Grace Goodwin - The Virgins - Complete Boxed Set

I stood at the back door and stopped to arrange my hair, which had fallen, bouncing around my shoulders as the few pins holding it met their fate, scattered and lost across the prairie. I twisted my hair into a knot at my nape. I was sweaty and breathing hard. Looking down, I realized the top buttons of my dress were not fastened. Hastily, I set myself to rights before stepping into the kitchen. I didn’t want Mr. Anderson to know about anything that was occurring with Mr. Maddox. It was a secret that I was not prepared to tell. How could I? Even I didn’t believe his wild tale. I could not explain what he knew and how he knew it.

Taking a deep breath, then another, I went into the kitchen. Strangely, all was quiet. The stove was still cold, the coffeepot dry. I knew Mr. Anderson was not a cook—he could burn water—but he knew how to brew coffee.

I could hear the clock on the mantel above the fireplace in the parlor. “Hello?” I called out. Pushing open the swinging door to the dining room, the table was bare, the room empty. I went around the corner and saw that the front door was open and I went to the entry to close it to find Maddox there before me. He stepped inside and I turned away, headed back to the kitchens. Just before I went out of the dining room, I caught sight of a man’s booted foot in the hall. I took another step and saw the leg as well. It was as if he were asleep on the floor at the base of the stairs. Had Mr. Anderson fallen down? The older man was frail. Had he taken a tumble?

I drew closer and placed my hand over my nose as the thick, metallic smell of fresh blood assaulted me. Mr. Anderson had not fallen down the steps. There was blood, so much blood it was like a blanket beneath him. His eyes were wide open and unseeing, his head twisted at an unnatural angle and his throat had been cut, a vicious slice that revealed the gaping hole in the center. The murder was brutal, his head hanging backward as if on a hinge. Blood continued to ooze from the sides of his neck and run down his flesh to merge with the dark stain already on the hardwood floor.

The man who was like a father to me looked up at the ceiling with sightless eyes, his skin gray as ash, the wrinkles on his face flat and his mouth open with a soundless scream.

“Oh, God. Mr. And—”

My throat closed up and I couldn’t get out the rest of his name, not that it mattered. Someone had done this. Someone had come into the boarding house and attacked Mr. Anderson. Murdered him.

“Oh, no,” I gasped. Whipping about, I ran back through the dining room, sensing more than seeing a blur of movement beside me. I pushed open the door to the kitchen and bumped into a hard body. A strong pair of arms circled me, holding me tightly.

I pushed and punched at him. “No! Get away! Leave me alone!” I screamed. I was going to be killed, too. Sliced open and left on the floor. “No!”

“Cassie,” the man said. “Cassie!” he repeated, his voice deep. He grabbed my shoulders, shook me. Lowering to my height, I saw his eyes, his pale blue eyes. “It’s Maddox. And we have to go.”

I shook from head to toe. “How did you get here? You were at the front…” I dropped the thought, not caring about the details as my stomach revolted at the remembered sight of Mr. Anderson’s throat. I’d seen a cow slaughtered once, a long knife used to quickly slice the neck and kill it. Let the blood drain out. That had stuck with me and I’d refused to eat beef for an entire winter after that. But this…

I couldn’t speak, so I pointed, with a very wobbly hand, over my shoulder. “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Mr. Maddox’s gaze roved over my face before he lifted his head as if scenting the air like a bloodhound. His eyes narrowed and he pulled me along behind him. “Stay behind me. Don’t leave my sight.”

Cassie

He let go of me and I focused on his broad shoulders, the black silk of his long hair where he’d tied it at the back of his neck. I didn’t look at Mr. Anderson. I didn’t need to see him like that again, was afraid I’d never get the sight out of my memory. I listened to Maddox’s heavy footfalls as he approached the body, then stopped. I stared blankly at the wall, at the faded dark green vine and yellow daisy pattern of the wallpaper that had lined the hallway for as long as I could remember.

My mind longed for something to do, for the comfort of routine and I considered starting the fire in the stove, for it was well past six. My hands twisted together at my waist and I immediately dismissed the idea as a fool’s errand. There was no need to cook. No need for coffee or breakfast. Mr. Anderson was dead and did not require either.

Maddox turned to me and swept me up into his arms. I buried my head in his neck as he stepped over Mr. Anderson’s body and walked up the stairs to the first landing. When I was on my feet again he told me to stay close and pulled an oddly shaped pistol from one of his pockets. It was smaller than the revolvers I’d seen around town, and a bright, shiny silver, not black. I stared at the weapon, confused. I didn’t see anywhere for him to load the bullets. The sides were smooth and seamless, more like the rounded center of a pretty silver spoon than a weapon.

He left me at the top of the steps and I watched as he walked from room to room. He returned within a minute but in that short time my calm had been exhausted.

“What about the others?” I asked. “Mr. Bernot and Mr. Williams were here overnight.”

“The one with his hand on your ass stayed at the hotel last night.” His jaw was tight, the lines in his neck tense.

“What?” I was too confused to understand what he was saying. Of course, Mr. Bernot had not left us last night. “But he paid for two more days. In advance.”

Maddox shook his head slowly, his focus squarely on me. “I escorted him to the hotel in town last night after he dared touch you. He’s gone.”

That announcement made me nervous and strangely warm all at the same time. No one had ever really watched out for me before. No one had protected me from men with wandering hands or anything else for that matter. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson had done a fair job raising me, but there’d been no real love there. Not like I wanted. My mother had admitted to them that I was a bastard and pious Mrs. Anderson had never quite forgiven me for it. “What about Mr. Williams?”

“The older man in the second bedroom?” Mr. Maddox asked, tilting his head in that direction.

“Yes.”

“He’s dead, too. If it’s any consolation, it appears he was sleeping and was not aware when death came for him.”

And yet Mr. Anderson had been all too aware of his attacker and demise.

Shaking my head, I shoved past him and raced to Mr. William’s bedroom door. Still slightly ajar, the scent of blood hit me before I could push on the handle. I stopped, unable to swing the door open. I didn’t want to see more. I’d seen enough. And the smell—more blood—

It was then my stomach chose to revolt. I dashed down the hall to the back stairs and raced out the back door. Dropping to my knees in the grass, I leaned forward and promptly heaved up the pitiful contents of my stomach. It wasn’t much as I’d had nothing to eat since supper, not even coffee.

A shadow formed on the grass before Maddox squatted down behind me, his knees bracketing my body.

His hand went to the back of my neck as he reached around and offered me a cloth.

Wiping my mouth with it, I tried to catch my breath. “That man did this?” I asked, running my fingers over the tall blades of grass. “Neron? The man you’re hunting?”