A Circle of Dead Girls Read online

  Rees called to Paul. All of his brothers and his father turned to look as he left his work and ran to the worm fence. ‘Mr Rees,’ he said, looking eagerly up into Rees’s face. ‘More questions for me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rees said with a slight smile. He jumped down from the wagon seat and extended a hand to Lydia. Leaning against the top rail, he said, ‘We can now be certain Monsieur Boudreaux did not murder that girl.’ Paul nodded, understanding he should be sad and horrified but excited in spite of himself. Rees thought this was probably the most interesting thing that had ever happened to Paul. ‘Where did you begin your work that day? When the girl was killed.’

  Paul pointed to the lane. ‘We always begin on that side and work toward the main road.’

  ‘Tell me again about the traffic on main,’ Rees said. ‘Besides Mr Boudreaux. I think I have a pretty good idea about him.’

  ‘There was some,’ Paul said. ‘But it got much heavier later. The circus had already gone by; before noon. You should have seen it, Mr Rees. All the gold horses on the wagon doors sparkling in the sun—’

  ‘Tell me about any wagons or carriages you saw,’ Rees interrupted. He knew about the arrival of the circus.

  ‘There were a lot of wagons,’ Paul said. ‘But they came by after four o’clock mostly.’

  ‘So, they would be here for the five o’clock show,’ Rees said with a nod.

  ‘I suppose. Anyway, I recognized all the men in the wagons. All farmers from around here.’

  ‘And the carriages on the main road?’ Lydia said, speaking for the first time.

  ‘There were only two,’ Paul said promptly.

  ‘And one belonged to Magistrate Hanson?’ Rees said.

  ‘I told you that already. He was going into town.’

  ‘Yes, I saw the magistrate in town,’ Rees said. ‘Did you see a carriage on the lane?’

  Paul looked at Rees, one eyebrow lifted in surprise. ‘I told you I did.’

  ‘Did you notice anything about the carriage? Anything unusual?’ Lydia leaned forward to ask the question.

  Paul shook his head. ‘It was just a regular carriage. Nothing special about it.’

  ‘Especially after seeing the circus vehicles, right?’ Rees asked, his tone dry.

  The boy nodded emphatically. ‘Exactly. Boring.’

  ‘Did you see the passengers?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘One passenger. A woman. She leaned out of the window and waved at me.’ He paused and then added, ‘I think it was the doctor’s wife. She went to Surry to visit her daughter …’ His voice trailed away uncertainly.

  Lydia and Rees exchanged glances; another dead end.

  ‘Was there anything else?’ Rees asked, feeling a little desperate. ‘Anyone else? A tall heavyset man?’

  ‘No one on foot except the Shaker children and the man following them. First, they walked in. Couple of hours later I saw the man and boy walk home.’

  ‘Together?’ Rees asked.

  Paul shook his head. ‘The boy acted like he didn’t know the man was there.’

  ‘What color was the carriage?’ Lydia interjected.

  Paul shrugged. ‘The regular color. Brown.’

  ‘The horses?’ Rees asked.

  ‘Brown.’

  ‘Any insignias on the doors?’ Lydia asked.

  Paul shook his head. ‘I would have told you,’ he said shortly.

  Rees sighed.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Mr Reynard asked, approaching the fence.

  Rees shook his head. ‘Thank you, no.’

  Lydia, who had stepped away from the fence when she saw Mr Reynard approaching, swept her skirts from her feet and climbed into the wagon. As Rees climbed up beside her, she said in a low voice, ‘Well, I’m not sure that was useful.’

  ‘Damn waste of time,’ Rees agreed. Glancing at his wife, he added, ‘Why did you press him about the carriage on the lane?’

  She did not reply for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last. ‘It’s just that … well, the attack on Leah had to be done in private. And then her body was transported to the field.’ She looked at her husband. ‘Even in a wagon a body would have been visible. So, I thought a carriage …’ Her voice trailed off. Rees waited. ‘But that doesn’t look possible either.’

  ‘Unless the murderer is Piggy Hanson,’ he said.

  ‘That’s just so hard to believe,’ she said.

  As they drove past the fairgrounds, Rees could not help glancing at the circus. To his dismay, he saw that the rope and posts erected for Bambola had been taken down. It looked as though Rouge had given Asher permission to depart. Why? Rees was not finished with the investigation. He might have more questions. He did not want to admit, even to himself, that he didn’t want to see the ropedancer disappear from his life forever.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Lydia asked in a sharp voice.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Rees had a difficult time finding the correct clearing. In the daylight the trees along the road all looked identical. But Lydia, seated on the passenger side, spotted the tracks of the wheels disappearing into the forest and pointed them out. Rees turned in and they climbed down from the wagon.

  The clearing looked much different than it had the night before. He had not realized how closely the underbrush grew around the small opening. But there was the path he remembered following up the hill. It did not look so steep now.

  ‘What’s this?’ Lydia asked, pointing to something white caught in the bushes.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rees said, staring at it. Surely it had not been there the night before. Wouldn’t he have seen it in the lantern light?

  Lydia pulled out the long piece of cloth and held it up. ‘It’s a cravat,’ Rees said, joining his wife by the bush.

  ‘A cravat?’ Lydia turned to stare at the long linen scarf in her hand. ‘Who wears a cravat around here?’

  ‘The magistrate,’ he replied grimly. Lydia stared at him, her eyes widening. Despite his arguments, she had not seriously entertained the possibility Hanson was guilty. ‘We’d better take the cravat with us,’ Rees said. Lydia nodded silently and dropped it on the wagon seat.

  She followed Rees up the path. In the sunlight he could see the hard-packed earth interspersed by rocks underfoot. Lydia looked at it and said, ‘I can climb this in a skirt. It is not so very difficult.’

  ‘Follow me then,’ he said.

  They followed the trail up the hill. She picked her way cautiously around trees with their roots exposed to the air. Rees, recalling the difficult descent the night before, shook his head. He was surprised he and Rouge had made it.

  At last they reached the junction with the flat boulders. Streaks of blood, dried black, marked the violence that had occurred here the previous day. Rees could now see how the farmer had discovered them. Another trail, even more gradual than the one he and Lydia had just climbed, looped down to a rocky field of buckwheat below.

  ‘The bodies were found here,’ he said, pointing to the crushed vegetation where they had been dumped. A blood pool marked the resting place of the big man.

  ‘There was a struggle over here,’ Lydia said. Rees followed her pointing finger. The broken stems of low blueberry bushes shone white against the green. Crushed leaves from the previous fall formed a wavering line across the granite where someone had dragged a body.

  Rees stared at the trail for a moment and then turned to look at the pool of blood. ‘Rouge was right,’ he said. ‘Two people. One shot the bigger man while the other strangled the smaller.’

  Lydia, who was looking at her husband, suddenly crossed the rock. Stepping daintily around the dried blood, she pulled something from the bush behind him. Holding up several black threads, she said, ‘One of the men hid here.’

  Rees took the threads. ‘This is silk,’ he said. He put the threads carefully in his vest pocket.

  ‘Silk?’ Lydia repeated in disbelief. ‘Who wears silk to an ambush and a murder?’
/>   ‘The magistrate wears a black, silk jacket,’ Rees said, remembering the feel of it underneath his hands the night before. ‘He was wearing it when I saw him last night.’ Crossing the rock, he pointed. ‘Piggy hid here, in the bushes. When his confederate stepped forward to meet the smaller villain, Piggy came out of hiding and shot the big man.’

  ‘Well, someone shot this man,’ Lydia said.

  ‘Who else wears silk here?’ Rees said, sweeping his arm around him. ‘Even the shopkeepers do not wear silk. It is too expensive for the likes of us.’

  Lydia nodded reluctantly. ‘I just can’t imagine the magistrate—’ She stopped. ‘Why would he? He’s a married man. With a position to lose.’

  ‘I’ll speak to him again,’ Rees said. He was more certain than ever that Piggy Hanson was guilty.

  FORTY-THREE

  They drove back to town in silence. As they passed the fairgrounds Lydia said suddenly, ‘I want to speak to the ropedancer.’

  Rees glanced at her in surprise but she would not look at him. ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to ask her something.’

  ‘Nothing has happened between us,’ Rees said, hearing the guilty anger in his voice. Now Lydia met his gaze. Her blue eyes were so level and calm Rees felt a flush rise into his cheeks.

  ‘My question has nothing to do with you,’ she said. He wasn’t sure he believed her.

  ‘Very well. I wanted to speak to Asher again anyway,’ he lied. He had some vague notion that if he claimed an ongoing connection between himself and the circus owner Lydia would lose all suspicion of Rees’s attraction to Bambola.

  Feeling very strange to stop at the circus with Lydia beside him, Rees pulled into the fairgrounds. He parked in the field and they walked together toward the wagons. While she went on to find Bambola, he found the circus master and begged a pail of water for his horse.

  Asher, who was overseeing the packing up of his magic props, eyed Rees curiously. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked as he pulled a pair of leather gloves over his scratched hands. ‘I thought you were done with your investigation, especially in light of Boudreaux’s death.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Rees said. ‘You and Bambola persuaded me to keep looking.’ He paused a moment and then added, ‘The two men who shot him are dead themselves.’

  ‘Did you …?’ Asher stared at Rees in horror.

  ‘I didn’t kill them,’ he said.

  ‘Then how do you know?’ Asher turned completely around to give Rees his full attention.

  ‘A farmer found the bodies,’ he said.

  ‘Who killed them then?’ Asher brushed his hand over his forehead. ‘I’m sorry. I’m having trouble understanding all of this.’

  ‘I know,’ Rees agreed. ‘It is difficult. I suspect the man that hired those men murdered them. Maybe he didn’t want to pay them but I think it is more a matter of removing anyone who can identify him.’

  ‘Ah,’ Asher said. He sighed. ‘I expect we will be long gone by the time you identify the murderer. As much as I want to know who murdered Boudreaux, we have to make a living. Even your constable agrees we can leave.’

  ‘I think he is jumping ahead,’ Rees began but he had already lost Asher’s attention. And Lydia was fast approaching, holding up her skirts so they did not drag in the mud.

  ‘Mrs Rees,’ Asher said with a bow.

  Lydia nodded, barely polite, and took her husband’s arm. Together they walked to the wagon. She did not speak and he began to wonder about her conversation with Bambola. Burning with curiosity, he said, ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’ Lydia replied with a faint smile. He helped her up the step into her seat.

  ‘What did Miss Mazza say?’ Rees climbed in beside her.

  ‘Nothing about you,’ Lydia said, turning to look at him. Rees waited. ‘I asked her if she loved Mr Asher,’ Lydia said after several seconds.

  ‘And?’ Rees felt a sinking sensation in his gut.

  ‘She said she would do anything for him.’ Lydia’s forehead wrinkled. ‘But what does that mean? And is it even true?’ She looked at her husband once again. ‘I suspect she might have answered the question differently if you’d asked it.’

  Rees said nothing, afraid to meet his wife’s gaze. Instead he said, ‘We have to show the constable the cravat and the silk threads.’

  As he drove the short distance to the tavern, he knew with absolute certainty that she had not told him all she’d learned. And she wouldn’t, not yet anyway, even if he asked.

  When they pulled into the yard, the ostler frowned. ‘Your horse is hot and sweaty,’ he said accusingly.

  ‘Walk him, please,’ Rees said, handing the man a penny.

  He checked that the threads were still in his pocket and picked up the white cravat. Then he and Lydia went inside the tavern.

  Rouge, standing in his usual spot at the bar, nodded at them when they entered. Rees waved at him to follow and continued on to the taproom at the front.

  Rees found the magistrate seated at the back wall with the remains of a large breakfast in front of him. He looked up in surprise and smiled tentatively. Rees threw the linen in his hand at the table, narrowly missing Hanson’s dirty plate.

  ‘What is this?’ the magistrate asked in surprise.

  ‘Do you recognize it?’ Rees asked. ‘It’s someone’s cravat.’

  The magistrate picked it up and examined the linen. ‘No, I don’t recognize it.’ He looked up, his eyes narrowing. ‘If you’re asking if it’s mine, it is not. It is cheap and shabby. And worn a long time. See? It’s been darned several times.’ He pointed to two small areas. The needlework was so fine the darns were almost invisible, even when one knew they were there. Rees stared at the repairs in consternation. He knew Piggy would never wear anything damaged, no matter how finely the repairs had been done. Besides, now that the linen Lydia had found in the forest was held close to the cravat around the magistrate’s neck, the difference was plain. Piggy’s was a snowy white and starched into knife-sharp folds, against which the other appeared faintly yellow and limp.

  Lydia took the linen square from the magistrate and inspected it.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ Rouge asked, peering over Rees’s shoulder.

  ‘In the woods where we found the bodies,’ he replied.

  ‘It wasn’t there last night,’ Rouge said loudly. ‘We woulda seen it. Do you think the murderer was wearing it?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Rees said cautiously. He’d been convinced this piece of fabric tied the murders to Hanson but now was no longer sure. And who else in this small farming town wore cravats?

  Hanson pursed his mouth as he thought. ‘I daresay those are the bodies you dragged me from my bed last night to see? Neither one of those men would wear a cravat, even an old one.’

  ‘I agree,’ Rees said. ‘But it might belong to the man who hired them.’ He stared at Hanson and the two men exchanged a long look.

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ the magistrate said. ‘I’ve never seen this before. Or those men. Besides, why would I hire such villains?’ As he realized what Rees was suggesting he stared at him in horror. ‘We’ve known one another since we were boys. Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with the deaths of those young girls!’

  Rees stared back. God help me, he thought, I don’t want to believe him, but I do.

  A crack of thunder broke the silence.

  ‘A storm is coming,’ Rouge said, turning to look through the window. Rain was already streaking the wavy glass. ‘You don’t want to be caught out in it.’

  Rees turned to his wife. ‘We’d better start home,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to take another look at the bodies tomorrow.’ By then they would be beginning to bloat. In a few days their own mothers wouldn’t recognize them. But the delay couldn’t be helped.

  FORTY-FOUR

  ‘I think Magistrate Hanson is telling the truth,’ Lydia said as they rode out of town. The light drizzle was already beginning to thicken. As thunder crashed overh
ead Hannibal broke into a canter.

  ‘But he’s the only one who wears cravats on a regular basis,’ Rees argued.

  ‘Do you think that shabby cravat belongs to the magistrate?’ Lydia asked, turning to look at her husband. Faced with a direct question, he hesitated for several seconds.

  ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘And then there is this question,’ Lydia continued. ‘What was the cravat doing in the middle of the forest anyway? No one, not even Mr Hanson, wears a silk jacket and a cravat into the woods.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Rees said, knowing he sounded grumpy. ‘You seem to have all the answers.’ Lydia threw him a glance. When she didn’t speak, Rees said, ‘Well, go on.’

  ‘I think someone put it there,’ Lydia said. ‘Neither you nor the constable saw it and you would have, even in the dark. The lantern light would have shone on the white cloth.’

  ‘To implicate Piggy?’ Rees asked rhetorically.

  Lydia’s explanation made a lot of sense. ‘To implicate someone.’

  ‘No honor among thieves,’ Rees said. ‘What if the murderer, the one who hired those two villains, is trying to incriminate his confederate? No, wait, that won’t work. That man would simply accuse his associate.’ He stopped, frustrated, as another crack of thunder rolled across the sky. A bolt of lightning sent a flash of blue light to the ground and the rain began to come down, so fast and hard it felt like needles on Rees’s exposed skin. Hannibal whinnied and began to run, his hooves throwing up clots of mud and peppering the wagon’s passengers with dirt. Rees pulled on the reins, hard, struggling to slow him down. For several seconds he could barely see the horse’s brown flanks in front of him. The grooved and pockmarked surface of the road rapidly filled with water. As the wagon swayed and juddered through the puddles, the wheels splashed muck everywhere.

  Rees and Lydia arrived home soaked to the skin, muddy and cold. After Rees put Hannibal into his stall he went inside to change his clothes. Lydia had already changed to a much-worn, dark-blue dress that was so old it had begun to fade in spots. She put on her apron and pulled a bowl from the shelf. The tinkling sound of the spoon hitting the bowl’s edge sounded through the kitchen as she mixed up cornbread for the noon meal. She was chewing her lip and frowning. Rees recognized that look. She was brooding over something that did not make her happy.