A Man With a Pure Heart Read online

  Kathleen nodded, “Mary Elizabeth was always an early riser. She had trouble sleeping, and it was not unusual for her to start her day at three or four in the morning. Please, go on.”

  Samuel became aware he still held her hands. He laid them flat on the table, and placed his on top. “It was past noon by the time the search began. We…I found Mary the next day in an old abandoned cabin, a couple of miles into the woods near the river. She had been killed by someone.”

  Halfway through his explanation, Kathleen closed her eyes, as if it would be less painful if she did not see him speak the words. Now she straightened in the chair. Her eyes opened, and Samuel was shocked by her expression. In truth, her lovely green eyes had darkened, and while they were full of tears, they were also full of hate.

  “Have you found him? Do you have the man who killed my sister?”

  Samuel understood her anger. This was her family they were talking about. Her sister. She had been unable to prevent this horrible act, and now she was going to make sure justice was delivered. Yes, Samuel understood. He had been willing, at the age of fifteen, to kill the men who had attacked his sister, Mae.

  “No, I don’t have him, yet. But I will.”

  Now Kathleen grabbed both of Samuel’s hands. “Swear to me,” she demanded. “Swear to me you will find this animal.”

  He looked straight into those dark green eyes and said, “This man will be found. And he will be held accountable for his actions. I promise you this.”

  Kathleen believed him. He seemed to understand her need for closure. She stood now. “Well, I’ve come to finish out the school year for my sister. It’s what she would have wanted. So I will be here when you find him.”

  She was not leaving. She was going to be here, in Tallahassee, for several months. Now why should that make Samuel feel so darn good?

  Samuel dropped Kathleen at her sister’s cottage. “Kathleen, I will keep in touch. If I can help with anything, please let me know.”

  “You’ve already helped. I will begin work at the school on Monday morning. If you have information for me, I will be here or at the school. Thank you again for breakfast.”

  ****

  Edith Hampton had no smile for him on his return. “Well, did you get her all sorted out?”

  “Yes, Edith, I did. Is the captain in?”

  “Yes, and he’s waiting for you.”

  Samuel had never given her reason to consider him anything other than a friend, but over the last few months she had taken on an air of ownership. It hadn’t bothered Samuel until this morning, and that in itself was odd.

  He knocked on the doorframe. Captain Lance looked up and motioned him in.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning to you, Detective. You have information for me? Edith said you were on your way to see me when a giant redhead kidnapped you,” he said with a grin.

  Samuel exhaled slowly, shook his head, and drawled, “Well, there was a redhead involved. She is Kathleen Campbell, the sister of our schoolteacher. But that can wait. I know where our killer picked up Mary Elizabeth.”

  The grin was gone in a flash. “Let’s have it, then.”

  “On a hunch, I walked a route from the young lady’s cottage to the school.” He said nothing of the smell of yeast. “You know the huge live oak at the corner of Holmes and Maple? Well, I found these at the base of the tree.” Samuel pulled the second linen square from his pocket and opened it up.

  The captain looked at the contents, then back at Samuel. “Same as the ones near the cabin?”

  “Yep, same odd aroma. I’m takin’ these to a tobacconist later, to see what I can find out.”

  “Good. Just keep me posted. The paper ran another article this morning about how we have failed to find the killer. Not that I care much one way or the other what they say, but I don’t like the idea of him running free, out there somewhere.”

  Samuel looked at the sky as he left the building. It was overcast, and a cool breeze ruffled his dark hair. It was the first week of October, and already there were good indications of fall leading into a cold winter. The leaves didn’t turn red and yellow, like they did in North Georgia, but they did fall, and some trees were beginning to look a little thin.

  He mentally marked items off a to-do list. The patrol sergeant would have four deputies all over the area surrounding McDuff’s brewery. They would be questioning any residents thoroughly. Folks loved to talk; if the information was out there, someone would give it up.

  Samuel let Kathleen Campbell run through his mind as he walked. She was beautiful, intelligent, and fiercely protective of her family; all admirable qualities to be found in a woman. He wondered what her laughter sounded like; maybe it would be like the water in a cold stream, rippling over rocks. Samuel missed a step and then shook his head at his own foolishness.

  He’d barely met the woman, and here he was daydreaming about her laughter. Right now the poor woman had nothing to laugh about. It was clear to see she was devastated by her sister’s death. Samuel wished he had more to tell her, but they were having a hard time developing a suspect.

  He was sure that in time something would come to him. He was also sure the information would come without warning, and without any effort on his part. There was no need for him to agonize over it or beat himself over the head. He had no control over the situation. It came when it came.

  Samuel opened the door to the tobacco shop and stopped abruptly. His senses were assailed by at least a dozen different aromas. The interior of the shop was not large, and the air was thick with the aroma of so many different blends of tobacco. The bell over the door had summoned a small, old gentleman from the back of the shop. He was all of five feet tall, slim, and had a full head of white hair. He was impeccably dressed. He smiled at Samuel and said, “Well, young man, are you coming in?”

  Samuel realized he was half in and half out. He stepped in, closed the door, and then turned to the old man.

  “Good mornin’, sir. My name is Detective Samuel Hinton. I’m hopin’ you can help me, sir.”

  The old man perched himself on a stool behind the counter. “Richard Sterling, at your service. Take a seat and tell me what you’re looking for, young man.”

  Samuel did just that, as he sat looking at the multitudinous display of canisters lining the wall behind Mr. Sterling.

  “Sir, I need to pick your brain.” Samuel laid the folded square of linen on the counter. “Can you tell me anything about these?”

  The old man picked up one of the butts and said, “May I open this?”

  “Certainly, sir, whatever you need to do.”

  Samuel sat patiently as the old man extracted a small penknife from a pocket inside his waistcoat. Sterling held the butt in his palm and carefully slit open the thin paper holding the small pinch of tobacco. He laid the knife down and just sat looking at the dark shreds of leaves. He used a fingertip to spread them across his palm, and then he sniffed. And sniffed again.

  He raised his head and looked at Samuel for a moment. “I can tell you I don’t have anything like this in my inventory. If it is what I think it is, I can probably order it for you. It would be coming from Louisiana.”

  “Can you tell me if you have ordered this for anyone in the past, sir?”

  The old man shook his head. “No, young man, I have never had a request for it, and have only smelled it once before. If I’m correct, it is a blend the Choctaw Indians used to make, called Perique. To my knowledge, it is now only grown, and cured, in St. James Parrish. They use a unique pressing method. I personally have not smoked it, but I understand it has a distinct flavor of figs, with undertones of pepper. You may have detected the strong fruity aroma.”

  Samuel stared at the linen square on the counter for a long while. Mr. Sterling finally cleared his throat loudly to get his attention.

  “Did you hear me, young man?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. My mind was elsewhere. Do you know who we would contact in St. James Pa
rrish if we wanted to get information about this tobacco?”

  “I’m sorry; I don’t have a particular name to give you. I just know it is unique to St. James Parrish.”

  “Sir, I know a great deal more now than I did before, so you have been very helpful.”

  The old man looked up at Samuel for a long moment. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why this blend is so important to you?”

  Samuel stood and shook the old man’s hand. “Well, I’m not about to take up smoking, if that’s what you mean. I thank you again, sir, for the information, and your time.”

  The old man stared at the door for long minutes after Samuel left. Interesting young man, he thought. Very tight-lipped, but interesting.

  Samuel finished writing his report and gathered his coat to head home. He had been going nonstop since three this morning, and he figured a hot meal and a warm bed would make for a good night’s sleep. He gave a passing thought to stopping in to check on Kathleen Campbell. No, it might seem a little too forward, since he had no new information to give her. Maybe he would visit this weekend, just to be neighborly, since she had no family or friends in town.

  Chapter Three

  It was Saturday morning, and as Samuel walked through the kitchen door he could hear Charlotte’s little voice begging Cook for custard for breakfast. Just the sound of her voice made him smile. As soon as she caught sight of him, she started squealing.

  “Unc’ Sammy, can I please have custard, please, please?”

  Samuel scooped the little beauty up and twirled her around. “And did we ask Mama for custard?” Samuel could see it on her face; she was weighing the consequences of lying against the taste of warm custard. Her face fell, and he grinned; the consequences had won out.

  “No, but she won’t mind.” Then she turned those blue eyes, with their long black lashes, on him. “You could have some too.” She smiled.

  “Well, it is mighty kind of you to share your custard with me, but I had my mouth all set for”—he glanced at Cook, who held up a plate of thick pancakes—“pancakes and bacon, and I’d be happy to share with you.”

  “Oh,” she squealed, “pancakes, with lots of honey?”

  “Yep, straight from Uncle Cyrus’s bees. Let’s wash up and then go to the dining room.”

  As Samuel perched her on the kitchen counter and helped her wash her hands, he reflected on a future when he would have his own little princess to love. He suddenly envisioned a little girl with green eyes and unruly red curls. Whoa! Where did that come from? He shook his head and lowered Charlotte to the floor.

  “Mama,” she cried, as Mae entered the kitchen, “Unc’ Sammy and me are havin’ pancakes, and honey from the bees.” She ran to her mother and threw both arms around her legs, looked up with a heart-melting smile, and asked, “You want some too, Mama?”

  “Well, I might be persuaded. Your papa is having coffee with Grandpa. Why don’t you run to the dining room and tell them what we’re having?”

  She could be heard all through the lower floor. “Papa, Papa, we’re having pancakes.”

  Mae shook her head. “I’m raising a little heathen.” Laughing, she turned to Samuel, and the smile faded away. She walked over and hugged her brother.

  “Good morning, dear. Did you get some sleep last night?”

  Samuel could hear the worry in her voice. She did not need to be worrying about him. She was five months along with her second child.

  “I’m fine, Sister. Got all caught up on my sleep.”

  “I dreamed about you last night. It was the strangest thing. You were sitting on the porch of a lovely little home, and you were holding the most adorable little redheaded girl on your lap.”

  Samuel had been taking a sip of the coffee Cook had handed him, and he almost strangled.

  “Oh, are you okay?” Mae pounded on his back.

  “I will be if you’ll stop beating me,” he coughed out. “It just went down the wrong pipe.”

  He was not going to open a can of worms this morning. His sister would never let it rest until she met the girl in question, and he was not sure he was ready for the “inquisition.”

  Breakfast was a boisterous affair, but no one minded. Samuel looked around the table at all the people he loved. Papa and Eleanor might have met late in their lives, but you could still see the spark when they looked at each other.

  Mae and her husband, Dr. Edward Finch, had fallen deeply in love the first day they met, six years ago now. Edward had his practice in town but also ministered to Mae’s “girls.”

  That was what everyone called the women and children who made their way to Mae’s village. Mae housed them, fed them, and educated them, and helped the Lord heal them, both spiritually and physically.

  Samuel was so proud of his sister. She had not only survived a sexual assault, she had thrived. She had used her fear and anger to strengthen her faith in the Lord; then she had funneled that strength into her village for abused women. She’d built homes, a school, and a store where the women could sell their canned goods and sewn items. Many had come and were healed, then moved on as stronger human beings, thanks to Mae’s care.

  Then there were Cyrus and Patrick. Eleanor’s pride and joy, Patrick, had just turned fourteen. He had followed after Cyrus like a lovable puppy for the last six years. They had raised prize-winning steers and rare breeds of chickens, and grown enough fresh vegetables for the family’s use and for Mae’s girls to sell. Cyrus was now attending the university, working toward a degree in agriculture. Samuel had no doubt that Patrick would follow, in time.

  Samuel looked at the empty chair at the table. It had been two years now, and still he missed Hansu. He would come across a problem and have to stop himself from calling out to the little Chinaman. Hansu had been with his family since before Mae was born, and to hear his Papa tell it, the little man had been “older than dirt” when he came to them. He had passed peacefully in his sleep. A broken-hearted Cyrus had found him. He’d been given a place of honor in the family cemetery, and on occasion, when Samuel needed time alone, he would ride Zeus out to the cemetery, sit down, and carve whatever the current piece was while he talked with Hansu.

  As breakfast wound down, Samuel turned to Eleanor. “If you’re going into the shop this morning, I could run you in and fetch you home later.”

  “Yes, I need to go in until about one, and it would save your papa having to run around for me.”

  Garth Hinton looked at his son. “Are you working today, son?”

  “I just need to look over some reports turned in late yesterday evening, sir. I can do that, then swing by and pick up Eleanor.”

  Garth was aware that Samuel was under some pressure to find the man who had killed the schoolteacher. He also knew that Samuel would not truly rest until the killer was found. Those closest to him could tell when he was on the hunt. There was a haunted look in his eyes, a restlessness that sleep could not curb. The boy had a gift, if you wanted to call it that. But sometimes that gift was hard to bear.

  “That’s fine, son, if it’s not an inconvenience.”

  Eleanor smiled at Samuel. “Just give me a minute to gather my things, and I’ll meet you out front.”

  The morning sun was warming the clear air, and it was going to be a beautiful day. Eleanor turned to Samuel. “Dear, I know you are wrapped up in a serious case, but please try to remember to eat, and get enough rest, and most of all be safe.”

  Samuel smiled down at the little woman who made his papa so happy. “Yes, ma’am, I promise I’ll try to do better.”

  She laughed out loud. “All right, I know I sounded like I was speaking to Patrick, and I’m sorry for that, but you know Mae and I worry about you.”

  Samuel sobered up. “I know you do, and I’m grateful for that, but I wish Mae wouldn’t worry so much, especially now, what with the baby and all. That reminds me. I don’t want either of you, or any of the servants, or Mae’s girls, going anywhere alone. I think the village is safe. I know
that Roxanne and Mrs. Peters are crack shots, and the others can hold their own, but I won’t rest easy until we find this man.”

  “Well, don’t fret over me. Mae has her little beauty, and I have mine.”

  She opened her reticule, and Samuel could see the pistol his papa had insisted she carry after the Campbell woman had been found.

  It was a sad statement, that all of Mae’s girls were trained to handle a gun soon after their arrival at the village. But Samuel could at least tell himself he had done all he could to keep them safe. A few of them would eventually drift back to the type of abusive relationships they had run from, but for the most part, the women left stronger and wiser, and able to look forward to the type of life they had dreamed of as little girls.

  ****

  Samuel dropped Eleanor off at her stylish shop and drove to headquarters. He’d already read all the reports submitted by the officers who’d canvassed the area near Mary Elizabeth’s cottage. Hers was the only home for a mile stretch, before the lane merged with the main east-west road. He now had to check for anything in the area of Holmes and Maple, where he had found the cigarette butts.

  Samuel was worried. Mama never visited unless it was necessary. If she said “another one is in danger,” then he needed to find this man quickly. Samuel finally pushed back his chair. He had spent two hours sifting through reports with no new information. He needed a break to clear his head, and he had an idea just what would work.

  Kathleen Campbell was sitting on the porch in a white rocking chair, sipping tea, when Samuel pulled up to the little picket fence. She carefully set her teacup on the table and stood.

  “Good morning, Kathleen. How are you settling in?”

  She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach. “Fine, thank you, Samuel. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  “No, but thank you. I thought I’d stop by and see if you needed anything.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I will need to find a market, and pick up a few things for the kitchen. And some ice for the icebox.”