’ Aaron said. ‘While you question me about my past, the murderer is out there.’

  Rees stared at the prisoner. He knew Aaron could be as stubborn and as contrary as any mule and if he did not want to speak he would not. More certain than ever that Aaron had something to hide, Rees swore he would stay here all day if he had to.

  ‘Let me think,’ he said. ‘What could you have possibly done? Blackmail? No, I can’t imagine you as a blackmailer.’ Aaron displayed an outspokenness that would not serve a blackmailer well. ‘Not thievery surely. The Elders trust you to take horse and wagon on selling trips and return with the money. That leaves murder. You must have killed someone.’

  It was a shot in the dark but his guess hit its mark. Aaron still did not speak but Rees saw him flinch, a movement so slight that if Rees hadn’t been looking for it he would have missed it. ‘Who did you murder?’ Although he asked the question aloud he did not expect an answer. Instead, he tried to think the problem through. What did he know of Aaron? ‘Your wife!’

  ‘Who told you?’ Aaron asked in a hoarse voice. His hands clenched the bars so tightly his knuckles went white.

  ‘No one had to. What happened?’

  ‘I came home early, found her with one of the hired men,’ Aaron said after a short pause. ‘Shem screaming out his lungs in the cradle next to the bed.’ He rose to his feet and began pacing. ‘I was on my way to the barn when I heard the baby, couldn’t understand why no one was tending to him. Went inside.’ His voice roughened and he shook his head in remembered disbelief. Rees felt a stirring of pity. All these years and Aaron’s wife’s betrayal still hurt. ‘Tried to kill that bastard with her but he moved fast. So fast.’ He sighed and absently rubbed the cut on his eyebrow. The wound opened up again and he looked at the blood on his fingers as though he didn’t know what it was. ‘I was carrying a shovel.’ He grinned mirthlessly. ‘Swung it with all my strength but he ducked and jumped out the window with his shirt tails flying. I hit my wife instead.’ He looked away from Rees but not before he saw Aaron’s face twist. ‘Killed her stone dead.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I took Shem to my sister and ran. Few years later I found the Shakers. Figured Mother Ann Lee had it right: sex is the root of all evil. Haven’t looked back since.’ When Rees did not speak Aaron said, ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Rees said. ‘Not unless I find you had something to do with Leah’s murder.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘What about the two villains who tried to shoot me? Did you hire them?’ Rees asked although he was almost certain of the answer.

  ‘What villains?’ Aaron’s surprised bewilderment seemed entirely genuine. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ll speak to the constable,’ Rees said. ‘Maybe get you out of here.’ He doubted the Shaker could dissemble so effortlessly so at this moment he didn’t believe Aaron was guilty of either Leah’s murder or the shooting of Boudreaux. But Rees couldn’t be sure. After all, Aaron had killed someone in a fit of anger once before. And once that line had been crossed, taking a human life again was easier.

  Although both Lydia and David attempted several times that day and later into evening to talk to Rees he refused. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t describe his feelings even to himself and Lydia’s questions felt more like harassment than consolation. As soon as he could, he retreated to his weaving room and spent several hours at the loom. But the comfort he’d always found there took a long time coming. He spent more time staring out the window than weaving until, finally, the familiar magic took hold and he found the relief he sought.

  Next morning, after all the chores were done, he fled into town. Uncertain where else to go, he landed at Rouge’s ordinary. Rees was afraid to go to the circus. He was consumed with guilt; more even than grief and did not want to face the accusing eyes of the circus folk.

  Especially Bambola. He didn’t think he could bear the anger, the disappointment, and the disgust he was sure to see in her face.

  Rouge hailed Rees as soon as he stepped through the door. ‘I was hoping to see you. In fact, I was planning to ride out to the farm later and tell you Boudreaux’s funeral is set for this afternoon.’

 
; ‘This afternoon?’ Rees repeated.

  Rouge nodded. ‘Yes. I told the priest I might not be able to attend. I expect a busy day in the tavern. And both my cousins wish to pay their respects.’ Rouge offered a sour grin. ‘But he said he wouldn’t be here for two weeks or more and no one wants to leave the body that long. Since he is here now – he’ll be officiating at Mass on Sunday – the funeral has to take place today.’

  ‘Too bad,’ Rees said automatically. He felt his distress lessening in the constable’s company. Rouge was so concerned about his own pursuits and cares that he did not notice Rees’s pain. The indifference was curiously relaxing. ‘At least it will soon be over,’ he said. Maybe then he could begin recovering from the guilt.

  ‘Do you want to drive with me?’ Rouge swished the grimy rag over the bar. ‘I can show you the way. You won’t find the church by yourself.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Rees hesitated. ‘Will the service be in French?’

  ‘Some of it,’ Rouge admitted. ‘Most of it though will be in Latin.’

  Rees rolled his eyes. ‘A language I understand even less of than French.’ he said. ‘I think I’ll follow you in my own wagon.’ That way he could arrive late and leave when he wished. Funerals gave him the willies.

  ‘Planning to bolt early?’ Rouge guessed with a grin.

  Since this was true Rees chose not to reply. ‘Do I need to contribute some money?’ he asked instead. Many people began saving up for their funeral and burial when in their teens but he doubted Boudreaux was one of those.

  ‘Mr Asher is paying for it,’ Rouge said. ‘He said it was the least he could do for a man as close to him as a brother.’

  ‘Where is the body now?’ Poor Asher, Rees thought.

  ‘At the church,’ Rouge said in surprise. ‘I brought it to the church yesterday, after the coroner took a look at it. We held the vigil last night.’

  Rees nodded although he was not sure he completely understood what the constable was talking about. The church in which Rees had grown up worshipped God in a much simpler manner, including the language of the service – English.

  He decided not to drive home and back to town in the few hours remaining before the funeral. He had the time, he knew he did, but he told himself he didn’t want to waste it. He did not want to admit the truth; he didn’t want to go home. He drifted around town for the rest of the morning, always returning within sight of the fairgrounds. Although he circled the open space he did not stop there. Not even at the few farmers’ stalls that were opened on the edges, several yards distant from the circus wagons. But he watched from the shadow of a store’s front porch as the circus folk went about their business. He even saw Bambola a few times, passing back and forth.

  When the sun reached its zenith he returned to the tavern for dinner. When Rouge and his cousin Thomas, who had known Boudreaux and seemed genuinely upset, left for the funeral Rees followed them.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The Catholic church was a distance away from town. Tucked into a small hollow, the stone structure was concealed by fir trees. Rees suspected the hidden site was not an accident; occasionally a burst of anti-Catholic sentiment flared up, even here in the District of Maine where a significant part of the population boasted French ancestry.

  Several other wagons, mostly the circus vehicles with the gaudy rearing horses on the doors, were pulled up in front of the church. Rouge tied his horse up at the side of the church. He waved at Rees before he and his cousin hurried inside. Rees pulled up beside one of the circus wagons and climbed out. But he did not enter the church. The sonorous voice of the priest floated out to the clearing, chanting in a foreign language that he assumed was Latin. The tones were strangely hypnotizing and he listened for a few seconds before beginning his walk around the grounds.

  The hill behind the small building was steep, a rough surface made up of granite bedrock and trees clinging to the spaces in between. Last year’s fallen leaves carpeted the entire area. The whitewashed church stood out, very white against the gray stone, russet leaves and the bright green of new growth. The cliff was so tall and so steep it put the small stone structure into deep shadow.

  Rees followed the hollow around to the north. Tucked into a minute, flat space beside a ravine lay the cemetery. On the other side of the ditch another hill took off, rising toward the sky with even taller cliffs behind it. He stood in the foothills of the very same mountains behind his farm; the mountains where lumber was cut and floated down to Falmouth.

  Several gray stones dotted the area within the fence. A new grave, a ragged hole shoveled into the moist spring soil, had been dug near one side of the fence where a maple tree would throw shade upon it. Billy the clown was perched on the exposed tree roots.

  ‘Funny,’ he said, looking at Rees. ‘I thought I would be the one buried here.’

  Rees eyed the clown. Despite the warmth of this bright April day a heavy wool blanket swaddled him up to his neck.

  ‘Does knowing that you will not be laid to rest here comfort you?’ Rees asked. ‘Or make you feel worse?’

  Billy ruminated for a few seconds. ‘Worse,’ he said. ‘I’m sick; that’s God’s way. But Pip – well, it wasn’t his time, was it? The rest of his life was stolen from him. Why, he might have lived well into his dotage.’ He coughed, a hacking cough that hurt Rees to hear it. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

  ‘That’s true,’ Rees agreed as Billy thrust a grubby handkerchief over his lips. After a few seconds, the terrible grating sound ceased. He panted for a few seconds until he caught his breath.

  ‘Why aren’t you inside?’ Rees asked.

  ‘Not a papist,’ Billy said. ‘Raised Congregational. Don’t understand either Latin or French.’ He paused and Rees held himself still, expecting another burst of coughing. But after a few gasping breaths Billy recovered. He made his way to a large stone and sat down upon it, patting the space beside him invitingly. Rees joined him and they sat in a companionable silence.

  The chanting inside the church ceased and Rees could hear just the faintest threat of sound as though the priest was speaking.

  ‘Mr Asher spent some time here last night,’ Billy said abruptly. ‘Keeping vigil, he said.’

  ‘He was very close to Boudreaux,’ Rees said just as the church doors opened. He jumped to his feet and looked for Bambola in the crowd. There she was. Dressed in black silk with matching black hat and gloves, her face was swollen with crying. She leaned on Asher’s arm. He also was clad entirely in black except for the lacy white cravat at his throat.

  Rees’s left eyelid began to flutter, a nervous tic. He attempted to smooth it but as soon as he removed his finger the involuntary movement began again.

  Otto and two other circus men – Rees vaguely recognized them – carried out Boudreaux’s cloth-wrapped body to the cart waiting outside. Asher detached Bambola’s hand and leaped forward to help. No horse or mule was hitched between the traces; instead Asher and Otto each grabbed one of the long wooden pieces and began to pull. Rees hurried forward. He would take responsibility for his dreadful task. He had to; Boudreaux would not have been shot if those men had not been looking for a tall, red-haired man named Will Rees.

  The linen sheet fell away from Boudreaux’s gray face. One of the women moved forward to pull the linen sheet back over the body. She lifted up his torso to tuck the sheet under his shoulder, handling his weight easily despite her delicate appearance Although all the women wept not one succumbed to the vapors. Rees, however, thought he would have nightmares from this awful scene until the end of his days.

  Since neither of the men pulling the cart seemed disposed to give up their places, Rees wondered if he was even welcome here. But Asher gestured to the back of the cart. ‘Maybe you can push?’

  Rees went to the back as directed and shoved so forcefully the cart juddered forward, rocking back and forth over the uneven ground. One of the wheels got stuck on a stone; he gave a mighty heave and the cart tipped over. Boudreaux’s linen-wrapp
ed body slid out, flipping face forward onto the ground.

  ‘Oh,’ said the priest in dismay.

  They all stared at the linen shape on the ground. No one wanted to touch the body. At last Rees stepped forward. ‘But I can’t lift him alone,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll help,’ Asher said, removing his hat and linen jacket and stepping to Rees’s side. After a few seconds’ hesitation Otto also joined them. Rees threw a pointed glance at Rouge. Reluctance in every line of his body, he stared back, his resistance palpable. Finally, he too came forward. As Asher and Rouge lifted the feet Rees and Otto each took one of Boudreaux’s arms. The body sagged in the middle. Otto threw a scornful glance at Rees and shouldered him aside. The strongman lifted Boudreaux from under the armpits, straight up, while the other two struggled with the limp weight of the corpse’s legs and feet. Together they wrestled him into the cart. Rees noticed how Otto’s enormous hands gripped Boudreaux under the armpits, those long fingers and sharp nails pressing through the linen shroud and to the soft skin just below his shoulders. He shuddered convulsively.

  The body was finally in place. The three men stood around the cart breathing hard.

  With the body once more in the cart, Asher nodded at Rees to take up his place at the back of the cart. The funeral vehicle began its slow and bumpy ride to the graveyard. Save for Billy, the entire circus family walked behind.

  Rees successfully positioned the cart with its rear toward the hole but the body still had to be eased into the grave’s waiting earthen arms. Asher tried to grasp the body, but Boudreaux, although tall and appearing spindly, proved too heavy to hold. His weight tore away from the hands grasping him and with a rustle the body slid from out of the sheet and dropped into the hole.

  ‘We can’t leave him like that,’ Asher cried, staring down at the crumpled body. Rees guiltily jumped down and tried to straighten Boudreaux’s limbs. The body had passed through rigor and was now flaccid. But Rees did his best to lay out the body and cover him with the shroud so that Boudreaux would go to his Maker with some dignity. Knowing that he had done what was necessary, Rees felt better.