Shades of Midnight (14 page)

"How do you know this?" Lucien asked calmly.

"She came to me for guidance."

"Did Alistair Stamper come with her for this counsel?" Eve asked.

"No," the preacher said succinctly. "Viola did not want her husband to know that she was unhappy because after three years of marriage she still had not conceived. She was afraid he would find such a revelation hurtful. Even now that they're gone, such talk would do no one any good. It might even stir up old, ugly rumors."

Rumors about Viola and the new, young preacher, Eve assumed. Rumors he did not want circulating again.

Eve could not help but note that the reverend always referred to Viola by name, and to Alistair as
her husband.
Did he not know Alistair well? Or did he find it difficult to say the name of Viola's husband aloud, even after all these years?

Good heavens, he really had been in love with her. She saw it in the pain in his eyes. She heard it when he said her name.

"The day they died..." she began.

"Oh, my!" Reverend Younger said, snapping his head around to glare, wide-eyed, at Lucien. "I know where I've heard your name before. You're that... that..."

"Scientist specializing in studies of the spiritual world," Eve supplied. She would not allow this man to call Lucien by any offensive name. Not today.

The Reverend Younger looked from Lucien to Eve and back again. He was not a stupid man. She was asking about a thirty-year-old murder, and her colleague was a man who admittedly spoke to the dead. "I think you should both leave. I have another appointment shortly, and I'm quite sure I can be of no further assistance."

"Thank you for speaking to us," Lucien said, standing and offering his hand over the desk. The preacher stared at his hand for a moment before reluctantly taking it. Lucien did not let go quickly, but pumped the reverend's hand enthusiastically. "It's been a pleasure."

Reverend Younger should have responded with a polite, "The pleasure was all mine," or "God bless you," or even a curt, "Likewise." Instead he said nothing, as he pulled his hand gratefully into his chest and cradled it as if he had been burned.

* * *

"That proves it," Eve said as they walked away from the church.

"Proves what?" Lucien asked, astounded that she had been able to gain anything from that quick and unsatisfactory encounter.

"Reverend Younger was
obviously
in love with Viola," Eve said sensibly. "She wanted a child, and perhaps..." She blushed. "Well, you can imagine."

Viola wanted a child, and she decided her husband would never be able to give her one. Had she gone to another man, or as Miss Gertrude had suggested, other men, in search of what she so desperately desired?

"Alistair discovered what was going on, tricked Viola into thinking he had forgiven her, and then he killed her."

She sounded so convinced. He was not. "Why?"

"Because of the other man," Eve whispered.

Lucien waved her answer off with a dismissive hand. "No. Why make her believe he forgave her? If he was enraged over her indiscretions, why not kill her in a rage? Why pretend to love and forgive her and
then
kill her and himself?"

"I don't know," Eve admitted.

Again on the streets of Plummerville, they walked and talked, their voices low, onlookers forgotten.

"Perhaps he did know about her fall from grace, as it were," Lucien began. "Being imperfect himself, Alistair truly might have forgiven Viola, but someone else... a rejected lover, a jealous wife, an indignant brother or father, killed them both."

"Not a jealous wife," Eve insisted.

"Why not?"

"We know the killer was a man."

Lucien shrugged. "We don't
know
that to be true, though I suppose we can assume it to be the case. Still a jealous woman might have hired or begged or blackmailed someone into doing the deed for her."

Evie sighed. "You make things so complicated! The simplest explanation is almost always the correct one."

"Almost
always."

"Besides, if the murderer was someone unconnected to the Stampers, someone who just killed them for money and then left town, we will never know what really happened."

"No matter what happened that night, we might never know. It's been thirty years, Eve."

She stopped before the busy general store and looked up at him. "Not for Viola. For Viola, it's not thirty years ago, it's
right now,
and the murder happens every night. She dies violently every night."

He wanted, so much, to reach out and touch Evie's cheek. Instead he said, "While we're here, let's do a little shopping."

She turned away and headed into the general store. The skirt of her drab green dress swayed nicely, as he watched her walk away. His Eve was a temptation, a wonder, the only woman for him. Unfortunately she was also a gift he might never be able to reclaim.

Chapter 9

Eve tried to convince herself that people only stared at Lucien because he was so handsome... and because he was a stranger to most of the customers who browsed the shelves of the general store, she added mentally when it occurred to her that to dwell upon his more pleasing attributes was a waste of her time.

But it was more, and she knew it. Lucien was different. People always sensed that he was different, and were either perplexed, annoyed, or intrigued. Again she felt a deep rage on his behalf. Different was not wrong! She wanted to stroke his head and kiss his brow and call his mother much worse names than stupid, but she didn't dare. For one thing, she didn't want him to know she cared. For another, you just didn't criticize a man's mother too much, no matter what she'd done.

She placed sugar and tea in a small shopping basket, and Lucien browsed through the penny candy. No tobacco for him, thank goodness. She hated the stench of cigar smoke, and would not have it in her house, in any case. But Lucien had a sweet tooth. She decided to buy an extra pound of sugar.

"Eve!" a bright voice called.

Eve spun around to see her closest friend in Plummerville, Daisy Willard, closing in with a wide smile on her face. Daisy was everything Eve was not. She was a beautiful woman, with pale blond hair and eyes almost as blue as Lucien's. She dressed in colorful, frilly dresses and was given to wearing bows and satin ribbons. Perhaps she and Eve had become such good friends because they were the only unmarried women in Plummerville between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, except for that sour old widow Katherine Cassidy. Eve and Daisy didn't talk about babies and cake recipes, like the other women near their ages, they talked about the world, books, and their gardens. Daisy had a wonderful garden.

"I didn't expect to see you in town today," Daisy said brightly as she gave Eve a quick hug. She glanced into Eve's basket. "Why, look at all that sugar. Are you actually going to do some baking?" It was a small joke between them; neither of them could bake worth a fig. Still, when Lucien was around Eve wanted to
try
to learn.

"It was a spur-of-the moment trip," Eve said, hoping beyond hope that Lucien would continue to peruse the sweet offerings at the front of the store. She had not talked about her ghosts to anyone, not even to Daisy. She would have a terrible time explaining Lucien!

"Are you going to bake a cake for the Halloween fair?"

Eve shook her head. "No."

"But you will be there," Daisy said.

She had put off this discussion for two weeks, because she knew Daisy would argue. But now was as good a time as any. "I don't think so." Halloween was the thirtieth anniversary of Viola's death. She wouldn't feel right partying on the streets of Plummerville while Viola relived that night once more.

As expected, Daisy's eyes grew wide. "Why not? It's always fun. Much more fun than the Fourth of July celebration. The mayor doesn't speak at Halloween, thank goodness. Instead of ending the day with a boring speech, we all gather around the bonfire and tell ghost stories!"

Eve shuddered. Ghost stories could be entertaining, but since beginning her work with Lucien and his cronies, four years ago, she no longer garnered any pleasure from those scary tales. To believe in ghosts as a concept was one thing. To have them tap you on the shoulder and say hello was another entirely.

Daisy's eyes sparkled. A hint of a smile touched her perfectly shaped mouth. "You're scared," she said softly.

"I am not."

"You are." Daisy laid a hand on Eve's arm. "You're afraid of ghosts and goblins and witches..."

"I am not!"

Daisy's half smile faded. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I was having fun with you, and you really are frightened. Eve, it's just a child's holiday. A night for all of us to be children again." She nodded her head. "We'll go to the festival together, and if you like I'll hold your hand and chase away anyone who dares to scare you, and I will give you the talk my mother used to give me, when I was younger. There are no ghosts, no witches, no goblins."

The thought of Daisy Willard—five foot one and slightly built and dressed in sunny yellow—protecting anyone made Eve smile. And now was not the time to tell Daisy that while she wasn't sure about goblins, ghosts and witches were
very
real.

"That's very sweet, but I have other plans."

"Other plans?"

More explanations were apparently called for. Explanations she did not want to give. Eve's life in Plummerville was as regulated and boring as Daisy's. They never had
other plans.

"Evie, do you like licorice?"

Eve closed her eyes at the sound of Lucien's voice and the steady clip of his step behind her.

"I can't remember," he mumbled. "I should remember. You like either licorice or... peppermint!" He sighed. "It's peppermint you like. You detest licorice." He turned before he reached her, heading back to the candy counter. "Sorry," he muttered as he walked away.

When he was gone, Daisy smiled and whispered, "Evie?"

"He's an old friend."

"He doesn't look very old," Daisy teased. "Oh, is he the reason you have other plans for Saturday? This is quite shocking."

"He's staying at Miss Gertrude's boarding house," Eve explained. "And he really is an old friend. Nothing more."

Daisy didn't argue, but she didn't believe the protest, either. Her face was so open and easy to read, and right now everything on that face sparkled. "Does your old friend have a name?"

"Lucien Thorpe." Eve held her breath as she waited for Daisy to recognize the name.

Apparently she didn't. "We must all have dinner at my house. Tomorrow night?"

"We really shouldn't..."

"You can't have other plans for tomorrow, too!"

What could she say without telling Daisy about Viola and Alistair and Lucien's attempts to send them on? If she wanted to tell anyone, it would be her friend. Daisy was a woman who could be trusted, of that Eve was certain. But when—no,
if
the time came, she didn't want to share the news in the general store.

"Tomorrow night would be lovely," Eve said.

Daisy clapped her hands and grinned widely. "Wonderful! I was so terribly bored, with nothing to look forward to until the Halloween festival on Saturday, and now I have a cozy dinner party to plan. A fall theme, I think," she said, tapping a slender finger on her chin. "Is your friend Mr. Thorpe a picky eater?"

"Not at all."

"All men like beef and potatoes," Daisy mused. "And I could try to make a pie. The last one was a disaster, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. Pumpkin," she said with a decisive nod of her head.

"I have to go," Eve said, trying to make her escape before Lucien returned. Daisy and Lucien would meet soon enough.

* * *

"Dinner?" Lucien wagged a rope-like piece of licorice at Eve as she put away the purchases he had carried for her. "Why?"

"Daisy is my best friend here in Plummerville, and she wants to cook a meal for us. That's all."

"We don't have time," he said, pulling out a chair from the small kitchen table and sitting. "Tomorrow night we'll need to be here, trying to connect with Viola and Alistair so I can send them on."