Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (16 page)

“Yes, you,” she said, tugging her hat over her ears. “I do believe it's gotten colder.”

Dimple Kilpatrick seldom felt the need to share her concerns, especially with someone she'd known for such a short time, but the shocking death of Dora Westbrook had seemed almost like a personal tragedy after her strange appearance at the library. Although she didn't understand it, Dimple accepted the fact that Augusta sensed when she was troubled, and the two walked in silence for a while before Dimple finally spoke.

“I'm concerned about Jesse Dean,” she admitted, “and frankly, I don't know what to do.”

“Surely you don't believe he had anything to do with Dora's death,” Augusta said. She had been told of the young man's background and of the friendship he shared with Dimple and the other boarders.

“Of course not, but it looks as if someone is attempting to make it look like he did, and I can't imagine why. Oh, I wish we could find out who ordered those cookies! I'm afraid there's a chance Jesse Dean might even be in danger himself.”

“But he didn't know the person, did he? Was there some connection between the two? She came from another part of the state.” Augusta pulled her cape closer about her and began to walk faster.

Dimple told her about her conversation with Harris Cooper. “Before he came here, I believe Sanford Greeson, Jesse Dean's father, lived in Fieldcroft or somewhere nearby. Of course, that was many years ago.” And Dimple told her of her disappointment that Amos McIntyre wasn't able to remember more about the man's past.

“But that doesn't mean the young man had any reason to kill Dora. Surely the authorities wouldn't suspect him on that basis!” If Augusta had been a hen, she would've ruffled her feathers.

Dimple smiled. “I have no doubt of that, but if we can find the connection, it might help lead to the person who
did
kill Dora Westbrook.”

Augusta nodded. “It would have to be someone who is familiar with Jesse Dean's background. They knew he made deliveries for Cooper's Store and ordered the vanilla wafers to be left at the church while Dora Westbrook lay at the bottom of that ladder, probably soon after she died, which leads me to believe whoever was responsible probably had knowledge of this town, as well.”

Dimple had to agree, but the idea made her want to rush home, lock the door, and huddle in front of the fire. And it wasn't because of the cold.

*   *   *

She didn't expect Amos McIntyre to telephone that night and was frankly surprised when he called the next morning. “I don't remember the person's name,” he explained, “but do I recall somebody sending Sanford soft-shell pecans a couple times around Christmas and him sharing them with the rest of us.”

“Could they have come from his parents, or perhaps a brother or sister?” Dimple asked. But Amos didn't know.

“Seems funny, but I woke up this morning and that was the first thing that came to mind—those pecans! As to who sent them, I'm afraid I can't help you there.”

She shared the news with Augusta over breakfast, but their small victory was short-lived, as Charlie phoned in much distress to report that her mother and aunt had not yet arrived from Fieldcroft, and except for Chief Tinsley's brief communication with Reece Cagle, no one had heard a word from them since they left for home.

 

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

“I guess you didn't expect to see us again,” Lou said when she and Jo stopped by the local police station before leaving for home that morning. And Reece, occupied with a stack of papers on his desk, looked up in surprise.

“You're right. I thought you two would probably be halfway to Elderberry by now.” He started to rise. “What can I do for you?”

“We can't stay,” Lou said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “but Jo and I thought we should share something Lucille Westbrook said. It might not mean a thing, but we think it's worth mentioning.”

Reece nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

“She said Dora was a thief,” Lou told him.

He frowned. “And did she explain why she thinks that?”

“She didn't explain anything,” Jo said. “She was too busy slamming the door in our faces.”

“I'd be interested to know exactly what she thinks the woman took.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Jo told him. “We'd like to find out, too. And I've thought of another thing,” she added, “if Dora left home on Friday and didn't arrive in Elderberry until Saturday, where did she spend Friday night?”

“There should've been a ticket stub,” Reece began, but Lou interrupted him. “The only stub they found just showed a date and point of origin, and part of that was torn off, but Bobby Tinsley—he's our chief of police, you know—anyway, Bobby said there was enough on there to tell the ticket had been bought here in Fieldcroft.”

“She could've slept on the bus,” he suggested. “Some of these routes stop at every little crossroads and it makes for close to a twenty-four-hour trip.”

Lou hadn't thought of that. “Is there any way to check that out?”

Reece reached for his phone. “Sure thing. I'll just ring Edna.” He smiled. “Oh, the grocery store serves as a bus station, too.”

If Lou could've paced during Reece's long-winded conversation with Edna, she would have covered a lot of territory, but there was nowhere to pace, so she just fidgeted in place and looked around for somewhere to go to the bathroom before getting on the road.

“Well,” Reece said at last, “Edna checked the schedule, and … Dora didn't buy a ticket to Elderberry at all that Friday. The fare she did buy was to Macon.”

“Macon? Why Macon?”
Jo asked.

Reece didn't try to hide his grin. “I reckon that's where she wanted to go,” he said.

“Well, why didn't Edna tell us that in the first place?” Lou said. She had waited until Reece ended his long phone conversation to use the facilities, and now she was irritable and uncomfortable.

“Probably because Edna didn't sell Dora that ticket. Seems Dora purchased that the day
before
she left. That was Emmet Dixon's day to work. Thursday is Edna's day to volunteer at Camp Gordon with the Faithful Fieldcroft Friends.” He grinned. “That's a group of women who serve coffee and cake—things like that—to the enlisted men.” He nodded toward the door to the tiny reception area up front, where a large woman with unnaturally yellow hair sat behind a desk. “Our Linda Pearl's a member, too. Wouldn't miss a Thursday.”

“Sounds like Dora planned to buy her ticket while Edna was away,” Jo said. “I wonder who she knew in Macon.”

“And where she went when she got there.” Lou frowned. “How are we going to find that out?”

“I'll check with Leonard, of course, but I think your best bet is with the sister in Tennessee,” Reece told them, “and that inquiry will have to come from your Chief Tinsley, since it's his investigation.”

“Good! Maybe by the time we get home, he might be able to let us know if he's learned anything,” Jo said. “Oh, and by the way, did Leonard Westbrook know anything about the letters his wife was supposed to have received from Columbia?”

The policeman shook his head. “He says not. Even took some time to look for them, and I believe him. Of course his mother claimed she didn't know anything about them, either, but I wouldn't take a word that woman says to the bank.”

“I wonder if they might've had something to do with whatever Lucille Westbrook thinks Dora took,” Lou said. “If we could only find those letters, it might clear up the whole thing.”

“I do think it's likely there's a connection.” Reece followed them to the door. “Now, you ladies be careful on the road out there, and tell your Chief Tinsley if anything turns up here, I'll be in touch.”

*   *   *

“Will you look at the time!” Jo glanced at her watch as they once again started for home. “It's already after ten, and at this rate, we won't get to Elderberry until midnight. We probably shouldn't even take the time to stop for lunch.”

Lou groaned. “Who cares about lunch? All I want is a bathroom!”

“Well, for heaven's sake, Lou, why didn't you go back at the police station?”

“Because Ruby Linda, or whatever her name was, was permanently installed in there, that's why! I think she lives in there. Surely there's a filling station around here somewhere.”

Jo pressed on the gas pedal. She knew she was over the speed limit, but if Reece stopped them, he could at least let Lou use the rest room at the police station. “I think I remember seeing one on the other side of town. Looked fairly clean, too. Just try not to think about it, Lou.”

At this point, Lou decided she would not turn her nose up at an outhouse. A large tree might even serve the purpose, but all they could see were pines.

The blue-roofed Pure Oil Station a few miles from town was a welcome sight, not only for Lou's relief but also because they needed to fill up the gas tank. They had traveled less than thirty minutes after leaving there when Lou noticed the car behind them. “Speed up, Jo, there's a car back there right on our tail.”

Her sister frowned. It had begun to rain and she strained to see the road. “Well, if they're in such a hurry, let them pass.” Jo slowed as gusts of wind pounded the car with sheets of water. They inched along, the only sound the
whack-whack
of the windshield wipers. “Are they still behind us?” she asked.

Lou twisted around to look. “Doesn't seem like they're going anywhere. They probably can't see any better than you can.”

“Well, I wish they'd go on around. They're following too close,” Jo said. “What kind of car is it? Can you tell?”

“Hard to see. Looks big, though. I think it's black.”

“I don't like this, Lou. Maybe they'll drop back if we go a little faster.” But the car behind them maintained the same speed, keeping a fixed distance between them. “Why would anybody do this?” she said. “Can you make out who they are?”

But in addition to the rain, the windows were so fogged up, Lou was unable to see. “Do you think it might be Leonard?” She shuddered. “Or maybe Lucille?”

“But what would they want from us?” Jo gripped the wheel and leaned forward, as if that would make the car go faster.

Lou clung to the overhead strap and bit her lip. “Maybe they think we know something. I sort of got the idea our friend Lucille didn't like us being here.”

“Fine! I'm trying to leave as fast as I can. If there was only a place to turn off. How far are we from the nearest town, Louise? Do you still have that map?”

Lou scrambled about and found the dog-eared map on the floor under her feet. “We shouldn't be too far from Hazelhurst,” she reported.

“About how far is that?”

“Looks like about ten miles, more or less. Maybe we could just pull over and let them pass.”

“Pull over where?” Jo scoffed. “This road is a sea of mud already.”

“That looks like a house up ahead,” Lou said as the rain slacked. “Seems to be just off that side road up there. Maybe whoever's behind us will think we've gone visiting and leave us alone.”

Jo took a deep breath and, singing the popular “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition” as loudly as she could, swerved suddenly onto the narrow road on their right. The car behind them, apparently caught by surprise, continued down the road. “Lou, I think that's the woman with the yellow hair—Linda something—the one who works at the police station.”

“I don't know what she wants with us, but it can't be good.” Lou frowned as they turned into a rutted driveway. “I can't see a light inside. Doesn't look like anybody's home.”

“Maybe they don't have electricity.” Jo knew it wasn't unusual for people—especially in the country—to still rely on oil lamps and use woodstoves for heat. “But that doesn't matter, since I plan to turn around as soon as I'm sure that car behind us has gone.”

A clump of evergreens screened them from the main road, but a patch of clearing allowed Jo to see if a car was in sight. She had turned off the engine to save gas, and with no heat, the car was beginning to cool. Jo shivered. Maybe the car behind them had only been using them as a kind of guide in the heavy rain. Her hand was on the ignition key, preparing to restart the engine, when Lou grabbed her arm.

“Wait, Jo! I think they're coming back.” She leaned closer to see better. “They're slowing … looks like they're going to turn here. What are we going to do?”

Jo wished she knew. Miss Dimple would surely know. She closed her eyes and wished for one tiny spark of inspiration to tell them what to do. And then she waited.

The jarring crack of a falling tree made both sisters jump and cling to each other. Lou held Jo at arm's length and examined her for injuries. “Are you bleeding anywhere? Am I? Oh Lord, I thought we'd been shot for sure!”

A fair-size tree had fallen over the side road, blocking the entrance from the main road. Jo laughed and turned on the car's ignition, and therefore the heater. “Good! Now whoever was following us won't be able to turn in here.”

“And we won't be able to turn out, either,” Lou reminded her.

“There must be another way. We can't just sit here.” Jo put the gears in reverse in an effort to back down the drive, but the tires only mired in deeper. “Looks like we're stuck, Lou.” She sighed. “What else can happen?”

“I'll put some limbs or something behind the tires,” Lou said, and did. But it didn't help. “Okay, I'm going to try to push. We've got to get out of here. Our families will be worried sick wondering where we are.”

But Lou's pushing only made the ruts even deeper as the tires rocked and spun in the mud. “It's beginning to look like we have no choice but to start walking,” she said, wishing she'd brought galoshes.