“I’m not sure I can do this,” Meg whispered. “What if she’s gone to bed already?”
Rose didn’t answer right away, instinctively looking around for Daisy before reminding herself that Daisy was sleeping happily on her grandpa’s chest. “She won’t be in bed, but even if she was, the staff will still be awake. Your presence will keep them occupied. I just need them stalled long enough to search Phillip’s room.”
Meg hesitated, her hands gripping the sides of the pie tin, turning her knuckles white. “What do I say?”
“Words.”
Meg frowned at Rose despite the smile trying desperately to escape. “Words. I can say words. Do you think she’d believe that I was looking for a job? Not that I would … am … it is just …”
“You’ll do fine,” Rose assured her, giving Meg a little nudge toward the front door of the Hugh’s grand house. Before Meg’s foot had touched the porch steps, Rose had sunk into the shadows, following the corners of the house to the back windows. She could hear Meg’s knock and then the door open. The voice was too distant to know if it was Jessica Hugh or the maid.
“Yes, yes, of course, come in,” the voice said. The slamming of the door told her Meg was in. It had to be Jessica.
Grinning, Rose circled the house peeking through the windows until she found what she guessed was Phillip’s room. To her luck the window was unlocked and she pulled herself up trying not to grunt too loudly as she did. She heard a small rip as she wiggled her shoulder and waist through the window.
She let out a quick breath when she realized it would be a bit tricky to get her legs through at a bent angle. Deciding that she could only get them through straight, she grimaced as the window cell indented into her waist and she let her torso fall forward; she caught herself by balancing her hands on the floor, then walking them forward.
Her legs finally made it through the window, and Rose jumped up to look outside. No one was around, so she gently shut the window and began searching.
She paused, listening, and heard Meg’s words tumble out in a flurry.
“Yes, yes,” Jessica replied impatiently and with a tone of superiority. “We pay our house staff much more handsomely than the Castles ever could, but we expect complete loyalty and obedience. I will not lie and say your interaction with their tainted daughter does not cast a less than glowing light on your own character, my dear. Such interaction will have to be terminated immediately. We have a reputation to uphold.”
Rose blocked out the rest of Jessica’s speech, catching only a few phrases here and there. The room held bundles of papers that seemed to be the process of being sorted. Rose decided it was unlikely Phillip would leave evidence of his nefarious works in the open for his mother and maids to see.
Hugging the walls of the hall, Rose peeked into each room until she came to a room that had to be Phillip’s room. It was almost too simple. A black safe sat in his closet covered by two wool coats and one lambskin leather one. Rose felt her heart beating as she pulled out her little set of tools. Cade would die if he knew what she was doing. With a disbelieving smile at her own self, Rose knelt down and began to pick the lock.
“Well, think it over,” Jessica Hugh said, seeing Meg to the door.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Meg replied. With the slamming of the door, she let out a long sigh of relief. “Rose?” she whispered, circling around the wagon. “Rose!”
“Here.”
Meg gasped, clutching at her chest. “You about scared me to death. Well?”
“Jackpot!” Rose laughed climbing onto the wagon and taking the reins. “The light was poor, but they seem to be photographs and entries to a diary.”
“Anything connecting him to Theodore’s and Jim’s murders?”
“Look at this,” Rose said, handing her a bundle tied together with twine.
Meg squinted in the moonlight, “I can’t see. Are these drawings of a snake?”
“Copperhead snake. The same snake scratched in the dirt when Cade looked at the bodies. There are newspaper clippings, too, with pictures of sacrifices with the same drawings. One is from twenty years ago, and then these other two are in Colorado; one is a Chinese girl, another Italian.” She slapped the reins with gusto, lurching the wagon forward.
Meg shuddered, carefully taking a photo and holding it under the starlight. “Is this girl Camille? Jeffries’s daughter?”
Rose glanced over at the photo in Meg’s hand and shook her head. “Yes,” she said softly, her face falling. “If you look closely, Camille’s death is slightly different then the last three murders that were committed years later. My guess is that Phillip learned about Camille’s story and liked the idea of a sacrificial death.”
“Any murder this—” Meg thought of a word, “unconventional, I guess, would never be pinned on a wealthy white attorney.”
Rose shook her head. “No. All these girls were immigrants, so I doubt their murders were thoroughly investigated.”
Meg ran a gentle finger over Camille’s photo. “Poor Jeffries, being framed twice. Was the man who killed his daughter ever caught?”
Rose frowned, once again silently committing to protect her daughter in every way. “No. Another black girl dead in a dirty city. You tell me if the police were eager to continue the investigation after my father took Jeffries away.”
“Poor man, poor girls. I believe in God’s mercy and justice, but sometimes I wish there were people that could expedite the process of justice.”
“Well luckily, Cade is on this case. He will make sure everything turns out the way it should.” Rose bit her lip. To her surprise she believed every word.