Scandal on Rincon Hill (11 page)

“Oh, my dear Lord,” she gasped, sitting back in her chair and growing a bit pale. “How horrible!”

Robert eyed her apprehensively. Reaching out, he placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder, obviously unsure how to go about comforting the poor woman.

Fanny gave him a wan smile. “Thank you, Mr. Campbell, but I'm all right. It is a terrible shock, though. It isn't every day two young men are brutally murdered in such a fine neighborhood.”

“Do the police have any idea who was responsible for Deacon Hume's murder?” I asked Samuel.

“Was it the same knuck what done in the other feller?” Eddie asked, the question coming out somewhat garbled due to the large amount of gingerbread stuffed inside his mouth. He had left his perch on the window ledge and was standing expectantly behind Samuel. “Lordy, was there a lot of blood, then?”

“Eddie, please!” I admonished. “Sit down and eat your cake with some semblance of good manners. I'm sure Mr. Samuel will tell us what he knows about this tragedy, if you will but give him an opportunity.”

The boy reluctantly retreated to the window. His large eyes
never left my brother, however, as he once again lowered himself onto the edge of the sill.

“There's not much more to tell,” said my brother. “According to George—my friend on the police force—” he explained for Fanny's benefit, “Dieter Hume's death has only increased the police's interest in the Reverend Mayfield and the other guests who were present at the Tremaines' party. Evidently, they questioned the minister again this morning. I'm sure they'll be paying the Tremaines another visit, as well.”

“The Reverend Mayfield?” exclaimed Robert, looking shocked. “You mean the police actually think a clergyman could have committed two such abominations?”

“I doubt that the police have singled out Reverend Mayfield as their prime suspect,” Samuel replied. “But he's one of the people they're investigating. Frankly, Robert, they don't have much to go on.”

“So they're revisiting all the guests who were present at Saturday night's party,” I said.

“What else can they do?” my brother answered. “As you pointed out, it's a bit much to suppose the two murders can be mere coincidence.”

“No,” I agreed quietly, with a growing sense of unease. This was not because San Francisco lacked its share of crime, including a fair number of murders committed every year, but rather because few victims were actually killed so close to our own home. While it was true that the Second Street Cut had attracted a few unsavory individuals to our neighborhood, nothing like this had occurred as far back as I could remember.

“I wonder if Dieter Hume shared Nigel Logan's enthusiasm for Darwin's revolutionary theories?” I went on, speculating aloud.

Robert gave a little snort. “Even if he did, that would hardly provide a motive for murder. These crimes are far too violent for any decent man to commit. Surely the killer is a vagabond, or some kind of madman.”

“That would assume that the two deaths were random,” I argued,
“which is a theory I cannot entertain. Hume and Logan were friends, and their bodies were found in the same vicinity, just yards apart, although not on the same day. They were both present at the Tremaines' party, and the same method was used to kill them both. Common sense demands that there be a connection.”

Robert shook his head, causing his unruly red hair to fly helter-skelter about his expressive face. “If you're right, Sarah, then those two men shared a very dangerous enemy.”

He rose from his chair. “I must go now. It will mean my job if I arrive late at the courthouse.” He pointed to the paperwork he had brought me, which was still spread out on my desk. “Since I may be in court again tomorrow, I'll pick these up on Friday. Surely you'll have finished with them by then.”

I gave him a level look, not pleased with his tone. “I will complete them this afternoon, Robert. You may, of course, collect them at your convenience.”

Ignoring me, he again expressed his thanks to Fanny Goodman, nodded politely to Samuel, and took his leave.

“He's right, you know,” Samuel said after he was gone. “If, as we believe, the two murders were linked, then Logan and Hume managed to acquire an extremely determined and vicious enemy.”

“I agree,” I said, draining the last of my coffee. Such was my distress regarding Samuel's news, I had barely touched my gingerbread. Judging by Eddie's hungry glances at my plate, however, I was confident it would not go to waste. “What we must do is find that connection.”

My brother gave me one of his ironic grins. “
We
, little sister? Does that mean that you intend to help me follow up on the story?”

This brought me up short, and I realized I was not quite sure
what
I had meant. “If I can be of any assistance to you, Samuel, I'll be happy to help. Other than that, I have no reason, or intention, of becoming involved in this dreadful matter.”

My brother continued to grin at me, which I found annoying. I knew what he was thinking, and was not well pleased.

“you're becoming as bad as Robert,” I told him. “I grow weary
of being accused of poking my nose where it is not appreciated. These murders are appalling, and it frightens me that they occurred so close to our home. But I agree that this is a story you must pursue, and I'm willing to lend you a helping hand.”

In truth, I had not realized until this moment how deeply I'd been affected by Nigel Logan's and Dieter Hume's deaths, or how I had taken the security of my Rincon Hill home for granted. In less than a week that feeling of complacency had been shattered, and I found myself asking who might be next.

It was not uncommon for gentlemen, including my own father, to enjoy late-evening constitutionals in our neighborhood. My brother Charles, who was a physician, frequently came and went at all hours of the night while attending his patients, and of course Samuel regularly kept late hours. The thought that a member of my own family might fall victim to this unnamed monster was truly alarming.

“It's high time I was on my way, too,” Fanny said, stacking the empty gingerbread plate and coffee cups onto the tray. “I am already late opening my shop. I'll let you know if I catch sight of the Brielle girl, Sarah, or those hooligans I saw talking to her earlier.”

When I failed to respond—or even to look up from my gruesome reverie—she quickly guessed my concern.

“The deaths of those two young men are tragic, Sarah. But if their murders are truly related, as you and Samuel suspect, the motive must stem from something to do with their personal lives. Rincon Hill is still one of the safest areas in San Francisco. I'm certain these deplorable events will not affect your family or friends.”

And with this pitifully erroneous prediction, Fanny picked up her tray and coffeepot and headed downstairs to her shop.

A
s soon as Fanny left, Eddie hopped down from the windowsill and appropriated the woman's vacated chair across from my desk. “I was wonderin', Miss Sarah. Are you, ah, gonna eat that gingerbread?”

Samuel chuckled as I wordlessly passed the boy my plate. “Hurry up with that cake, Eddie,” he said. “I need the services of your cab.”

“Oh?” I asked curiously. “Is your errand by any chance connected to this latest murder?”

“As a matter of fact, it is,” he replied. “I'd like to have a chat with the Reverend Mayfield about his deacon.”

“Samuel, you never go to church. He hardly knows you. What makes you think he'll agree to an interview?”

“Oh, I think he'll agree, all right,” he said with a smile. “If you're with me. Nothing like a pretty female companion to loosen a man's tongue, even a minister's.”

“Samuel!” I protested.

“Don't look so surprised, Sarah. You're the one who offered to help, remember? Besides, you're as interested in this case as I am, you just don't care to admit it.”

He pushed his chair away from my desk and stood. “Actually, the timing is perfect. You don't have to finish Robert's brief until
Friday. That gives you more than enough time to assist your brother in his effort to scoop Ozzie Foldger and the
Tattler
.”

I
n far less time than it ought to have taken at a more civilized pace, Eddie reined the dappled gray to a stop in front of a wood and stucco church, located on Howard Street between Second and Third. It boasted a modest bell tower, a tall steeple, and a Roman structure with several unexpected Greek and even Moorish features. It was my considered opinion that whoever designed the Church of Our Savior had been confused about just what style he intended to emulate.

As we pulled up, we spied a short, portly man in his fifties descending the church steps. I recognized him as the Reverend Erasmus Mayfield, the church's rector for the past fifteen years. The man's balding head was down, and he held his hands behind his back as he walked in the direction of the rectory, a small wooden house located to the left of the church. He seemed distressed, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

“Reverend Mayfield,” I called out, as Samuel assisted me out of the carriage.

When he seemed not to hear, I started after him, calling his name out louder this time. He finally stopped, but looked at us blankly, as if having visitors appear unexpectedly at the church was an extraordinary occurrence.

“Yes?” he said a bit sharply, appearing annoyed to have his musings interrupted. Belatedly realizing how harsh this must have sounded, he managed a weak smile. “I am sorry. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Excuse us for dropping by unannounced, Reverend Mayfield,” I said. “I'm Sarah Woolson, and this is my brother Samuel. Judge and Mrs. Elizabeth Woolson are our parents.”

His face suddenly cleared, as recognition slowly dawned. “Yes, yes, of course, how remiss of me not to know you at once. It has been a rather arduous day, and I fear my mind has been sadly preoccupied.
Please allow me to apologize. I have frequently observed you accompanying your parents to services, Miss Woolson, although I don't seem to recall your face, Mr. Woolson.”

My brother looked embarrassed, and I experienced a pang of guilt. In all honesty, I found the Reverend Mayfield a good deal less than inspiring. Sunday services tended to be tedious, sadly repetitive, and devoid of passion. The primary reason I continued to attend with my parents was to please my mother, who held the firm belief that any path to heaven must include weekly church attendance.

I came out of my thoughts as Samuel cleared his throat. I realized he was searching for a way to answer the rector without jeopardizing the interview. “It's not always possible for me to attend church, Reverend Mayfield. My, um, work, you know.”

Apparently, Mayfield did not know, or he was accomplished enough at judging character to recognize a spurious excuse when he heard one. “I'm sure that must be very trying for you,” he said, a glint of disapproval darkening his pale gray eyes.

“We have come to extend our sympathies on the loss of your deacon, Mr. Hume,” I said, steering the conversation out of dangerous waters and back to the real reason for our visit. “It is a shocking tragedy.”

The Reverend Mayfield nodded. “Oh my, yes. Terrible, terrible. Very difficult to grasp. Just yesterday, Mr. Hume and I were discussing possible plans to replace the church roof. It is old and badly in need of repair. I doubt it will survive another winter.”

He gave a little shiver and looked about, as if suddenly aware of the damp fog that was rolling in from the ocean. Rubbing his plump hands together briskly, he said, “It has become quite chilled. Come inside, please. My housekeeper will brew a pot of coffee.”

Without waiting for a reply, the portly little man turned and led us inside the two-story dwelling which served as his residence.

“Mrs. Brown?” he called out as we entered the foyer. “We have visitors.” He took our wraps and hung them on a coat tree standing by the front door. He had just added his own long coat to the rack
when a small, gray-haired woman of about sixty came bustling toward us. “Ah, yes, there you are, Mrs. Brown. Would you be so good as to put on a fresh pot of coffee for our guests? You may serve it in my study.”

As we followed the rector into a small room off the hallway, I was delighted to see a fire crackling in the hearth. It truly had grown chilly outside, and I felt a pang of remorse that we had left poor Eddie to wait outside with the carriage. I hoped that our interview with the Reverend Mayfield would not be overlong.

After Mrs. Brown brought us coffee and a plate of cookies, Samuel took charge of the conversation. I was pleased to see that he was trying to broach the subject tactfully.

“I understand Mr. Hume came to this parish directly from seminary school,” he began.

“That is correct,” Mayfield replied, choosing one of the housekeeper's cookies from the platter. “It has been nearly a year now. You should try these. Mrs. Brown is an excellent cook. I don't know what I would do without her.”

Samuel dutifully reached for a cookie and took a bite. “You're right, these are delicious.” When he finished chewing, he went on. “Mr. Hume was a bit older than the usual seminarian, though, wasn't he, Reverend Mayfield?”

“Yes, he was in his late twenties, but that is not altogether remarkable,” the rector explained. “A fair number of young men do not immediately receive, or do not accept, their spiritual calling until they have experienced something of the world. On the whole, I do not consider it a bad thing to wait a year or two to make such an important decision. The ministry is, after all, a lifelong commitment.”

“No doubt you're right,” Samuel agreed. “I imagine commencing one's church service at a more mature age would tend to make a man more responsible in fulfilling his duties. Particularly a man who had attended university.”

The Reverend Mayfield hesitated a moment, then nodded, albeit without overmuch enthusiasm. “Yes, that is true. Given, of course,
that the man in question possesses the necessary qualities to join the ministry. Unfortunately, higher education does not guarantee those qualities. In fact, university life has been known to instill just the opposite behavioral tendencies. In the end, character and commitment must always be the primary considerations when dedicating one's life to the church.”