Ellen hadn’t loved her husband, and marriage to him had only reminded Ellen of what she’d missed by losing Lane. If Timothy knew she didn’t love him, he had hidden the knowledge from her, and they’d had a harmonious relationship until his death six months ago.

Ellen had hoped to put the past behind her and start a life without either Timothy or Lane, but her vision of a peaceful life had been shattered two days ago when she’d received a visit from United States Marshal John Warren. Her butler, Bentley, had ushered Warren into the drawing room of her Cleveland mansion, where she was poring over a European travel itinerary. The room with it’s twelve-foot ceilings and walnut paneling had always overwhelmed Ellen, but Warren’s six-foot-plus height and his massive body dwarfed the room.

He spoke in guarded tones, and Ellen considered his soft, smooth voice unusual in such a large man.

She decided Warren was a man of action when he bluntly asked, "Do you know why anyone would want to kill your husband?"

Ellen stared at him for a moment, slow to comprehend his meaning. "Murder him?"

Warren nodded.

Stunned, Ellen dropped to the sofa and motioned Warren toward a chair, which he pulled close to her.

"No, I don’t. Why are you asking?"

"I’m trusting you’ll keep secret what I am about to say." He took a small slip of paper from an envelope and handed it to her. "Last week we received this anonymous note."

Are you satisfied that the death of Timothy Hern was an accident? Why not look for a piece of pipe in a cave a few miles south of the accident scene?

Ellen looked up from the message with questioning eyes.

"We figured this as a hoax of some kind, but we sent two officers to check it out. They found the cave and a piece of pipe containing bits of flesh and hair. At this point, we don’t know that they match your husband’s, but we suspect they do."

"But why? Who?"

"We don’t know. The autopsy indicated that he died from a blow to his head, but the car was so badly damaged, the authorities must have thought he sustained the injury when the car plunged over a steep embankment."

"Surely Ercell, the chauffeur, would have known if someone had knocked Timothy on the head." Her eyes widened. "Unless Ercell did it."

"When the mechanic who examined the wrecked car said that a faulty steering mechanism had caused the accident, no further investigation was made. But it doesn’t seem likely Ercell would have risked his own life unless it was a murder/suicide that failed."

"But Ercell worked for my husband for years! I don’t recall that they ever disagreed." She darted a quick glance at Warren. "I can’t help but wonder why federal marshals are investigating an automobile accident."

Warren’s face flushed with an enigmatic expression. "A keen mind as well as beauty," he said, but his deep-set eyes quickly became serious. "Mrs. Hern, how much did you know about your husband’s business activities?"

"Not much. His family has been in the wholesale furniture business for years, but he made most of his money as a stockbroker after the war. His lawyers haven’t settled his estate, but I’m not too trusting, so I hired my own lawyer to keep them honest. We haven’t learned anything yet to make us suspicious." She studied the marshal a long moment. "Apparently, there are things I don’t know."

"For several months, we’ve been quietly investigating your husband on suspicion of racketeering. We believe his furniture business was a cover-up for extortion from small store owners, and the profitable business of bootlegging."

Ellen surveyed the lavish furnishings of the room, and she said bitterly, "So you’re telling me this house was built with illegal money? I might have known my luck wouldn’t run to having an honest husband."

She rose from the chair and wandered around the room, attempting to hide her distress from Warren. She knew that often in times of stress her indigo blue eyes darkened until they appeared black, and she felt uncomfortable at the thought of him noting this idiosyncrasy of hers. She tucked strands of her honey-brown hair into the long braid wrapped around her head. Timothy had urged her to cut her hair into the short bobs now popular, but though she had adopted knee-length dresses and rolled silk stockings, she’d resisted bobbing her hair. Although she hadn’t bothered to analyze her reasons, she preferred to keep her long tresses the way they’d looked when she was a girl.

Ellen had looked forward to enjoying her life at last, but could she do it on gangster money? She thought she’d reached the place where she could prove Ellen Rayburn had overcome her background and could now face the world with pride. Unbidden, a proverb pierced her memory, "Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."

It wasn’t the first time the Scriptures she’d learned as a child had brought Ellen to her senses. Suppressing any more self-pity, she turned back to Warren. "Why have you come to me?"

"We want to make a quiet investigation into this situation, and we need your help."

"How?"

"Are you going to your new estate this summer?"

"No. Timothy bought that house for me, but since his death, I’ve not wanted to go to Arrowwood." She picked up the itinerary from the desk. "I’m starting on a tour of Europe next week, and I’ll not return until August."

"Will you postpone that trip and go to Arrowwood for a few weeks? Hern was coming home from Daltonville when he was killed. The secret to his death may be there."

"How would my going to Arrowwood help?"

"If you were living there, I could move some of my staff in as your employees, giving us easy access to the house and grounds. We could probably unravel the mystery, if there is one, in a few weeks."

"Has it occurred to you that if Timothy was murdered, his assailant might have designs upon my life?"

Warren grinned slightly. "Why do you think we want you where we can watch you for a few weeks?"

"I’ll be safe enough in Europe," Ellen countered, but she lifted perfectly groomed eyebrows and gave him a wry smile. "Or do you suspect me and want to keep me under surveillance?"

A grin spread over Warren’s face. "You didn’t leave the city the week he was killed."

"I gained more than anyone else from Timothy’s death. I could have planned the accident."

Warren’s grin widened into a smile. "You might have, but I don’t think so." He paused, then added, as if in after thought, "How do you get along with your stepchildren?"

Was this just a casual question, or did she detect a veiled hint or warning? Obviously, the marshal knew a lot about her.

"Oh, I’ve seen murder in their eyes many times when they’ve looked at me, but I hardly think they’d kill their father."

Against her better judgment, Ellen agreed to do what Marshal Warren asked.

Love Almost Lost
is Coming in December 2002

Irene would love to hear from you. Please feel free to email Irene Brand, or contact Mrs. Brand about her books or for speaking engagements, you may also write to her at:

P. O. Box 2770
Southside, West Virginia 25187