The tranquil setting quickly turned stormy for two women enjoying a peaceful picnic on a secluded bluff overlooking the river. Their happy mood, celebrating each woman’s pregnancy news, was soon shattered by an argument that escalated into a violent outburst. In a fit of anger, one woman grabbed a jagged rock and bashed the other’s skull. The victim died before her knees touched the ground.
The two women were so similar in appearance that many mistook them for sisters, even twins. So, the killer hatched a plan to swap clothes and identities with her victim before leaving town undetected. She disrobed and put on the victim’s clothes. But just as she was about to dress the victim in her own clothes, she heard a strange noise and, fearing she had been discovered, hastily bundled up all her clothing and left the corpse lying naked in the woods with no means of identification. That evening, she caught the first train out of town, thinking she had gotten away with murder.
Events took a turn when both women were reported missing on the same night. To the small-town sheriff, it was merely a coincidence, and he failed to connect the two. Then, a farmer stumbled upon a woman’s body in the woods matching one of the missing women’s descriptions, and the railroad agent reported another woman fitting the same description boarded a train that same evening.
TG Lambert, hired to find a woman who matched the description of one or both missing persons, did not believe in coincidences. He was convinced these events were connected, but what was his proof? He had more questions than answers.Could two women who resembled each other so closely vanish from a small western town on the same day without any connection between them? He doubted it but wondered if lightning had ever struck the same place twice. And if they were related, which one was he actually searching for? More importantly, if related, who was the murderer, and who was the victim?
Follow TG Lambert on his journey of twists, turns, and setbacks as he tracks down the murderer, determines the victim’s identity, and fits together all the puzzle pieces of this mystery.
Excerpt:
Friday, August 5, 1892
Prescott Woods, Wyandotte, Oklahoma Territory
The argument had spiraled out of control, and all sense of reason had high-tailed it out of town. In one swift and horrifying act, the woman’s fingers gripped a nearby rock and struck the other woman from behind. The sound of stone against skull was a sickening thud, and the victim crumpled to the ground, dead.
The murderess stood for several moments, trembling. She was waist-deep in guilt and regret, awash with fear. The weight of her actions was painfully clear: the victim’s lifeless body lay on the ground, and she held the bloody murder weapon in her hands. She looked at both in disbelief and shock.
What have I done? she thought. My God! What have I done?
The weapon slipped from her fingers, and she held her hands in front of her face, staring at them. A shudder gripped her from head to toe. Her heart pounded against her rib cage; she tried to catch her breath. She dropped to her knees beside the dead woman and attempted to arouse her.
“Wake up! Please. Oh, please wake up,” she pleaded and shook the victim. “I didn’t mean to—” But she soon realized the victim would not, could not wake up.
She wept bitterly. Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin.
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The day had started peacefully enough on a summertime outing. The bright sun was high in the cloudless blue sky, but a light northwest breeze kept the temperatures quite pleasant. Two Japanese women were enjoying a leisurely buggy ride on the dusty trail south of Wyandotte, Oklahoma Territory, toward the Neosho River. They looked so much alike that they could have passed for sisters, even twins. Their near-matching calf-length skirts with delicate beads, white cotton blouses, and straw hats added to the allusion.
The women stopped for a picnic lunch under the shade of a scraggy oak on a bluff overlooking a bend in the river. They ate, drank, and laughed the afternoon away, swapping stories, future dreams, hopes, and desires.
They finished their meal and cleared away the remnants of their picnic. The conversation was jubilant when the women confided in each other that they were pregnant. They laughed and danced over their shared good news.
But words formerly shared in laughter eventually took on a sharper edge. Once filled with merriment, their voices now dripped with disdain and acrimony. With each passing minute, the tension grew taut like a tightly wound spring. The breeze, which had provided comfort earlier, seemed to carry a deepening chill, mirroring the cooling atmosphere between the two companions.
The woman's eyes narrowed. Her voice was laced with hostility. She could not hide her growing rage any longer. A festering anger consumed her, fueled by memories of her mother’s death and years of perceived slights and unfulfilled desires.
Words evolved into heated arguments, accusations flying like poisonous arrows. Their voices echoed in the otherwise peaceful surroundings, and when the other woman turned her back—the final insult—she could endure no more, and she stuck without any thought of consequences.
The victim lay dead.
The murderess got to her feet and stood frozen for several moments, uncertain what to do next. Beads of sweat trickled down her temples. Her brow was wet, her body drenched in sweat. The forest seemed to swirl around her; she staggered but regained her balance. She quickly looked to see if there were any witnesses. When she saw none and heard nothing out of the ordinary, she devised a plan: swap clothes and identities with the victim and then leave on the first train out of town.
She knelt and undressed the victim’s lifeless body. She disrobed and slipped into its undergarments. She shook the leaves off the skirt and stepped into it. She cleaned as many smudges as she could from the blouse before putting it on.
When she started to dress the corpse, an unfamiliar noise startled her. The woman froze and looked to see what it was but saw nothing. Her heart beat so rapidly it felt like it would leap from her chest. She could not control her feelings of anxiety and guilt; they overwhelmed her like stormy waves crashing on the shore. Abandoning the first part of her plan, she hastily gathered her clothing and stashed them under the buggy’s seat. She took one last look around for anything she had missed and spied the victim’s straw hat. After retrieving it, she got on the buggy and slapped the horse's rump with the reins. It lunged forward, buggy in tow.
But what next?
Her mind raced, filled with unanswered questions: Who had seen the two of them leave town together? Who would notice that only one returned? Could she pass herself off as the victim? How much time did she have before she would be missed? How long before someone would find the naked body?
Her fear and desperation mounted with each passing mile. But she suppressed these feelings as best as she could by focusing on the last part of her plan: take the first train out of town.
On the ride back, she stopped at an abandoned barn. The woman looked for witnesses, and seeing none, she hid her clothes and the picnic basket under some loose straw. After hiding the items, she stood frozen with guilt and regret, looking at the pile of straw, reliving the horror of what she had done, but she brushed aside those feelings with the overwhelming urge to get away as quickly as she could. She ran to the buggy, climbed aboard, and firmly slapped the horse’s rump with reins.
It took off in a gallop, buggy in tow.
In ideal conditions, the northbound train’s whistle could be heard when it blasted at Cattle Crossing, nearly five miles southwest of Wyandotte, but today, its first blast echoed through the valley at the four-mile curve. When she heard it, the woman urged the horse toward Miss Lilly’s Boarding House with a flick of its reins, and it responded with a brisk canter. She stopped by Miss Lilly’s long enough to pack two satchels and leave without being seen.
The woman purchased a one-way ticket on the northbound St. Louis Express and boarded the first passenger car with little time to spare. She had barely found her seat when the conductor yelled, “All aboard!”
