Murdered Twice

The Tatting Club Series

Historical Western Mystery

Book 1

Lynn Donovan

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

The book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. All rights are reserved with the exceptions of quotes used in reviews. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage system without express written permission from the author.

The Tatting Club Series ©2022 Lynn Donovan

Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt

Grammar Edit by Cyndi Rule

Continuity Edit by Amy Petrowich

Appreciation

Thank you to everybody in my life who has contributed in one way or another to the writing of this book. My husband, my children, my children-in-law, and my grandchildren. You all are my unconditional fans. My BETA readers, writers’ group, readers’ group, and grammar guru who make me look gooder than I am. [Bad grammar intended.] My fellow author friends who chat with me daily to exchange ideas, encourage, maintain sanity, and keep me from being a total recluse/hermit.

Mostly, I thank God for the talent he has given me. I hope to hear you say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” when I cross the Jordan and run into your arms—Many, many years from now.

God bless you all!

Dedication

To Alicia Marie, my niece. I promised your name would be in my next book. And here it is. Love you, girl!

Aunt Lynn

Introduction

Collette waited impatiently for Esther Rose and Patrick to return from their honeymoon so she could give them a piece of her mind for taking on the mysterious case of the murdered judge without her! Esther Rose promised never again will Collette be left out. And so their Tatting Club mystery solving begins.

When a man is found dead, and the mortician claims he was killed twice but his killer is unknown, Esther Rose and Collette get to work figuring out what has happened. How could a person be Murdered Twice?

Chapter One

January 1876

“Come back here, you ornery chicken!” the rancher’s wife yelled as she chased her wayward hen into the thick underbrush that bordered their grassland pasture and barn. “You can’t go scratching out here, Henny, you’ll drown in the river or get eaten by a coyote, for sure!”

She pulled her skirts from a prickly rabbit bush, growling that she had to be out here in this unpleasant brush in the first place. If she didn’t need Henny’s eggs so badly, she’d just let the pesky poultry take her chances with nature and hope she came back on her own.

But she needed those eggs, every one of them. It was her spending money. She sold the surplus to the mercantile owner, Mr. Ignacios Crane, down at the Depot District in Denver City. With the coins he gave her for the eggs, she could buy herself ribbons for her hair and a bag of lemon drops. Her ranch was only three miles west of town. It was easy for her to attend church on Sundays and bring her eggs to sell after church. She was always back to the ranch in time to make supper for the hands and Bill.

Dear, sweet, Bill. William had been his given Christian name, but Bill suited him, and she had always called him thus. He was good to her and his men. The hands never strayed to find better pay because her Bill treated them good and was a fair boss.

A stench wafted from the woods where her naughty chicken had fluttered. River water gurgled and splashed in the near distance. She knew these woods well, but that smell! Something was dead and had not been eaten by the predator that killed it. How odd.

“Henny! Please come back home.” Trepidation knotted in her gut. She knew the acrid aroma of death when she smelled it. “Henny!” Pure fear and dread mingled in her plea for her chicken to come to her and not force her to go further into the wooded area where there was obviously something dead and decaying.

Just then, she saw a boot just behind a large cottonwood tree. Was that the carcass she smelled? Her hand trembled as she leaned against the trunk of another cottonwood for strength. Or had a ranch hand left his boot here, perhaps, while fishing? Why would any man leave their boots in the woods?

She hesitated. She should be certain before she ran screeching to the men that she’d found a dead man. Could it be one of the hands? … or Bill?

Now she had to know. She cautiously rushed to the tree, leaning against its massive trunk to peer around, praying to find an empty boot. But it was not as she had prayed. It was a man. He was dead.

She didn’t recognize his face. Relief washed over her for a moment, then another wave of fear raked her body. Her knees nearly gave way. She clung to the tree to remain standing.

Who had killed this man?

She squelched a scream with the back of her hand pressed into her teeth. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She turned away from the gruesome sight. The escaped chicken last on her mind, she stumbled to run. She had to find somebody: a ranch hand, Cookie, her husband. Someone, anyone.

She ran as quickly as she could while pulling her skirts free of the grabby underbrush that bore thorns. They grabbed at the fabric of her skirts like starving children as she tried to hurry to the open grassland. This skirt would end up in her mending basket, but she didn’t care.

A dead man lay in the woods and she had to let someone know.



“Thank you for coming out, Mr. Decker.” Bill Carter held his hat over his heart and swallowed hard. He felt nauseous like his wife had been when she told him what she had found in the woods. Despite his weak stomach, the rancher stood stoic as if the sight of a decayed body didn’t affect him. Paul Decker, the Depot District’s mortician, had gently moved the body into a thick, specially-made canvas bag to transfer it to his wagon. He had parked it as close to the edge of the woods as he could, but there still was a bit of a walk to get the body to his vehicle.

Bill was relieved he didn’t have to get any closer than necessary, when Elizabeth came screeching to him about what she’d found and then threw up at his boots. He only asked her to go far enough to show him where it laid. All he wanted to see was if he knew the poor fellow. Then he hurried back to the ranch to find someone to go notify the law and Decker.

He let Deputy Patrick O’Riley, who came instead of the sheriff, help Decker. He and his wife gladly stayed back at the tree line with the horses and wagon, while Decker and O’Riley inspected the carcass. He didn’t like exhibiting such weakness as vomiting in front of the men, but how could he help feeling what he felt. It was such a strange thing, finding some dead man’s body in the woods near his ranch. It was obvious the fellow had been shot. The bullet hole in the center of his forehead left no doubt what had killed him.

But who would do such a thing, so close to his ranch?

“How could this happen and we not know it?” Bill asked Deputy O’Riley as they carried the covered body to the wagon and slid it under yet another tarp.

The deputy stood with a wide stance, as if he were posturing for balance. Was he affected in the gut by the dead body, too? He shook his head. “Don’t know, Mr. Carter. I suppose it might have happened during that thunderstorm?”

Bill nodded. There had been a terrible thunderstorm a few days ago. “Only makes sense.” He puckered his lips, remembering how frightened Elizabeth had been during the loud claps of thunder. “Poor fellow must have been shot during all the thunder”

Otherwise, gunfire would have been heard by the men in the bunkhouse. He thought but didn’t say.

“Yeah.” O’Riley stared at the tarp. “That’s my way of thinking, too. We’ll know more after Decker does a post-mortem.”

“I’m curious who this fellow is, Deputy. Can you let us know, when you know? And maybe why he was shot on my ranch?”

“Sure thing.” The deputy tipped his hat and mounted his steed. “If we find anything out, we’ll get word to you.”

Bill nodded, pursing his lips. The nausea still threatened his composure. That decayed-body smell lingered in his nose. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever stop smelling it. Maybe he’d spread some Lyme out where the body was found and ask Elizabeth to let him breathe into one of her sachets for a while.

Would that be enough to get rid of that horrible smell in his woods?

Would anything ever get the memory of the dead man’s body out of his mind?



Chapter Two

“Deputy,” Paul Decker shook his head. “This is the darnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What do you mean?” Deputy Patrick O’Riley furrowed his brow. What could it be that had a man like Decker so vexed? Surely, he’d seen it all in his line of work.

He’d followed the mortician’s wagon into the Depot District, serving as an escort of sorts, and helped him unload the body at the cellar door of his home that also served as the area’s mortuary. Decker generally served as medical examiner when the doctor, Bob White, was busy.

Today, Doc White was at Pastor Quinn Stephens’s home where their daughter and her husband resided as well. The pastor’s daughter would be blessing them with their first grandchild soon.

“I think I want Doc to concur with my findings before I make a report.”

“Fair enough.” The deputy conceded, although he wanted to know immediately what the man found about the dead body. He felt as anxious as his sister, Collette, when she badgered him for information about a strange case. This one, indeed, was strange and the mortician knew something was so unusual, he wanted confirmation before he told anyone. That was even stranger still.

Collette Sandoval had a mind for puzzles. She and her cohort and best friend, Esther Rose, spent a great deal of time ferreting for answers when one of his cases went unsolved. Although they both were married women now, they still found time to get together a few times a week for what they called The Tatting Club. Esther Rose was quite skilled at the craft and vowed Collette could learn to make lace as well as she. While Collette had learned to make a few items in the delicate craft, Patrick knew the club was a guise for their seeking answers to those cases that had reached a dead end in his office.

He’d never admit this to her or Esther Rose, even though the latter was now his wife, but in the end, he and Sheriff Pike Bewdley appreciated knowing what was going on in the state of Colorado, especially in and around the Denver City area, when no one else could unravel the mystery.

So long as they didn’t get themselves into any danger, he and Liam Sandoval, Collette’s husband, allowed their wives to have their tatting-club sessions. There was an inkling of pride, Patrick’s had to admit, knowing his sister and wife were so clever that they could outwit even the local Pinkertons when it came to taking little facts from a newspaper article and figuring out enough to solve the case.

They were as determined as little squirrels who gathered nuts in a hollowed-out tree for winter sustenance. Collette and Esther Rose thrived on settling their curiosity about unresolved enigmas, and it served his department quite well when they did.

Now Patrick had to wait for Doc White to examine the dead man’s body before he could find out what Decker found to be so… unspeakable. What could it be? Patrick shook his head as he walked back to the Sheriff’s office.

Collette’s curiosity must certainly run in the family blood, for he, too, was overly interested in knowing what had been discovered. Unfortunately, it might be yet another day before he would know. Babies generally took a while to come into the world and Doc would be held up until then… unless one of the midwives would be allowed to stay with the Stephens’s daughter while she brought the new life into the world.

Hmmm. Patrick considered an idea he had brewing. Maybe he’d run a little interference and let Sarah Whitehead know the doc had another pressing matter to attend to. Why she, or another midwife, had not been called to attend this one was strange. Did the Pastor and his wife not trust the young midwives to help their daughter? Certainly everyone else in the Depot District trusted them, as far as he knew. Which he didn’t, really, now that he thought about it. He and Esther Rose had not yet been blessed with an expansion of their family.

His only experience with the midwives had been a few years ago in one extreme case when he had been riding shotgun with the stagecoach to escort a large sum of money to Cripple Creek. A passenger suddenly screamed in distress and, being an officer of the law, he was obliged to help. He very nearly delivered the woman’s baby.

But by God’s good graces, Sarah Whitehead and two of her midwife companions happened to be traveling toward Denver and came across the ordeal in the nick of time. Sarah, as it turned out, was one of the midwives in the Depot District.

Patrick knew her well enough to ask her to check in on the Stephens’s daughter, without being too presumptuous. If she was more concerned about the Stephens’s grandbaby than her fierce anger toward him, she’d be amicable about coming with him. Wouldn’t she?

He could escort her to the parsonage and let the doc know that Paul Decker was needing his opinion on a peculiar case. And that it was vital to his investigation to get the results from Decker’s post-mortem. Having Sarah there to take over should make it easy for the doc to come with Patrick and attend to another pressing matter, wouldn’t it?

Sure, that sounded convincing enough to pull off. Patrick jerked a quick nod to himself and set out to find Sarah. Twisting his wedding band as he strode toward the large home on the east end of the district where the midwives resided, he prayed Sarah would be available and willing to help.

Maybe he should ask Mac or Billy to get Sarah. She wasn’t mad at either of the other two deputies. Mad was probably not exactly the right emotion. Sarah wasn’t just mad, she was heartbroken, and he was the cause. But gol-dern-it, he had to be honest with her. It wouldn’t have been fair to her or himself if he had gone through with marrying her.

He called off their courtship, thinking that as a lawman, he was not suited for marriage. Even Sheriff Bewdley agreed lawmen made terrible husbands. Patrick could see how much it upset Sarah every time he got caught up in a case and had to renege on an engagement with her. He found her in tears on several occasions when he returned to town. She had feared him dead and had a very hard time with the idea of losing him. But it was his job. There was nothing he could do about that. So he ended their plans to marry and set his mind to never wed.

Not, that is, until he met Esther Rose. While picking his sister up from the woman’s home, his heart was stirred like it had never been. Somehow he knew: with the right woman, he was very suited for a married life. He and Esther Rose were very happy together. While she didn’t want to lose him either, she had a stronger constitution to the reality of his obligations and accepted the chances he took every time he walked out the door.

Surely, Sarah had forgiven him by now.

He cringed, hopefully.

Deputy O’Riley lifted his chin and knocked on the front door. He was here in an official capacity. Even if she still held it against him for breaking her heart, he was here to fetch the doc and needed her to fill in for the man. He waited for the door to be answered.

As it so happened, Sarah Whitehead opened the door, stared at him from hat to boot, and slammed the door in his face.

“No! Wait!” He patted the door with the flat of his palm. “Sarah! Um, Miss Whitehead! You’re needed at the Stephens’s, for… for their daughter’s baby.”

The door opened just enough for one of Sarah’s eyes and the side of her slender nose to be seen. “What? Why are you coming here to tell us this?”

Patrick yanked his hat from his head and rubbed his hand down his face. “Look, Sarah. Doc White is there now, but we need him… in another situation. I thought I could escort you to the parsonage and let the doc know.”

Her one eye squinted, sizing him up. He stood still and tried to appear as honest and humble as possible. Finally, the door swung open, and she held up a finger. “Just a minute.”

She quickly returned with a leather satchel and crate. “Okay, let’s go.”

Patrick sighed with relief and took the heavier looking object from her. “Here, let me help.” Together they walked to the parsonage in silence. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but necessary for this mysterious dead man’s case to be concluded as soon as possible.

Arriving at the parsonage, Sarah rushed to the door and pounded on it. “Midwife!” She called through the closed obstacle. Turning the handle, she pushed the door open and called again. “Midwife!”

Mrs. Stephens rushed into the foyer and waved Sarah in. Patrick followed her, looking for Doc White, but halted in the parlor while Sarah rushed down the hall where the bedrooms were.

Soon, Doc White strolled into the parlor with utter confusion on his face. “What is it, Deputy?”

“Sorry to disturb you, Doc. But Mr. Decker has got a man’s body that has him puzzled and we need to know the results of his post-mortem. Decker has asked for you to come see if his findings are… uh, accurate.” Patrick shrugged as he crossed his fingers behind his back. It wasn’t exactly a lie, just a slight twist of the truth.

Doc stared at Patrick for a moment, then nodded. “I see. Well, I suppose with Miss Whitehead here, I can go see about this. She can contact me if she needs me.” He turned and called down the hall. “Sheriff’s Department needs me, Mrs. Stephens. You’re in good hands with Miss Whitehead.”

“We are fine, Doc.” Sarah answered, tersely.

Patrick escorted Doc White from the parsonage to the Decker home. Soon he would know what was going on with this dead man’s death. Whoever had shot him was a mighty keen shooter or mighty lucky. The wound in his forehead was dead center which was not easy with what looked like a black-powder pistol residue. This was the only fact he had about who might have murdered this fellow.

Whatever Decker had found was another piece he needed to put this puzzle together. He waited in the mortuary parlor. Willa Decker walked in with a tray of tea and cookies. He recognized the treats from Liam’s bakery and smiled.

“Tea, Deputy?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Decker.” He accepted a cup and saucer and sat on a divan to wait.

Eventually, Doc and Decker joined him in the parlor. Shaking his head, the doctor finally spoke. “Deputy, Mr. Decker is correct. This is the darnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“So I hear.” Patrick could not disguise his impatience. “Are the two of you going to tell me what is it that’s so perplexing, Doc?”

Doc glanced at Decker and back to Patrick.

“We believe this man was murdered twice.”



Chapter Three

Depot District of Denver City, Colorado July 1875

“Holy Christmas Cake!” Collette fussed to herself as she rushed to the bakery. “Just call me the late Collette Sandoval.” She giggled and sped up her pace.

She was later than she had intended, again. Despite her goal, like every morning, to be here fifteen minutes ago, she never seemed to be able to get out of the house on time or arrive at work at a reasonable hour.

Liam was kind and never fussed at her for her tardy arrival. Being her husband of six months, he probably had more tolerance for her peculiarities than a regular employer would. He had been at the bakery since four o’clock, as he did every morning except Sunday. The least she could do was arrive on time to help dress the display cabinets so they looked appealing to the early customers.

She entered the bakery at a quarter after seven. Her job was to prepare for the morning rush. Generally staying until well after the noon mealtime, when the majority of his customers bought bread and sweet treats, and then she would go join her best friend and sister-in-law, Esther Rose, for tea and tatting.

She sniffed in a deep breath of the assorted baked goods and smiled. She loved the smells the bakery offered when one first walked in. That, in itself, attracted customers as much as her artfully arranged products. But in the end, she knew it was Liam’s baking that brought every shopper into the bakery.

He had the fresh baked breads and cookies cooling on a large upright rack and was now baking sweet rolls. She could smell the cinnamon, sugar, and yeast wafting from the ovens. He poked his head around the door frame when the bell above the door tinkled.

“Oh! Collette!” Her husband exclaimed upon seeing it was her who had entered. “Good, you are here. We have a new client who has placed a standing order for every day. I need to take this to her.” He gestured to a stack of boxes.

“What is it?”

“Sweet rolls and loaves of bread. That’s why I’ve got another batch of sweet rolls in the ovens. They should be ready in ten minutes.” He glanced at his pocket watch.

“Goodness me! That’s why you are still baking.” She counted the boxes waiting to be delivered. “That’s a lot of sweet rolls, does this new client stock their own bakery cabinet?” She giggled.

“Actually, yes and no. Her name is Alicia Marie Sanders, and she is new to the Depot District. She has opened a saloon where she also serves pastries and sandwiches, but she doesn’t have a proper kitchen for baking, so we are blessed to be her provider. I promised to have these to her around eight in the morning before she opens her doors at ten.” He paused to chuckle like he was remembering something.

“What?” Collette asked, blinking away the concern inching its way into her chest.

“She said, ‘no respectable man should be drinking before ten’ and she ‘would not allow a drop to be poured before then’. I guess the idea of coffee and sweet rolls had not occurred to her if a customer came in before ten. Funny that whisky and sweet rolls go together in her way of thinking.”

Collette pursed her lips but tried to put a positive twist on the matter. “Sounds like she is a reasonable sort.”

Liam nodded. “It’s great for our business which is good for us all in all.”

“A bar and bakery?” Collette considered the idea. “That is a novel idea.”

“Yes.” He lifted the boxes and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “And we get to supply all her bakery needs. Don’t forget to take the cinnamon rolls out of the oven in seven minutes.”

Collette rushed to the door to open it for her husband.

“See you in a few,” he said sweetly over his shoulder. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone.” He chuckled.

“I will.” She smiled as she watched him walk quickly away. The new saloon must be toward the south end of the Depot District since that was the direction he walked. It was a less desirable, dirtier area in the district. She never went there for shopping or anything. With a sigh, she turned to begin her morning behind the counter. “He’ll be all right.”

She put on a fresh starched and pressed, white apron, moved the fresh baked goods from the cooling racks to the display cabinets, arranging them in artful ways. Although the cabinet would soon be empty, she knew an attractive display encouraged more sales. She added delicate doilies that Esther Rose had made to silver trays to display the cookies as if they were precious jewels. She sniffed the air. The sweet rolls were ready to come out of the oven. She slid them over to the cooling rack and then opened the money drawer to place last night’s count in its proper place by coin and bill.

Liam always had a pot of coffee on the stove. She had just enough time to pour herself a cup and take a sip when the first customer entered. The women who lived near the bakery came in first thing of a morning to buy bread and biscuits (or cookies) for afternoon tea. In no time the front of the shop was full of anxious women bobbing and swaying to see over the ones in front of them. They were always excited and anxious to learn what Liam had baked and to be the first to buy it before it was all sold out.

This happened every morning at a quarter past eight, like clockwork.

Collette was amused by the women’s determination to be first in line as if Liam wouldn’t make more if something ran low. He, however, generally had the talent to anticipate his customer’s needs and baked just enough to supply them plus extra for unexpected customers, and a little treat to bring home for the two of them.

The local hotel sent a boy over for its standing order. He always entered through the back and left the same way, allowing Collette to keep her attention on the customers at the front of the shop.

Liam had their order stacked and ready to go in his kitchen and the hotel runner knew what to do. It required no interaction from either of them at the front. She was never sure when the runner arrived or left, but at some point she saw that the boxes had been taken and the money left in a stationery envelope. It was a good system Liam had worked out. She was so proud of her husband and the trust he had established in the community.

Patrick O’Riley or one of the other deputies came in for sweet rolls every morning around half past eight. Collette always let her brother or his co-deputies have a half dozen for free. After all he was family, and the law, so they were entitled to privileges other customers were not. Besides, it gave her a rare opportunity to see her brother and ask him about curious articles she and Esther Rose had read in the papers.

Like always, he was tight-lipped about the cases, but Collette knew her brother well enough to read him like a book and could tell if she and Esther Rose’s suspicions were in line with what had really happened. He rather hated it when she figured out a case before he gathered the facts. It was a talent of hers, how could she help but to share her findings with him? Besides, in the end, he needed to solve the case even though he pretended to be frustrated with her and Esther Rose sticking their noses in, as he put it. A solved case is good. An unsolved case is bad. Who really cares how it is solved?

The bell over the door tinkled. Collette jerked her head up with a huge grin on her face, anticipating her first customer.

“Good Morning.” She called out to the woman who stumbled in with an entourage of ladies behind her, vying to get through the door first to see what new treat Liam had baked. He always had something new or special for them to choose from. Bread, sweet rolls, and cookies, or biscuits as many of them still called them, by the dozens. They really did not have to compete to be first, and yet they did.

That was a preview of Murdered Twice, The Tatting Club Mysteries, Book #1. To read the rest purchase the book.

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