Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (10 page)

“I'm sorry,” Dimple said, avoiding Annie's eyes. “But perhaps the two of you might go.” And she quickly left the room and went upstairs to change.

Augusta, standing in the hallway, finally knew why she had come.

*   *   *

“Jo, pull into that filling station up there,” Lou directed. “I've got to use the rest room.”

“Again? We'll be at Claudia's in less than an hour. Can't you wait?”

“If I could wait, would I ask you to stop? And do go easy on the brakes. I have a full bladder,” Lou demanded, grabbing for the door handle.

“I told you not to drink all that coffee when we stopped for lunch. This is the second time…” But Jo found she was talking to herself as her sister, pocketbook on her arm, was already making her way to her destination.

“Are you sure you know where we're going?” Lou asked when she returned a few minutes later. “Seems we should've gotten there by now.”

“You're the one who's supposed to be reading the map. Besides, Claudia gave very clear directions.”

“I just don't want to be on the road after dark.”

“The speed limit's thirty-five, Louise. Do you want us to get stopped by the police? Quit worrying!”

And although Louise Willingham would never admit it, she
was
worried. She worried that without Miss Dimple's keen observations, she and her sister might not be able to carry out their mission as expected. She worried that the synthetic rubber tires on the old Chevrolet might blow out before they got there and back. And she worried that Claudia, whom she'd never met, might not have indoor plumbing. Lou remembered the days of going to the outhouse in the middle of the night, but she didn't remember them fondly.

Fortunately, it was not quite dark when they turned into Claudia's graveled driveway on the outskirts of the little town, and Lou was relieved in more ways than one when she learned that although their hostess didn't have a telephone, she did have an indoor bathroom.

Claudia's husband had died several years before and their grown daughter, Esther, lived with her mother and clerked at a dry goods store in town.

“I suppose working where you do, you must get to know just about everyone in town,” Jo began over supper of a wonderful pumpkin soup, fried apples, and tiny sausages wrapped in pastry.

Esther laughed. “It didn't take long.” She passed along the platter of sausages. “Mama tells me you're here to get some information on poor Dora Westbrook. Terrible thing that happened to her,” she said, shaking her head. “Always seemed unhappy to me. Makes you wonder what kind of life she had.”

“Now, Esther,” her mother admonished. “You shouldn't speak ill of the dead.”

And Jo, tired after the rigors of the long drive, brightened considerably and hoped Esther would continue to speak ill, and then some.

“I'm not speaking ill of her, Mama, and besides, what difference does it make? The woman's dead. She doesn't know anything.”

“I heard her husband took it kind of hard,” said Lou, who had heard no such thing. “He must be grief-stricken.”

“We really don't know the family,” Claudia said with a warning look at her daughter, “but I'm sure he must be heartbroken over all this. Now, I hope you'll save room for apple brown Betty,” she added after a pause. “I used honey for the sweetening. Our apple trees outdid themselves this year and we're doing our best to use them up. I hope you'll take some with you when you leave.”

“Or she's likely to block the road. Our friends lock their doors when they see us coming,” Esther said. “Mama used apples in the pumpkin soup, too.”

“Well, whatever she used, it was delicious,” Lou said, and meant it. “I'd love to have the recipe.”

And while Lou exchanged recipes after supper in the kitchen with Claudia, Jo spent her time prying information from Esther.

She didn't have to pry very hard.

“I have Dora's address right here,” she said, smoothing the folded paper she'd taken from her handbag. “Do you happen to know anybody on Lucia Lane?”

Esther's eyes narrowed. “Like who?”

Jo lowered her voice. “Well, anybody, I suppose. We might start with the Westbrooks' neighbors.”

And so they did.

“When you say your prayers,” Jo reminded her sister when they turned in that night, “remember to give thanks that we decided to bring those jars of Odessa's chowchow as hostess gifts instead of apple butter.”

Slipping a warm flannel gown over her head, she turned out the light. “I think we'll have more than enough people on our list to take up most of our morning,” she said. “That just leaves that fellow in the police department for afternoon.”

Lou only yawned and stretched out on crisp sun-dried sheets and a pillow that smelled of lavender. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

*   *   *

“You're from
where
? Elderberry?” The middle-aged woman stood in the doorway with one hand firmly on the knob. Frowning, she shoved a graying strand of hair from her forehead and took a step backward. “Isn't that where Dora Westbrook was killed?”

Jo nodded, her expression sorrowful—or what she hoped was sorrowful. “And everyone is devastated! Why, for such a thing to happen in our little town was … well, I can't even begin to tell you how shocking that was.”

“The poor woman died
right there in our church,
you see,” Lou added, “and they're saying it wasn't an accident. Well, it has all of us upset, and we're determined to learn the truth.”

“None of us will be able to rest easy in Elderberry,” Jo said, “until we find out who did this horrible thing.

“Oh, here we are acting like we don't have any manners at all,” she exclaimed, clasping a hand to her chest. “I'm Josephine Carr, and this is my sister, Louise Willingham. We were hoping to speak with some of poor Dora's neighbors in order to learn a little more about her.”

“Well … I've just finished putting up green tomato pickles, so I'm afraid the whole house reeks of vinegar, but I guess you can come in. We can sit right here in the living room. I'm Priscilla Barnslow.”

Priscilla Barnslow wore a stained white apron over her blue plaid housedress, and, obviously noticing the stains, pulled off the apron and tossed it aside as they followed her into the first room off the hall.

“We won't take up much of your time,” Jo said, after they were seated—she and Lou on a chintz-covered sofa, and Priscilla on a small parlor chair upholstered in what looked like rose brocade. “We just want to get an idea about her family life, her friends, or at least someone who might tell us why she left so suddenly.”

Priscilla looked down at her hands, chapped and rough, probably from housework, as most women's were. “I really didn't know Dora all that well, although we've lived next door for almost ten years now. It did surprise me, though, that she left the way she did.”

“What about her husband, Leonard?” Jo asked. “Was everything all right there?”

Priscilla didn't answer right away. “As far as I know,” she said, sighing. “He spends a lot of time out at his farm. Raises beef cattle, you know, and Dora volunteered some … as most of us do. Things have to get done, and it's up to us to do it, isn't it?”

The sisters agreed that it was, and Lou smiled, thinking the smell of cloves and allspice coming from the kitchen wasn't unpleasant at all. “So I don't suppose she mentioned anything about leaving?” she asked.

“I usually saw her when we were hanging out clothes together, or we sometimes volunteered at the Red Cross—you know, rolling bandages, things like that. She never said anything about that to me, but of course she wouldn't. If Dora told anybody, it was probably one of her friends from church.”

Glenese Pitts, Priscilla told them. They might check with her. She and Dora had chaired a circle together at the Methodist church, and she'd seen Glenese visiting next door from time to time.

Jo hesitated as they rose to leave. “About Leonard Westbrook,” she began. “From what you've observed, do you think he might've had anything to do with what happened to his wife?”

Priscilla Barnslow drew in her breath. “Oh my. I really can't answer that.”

“I'm sorry,” Jo said. “I shouldn't have—”

“He did seem upset about her leaving—almost desperate to find her and bring her home,” Priscilla added, following them to the door. “But it wasn't the sad kind of worry, the heavy kind that drags you down, shuts out all the light.…” She lowered her voice. “I didn't see that at all.”

 

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

Virginia Balliew was not one of those people who dreaded Mondays. Virginia loved just about everything to do with her job in what everybody called “the cabin,” and she always looked forward to beginning a new week. She loved the warm, mellow smell of the place; the scent of new books, as well as the favorite old ones, read and loved over the years until the bindings were broken and ragged. And she especially loved the people she served there, knew what they liked to read and found pleasure in introducing them to something new and exciting.

Next Saturday, she would be assisting the Woman's Club with a Halloween costume party and story hour for Elderberry's children, and her mind was on the decorations when she parked her car that morning in her usual spot behind the cabin. A large jack-o-lantern for the mantel, she thought, and of course black and orange streamers crisscrossing from the rafters. As president of the Woman's Club, bossy Emmaline Brumlow would want to run things her way, but Virginia had learned that as long as she allowed Emmaline to
think
she was in charge, she could pretty much do whatever she pleased.

A heavy frost had covered the ground when she collected her milk from the doorstep that morning, and there was still a nip in the air. Although the cabin had another source of heat, a wood fire would be welcome this morning, Virginia thought, and was glad she'd remembered to have firewood delivered. Digging in her purse for the key, she shivered as she hurried to unlock the front door.

Now who had broken those branches from the nandina bush under that small side window? Virginia stopped and inspected the crushed twigs and foliage, the bright berries scattered on the ground. What a thoughtless thing to do! She was planning to use those berries over the fireplace with fresh greenery during the Christmas season.

And then Virginia saw something that made her turn around and hurry back to her car. The glass in the window was broken!

*   *   *

“Now, Miss V., I want you to promise you'll stay in the car until I see if there's anybody inside,” Sergeant Nelson instructed her after following Virginia back to the cabin. “You did the smart thing by not going in, and coming for me, and I'm almost sure whoever broke in is long gone by now, but we don't want to take any chances.”

“But, Warren, I have to see what they've done! And Cattus is in there! What if they've done something to our cat?” Virginia disliked women who cried at the drop of a hat, but it was taking every bit of her willpower to hold back the tears. She could feel the sneaky little things stinging her nose, just waiting for a chance to explode. She sniffed. “I thought you all were keeping an eye on this place after what's been going on here,” she said, but he was already making his way to the front door.

It took even more willpower to remain behind while Warren entered the building, and Virginia hurried to meet him as soon as he emerged.

“Did you see Cattus? Is he all right?” she asked.

“Well, it's a mess in there, but I didn't see any sign of a cat. Now, don't worry. He's probably hiding somewhere.” With a hand on each of her shoulders, Warren blocked her way. “I don't think there's any big damage done, but they've … well … whoever did this has just thrown books everywhere.”

Warren was a large man and strong, and it was a good thing. With one arm, he encircled this bewildered and irate woman, this guardian of the town's precious books, and guided her onto the porch and into a rocking chair.

“Now, I telephoned Chief Tinsley and he's on his way, so let's just sit tight until he gets here, ma'am. Is there anybody you'd like me to call?”

Virginia glared up at him. At least she meant to glare, but with little experience in that area, who was to know? She wanted Dimple, but Dimple was at school, and it would take an act of God to force her to leave. “I guess we could call Phoebe,” she said at last. Phoebe had a level head and a kind heart, and Virginia needed both.

Virginia held back the tears until he went inside to phone, and Bobby Tinsley found her there on the porch, scrambling in her purse for a handkerchief, when he arrived a few minutes later. Fortunately, his wife had provided him with one freshly laundered and folded into a neat square, which he passed along to Virginia.

She accepted it gratefully but not silently. “There's no telling what's happened to poor Cattus! You were supposed to be watching out for us here,” she reminded him. “What happened?”

Pausing beside her, he sighed, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose you could say being a little short on manpower happened, Miss V. We just couldn't keep an eye on the place all the time, and I reckon whoever broke in here last night was aware of that.” And frankly, he'd thought the threat had been a bit exaggerated, but he sure as hell wasn't going to admit that.

When she was finally allowed inside, Virginia began to call the cat, and after searching every room, finally found him under her desk.

“Here, Cattus!” she called, “Come on, kitty. It's all right now.” But even pleading on her hands and knees couldn't budge the cat from his hiding place.

Sighing, Virginia got to her feet. “Poor kitty! He's scared to death.” She could only stand and look about. Although nothing was broken that she could see, it looked as if a wild animal had been on the rampage, with books tossed in every direction. While Warren dusted for fingerprints, Chief Tinsley checked the back door and windows in the two small adjoining rooms, and Virginia began to walk slowly about to take account of the damage.