Page 46 of Winterset

He shook his head. “No. Anna…I intend to find out who killed those people.” The tone of his voice made it a promise.

Startled, Anna looked up at him. Reed’s face was set, his gray eyes determined. “But why?” she blurted out. “Is that not the constable’s job?”

“Yes, no doubt. But the last time this was happening, the constable did not solve the matter. We cannot presume that he will this time. He is not accustomed to dealing with problems like this. A constable in a small village…” Reed frowned. “I just think he probably needs all the help that he can get.”

Anna nodded. She knew the constable better than Reed, and she knew that he was a simple man, accustomed to dealing with simple problems. She had to admit that the murders of the past week would be overwhelming to him.

“I have to make sure that no one else gets hurt,” Reed went on, and Anna realized suddenly that he was looking into the murders for her sake. He was afraid that his dream meant that she would be a target for the killer. He had said that he did not love her, but he must still care for her in some way. She told herself that it was terrible and selfish of her that this knowledge warmed her heart.

“You think that these deaths are somehow connected to me,” she told him. “Don’t you? Because of your dream.”

“I cannot help but wonder.”

“Perhaps your dream—if it meant anything—was nothing more than an indication that I would stumble upon the body. I do not see how the murders threaten me more than anyone else who lives here.”

“I don’t, either, at the moment. But we have no idea why he has killed those he did—or who else he might decide to kill. The only safe way to deal with the problem is to find out who has done these things.”

After a long moment, Anna said, “Did you notice that the first murder was of a servant girl and the second victim was a farmer—just as in the murders fifty years ago?”

“It occurred to me. One can only wonder why someone has decided to imitate what happened before. It seems that it must have some significance for the killer.”

“Yes, but what? The style of killings would be enough to raise the fear of the Beast in everyone. Why make them so exactly alike?”

“God only knows. I cannot think that we are dealing with a rational person. It may mean something to him that would never occur to a normal human being.”

“There were only two deaths the other time. Perhaps he will stop now.”

“We can hope, but I would not rely on it.”

“What are you going to do?” Anna asked.

“First, I want to look into the legend about the Beast, and also the earlier murders. There must be some reason why the killer wants us to think that the Beast is running amok again…why he has copied those other two deaths so closely. I plan to look through the Winterset library. I haven’t really had a chance to—it’s extensive. I thought there might be something there about the local legends. And I would like to look at those records the doctor spoke about. His father’s notes and the newspaper articles of the time. Perhaps something in the old murders will give me a clue as to what is happening now.”

“I want to help you,” Anna told him.

Reed looked at her, his eyebrows lifting. “But—”

“Don’t tell me that it is unsafe,” Anna warned. “You are already afraid that I am somehow involved. I don’t see how poking about would endanger me any more.”

“It is just that it is an unsavory subject,” he responded. “Are you sure you want to look at the doctor’s drawings and such?”

“I’m not sure that ‘want’ is the correct word. But I have seen one of the victims, and I do not think that the drawings of two murders in the past could be any worse than that. I feel an obligation to Estelle and that poor young man. I want to do something.”

“Of course. I will be glad for the help. You can escort me to the doctor’s. You know him far better than I.” He paused, then continued. “Tomorrow, perhaps. And we can look through the library at Winterset.”

“All right.” Anna felt suddenly a little breathless. It occurred to her that she might be playing with fire, being alone with Reed in his library, but she pushed the thought aside.

He arranged to come by the next day to take her to the doctor’s, and then he bowed over her hand and left. Anna stood for a moment, her hand pressed to her stomach, which was suddenly dancing with nerves.

Several times that evening, she started to write a note to send to Winterset, telling Reed that she had changed her mind, that she was not going with him to look at the doctor’s notes. She even got so far as actually writing part of the note, but then she tore it up. However much she told herself that it could be dangerous, she could not bring herself to refrain from going.

The next morning, she took extra care with her appearance, then grew angry at herself for doing so, and instead put on one of her plainest dresses and had Penny redo her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. However, she did not realize that nothing could detract from the glow of her skin or the sparkle in her eyes, so that no matter how much she tried to look ordinary, her very anticipation at being with Reed enhanced her beauty.

Dr. Felton was somewhat surprised at their arrival on his doorstep, but when Anna told him that they wished to look at his father’s notes on the fifty-year-old murders, he agreed amiably and led them into the office behind his surgery. Unlocking a cabinet, he pulled out a metal box and opened it. Inside were a series of bound journals, which looked identical. Dr. Felton searched through them and, after a time, took out one.

“This is for the year of the murders,” he told them, handing the volume to them, and closing and replacing the box. “Would you like the newspaper accounts, too? Mrs. Ross, his old housekeeper, gave them to me several years ago. I don’t know, really, how helpful they are.”

He closed the cabinet and relocked it, then moved to another, unlocked, cabinet and dug through it until he came up with a plain box. He turned toward them, holding out the box. “These are all the articles she clipped. I haven’t read all of them. One can only describe the tone of most of them as hysterical. I am not sure how accurate they are.” He gave a faint smile. “I discovered that our newspapers’ ancestors were almost as given to hyperbole as the present-day issues.”