Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (2 page)

And Dimple Kilpatrick returned a book to the shelf with a thump. Where should she begin?

“Have you spoken with Henry over the phone?” Virginia asked when Dimple told her of her concerns. “I realize long-distance is expensive, but in this case…”

“But I
have
called, several times, in fact, but Henry's never at home, and Hazel always answers. Of course she promises to relay the message, and I suppose she does, so why doesn't he reply?” Miss Dimple shook her head and frowned. “I'll have to admit, Virginia, this has me most distressed.”

Virginia made a noise that sounded very much like a snort. “Oh, that Hazel! For heaven's sake, I wouldn't trust that one as far as I could throw”—she glanced about and pointed to a huge book on a stand—“that copy of
Webster's Dictionary
over there! You give her too much credit, Dimple.”

“Well, she is Henry's wife, and I want to keep peace in the family,” Dimple said. Still, she never had understood her brother's choice of a wife. Hazel never went anywhere without her unpleasant sister, Imogene, who lived with the couple and had the personality of a slug.

She didn't mention the air of gloom that seemed to have settled upon her. Why burden her friend with a matter that couldn't be helped? After all, she was bound to snap out of it soon.

“I know!” Virginia suddenly clapped her hands. “Send him a telegram! That's certain to grab his attention.”

“But, Virginia, that would be cruel.” Everyone knew telegrams were the most frightening things one could receive. The small yellow piece of paper struck terror into the hearts of any recipient, as it might be a notification that a loved one was missing in action, or perhaps even wounded or dead.

Virginia only shrugged. “Do you want to get his attention or not?”

“I suppose you're right,” Dimple agreed. “And if I still haven't heard from him by next week, I believe I will do just that.”

Dimple collected the book her friend had been holding for her and selected two more. She was preparing to leave, when Virginia reminded her about the stranger on the porch. “I'll walk to the door with you,” she offered. “I want to see if our visitor's still there.”

“And what if she is? Are you thinking of collecting rent?”

Virginia laughed. “That might not be a bad idea if it looks like she's taking up residence.”

But Miss Dimple waved that away with the back of her hand. “Oh, I expect she'll be long gone by now.”

But she wasn't. The woman, who looked to be in her late thirties, had made herself comfortable in a rocking chair, with her eyes closed and her chin on her chest, and at first Dimple thought she was asleep, but she sat up abruptly, apparently startled at their approach.

“I hope we didn't alarm you,” Miss Dimple said. “Wouldn't you like to come inside?”

The stranger looked quickly about, as if to assure herself she was where she should be. “No, thank you. I believe I'll just sit here, if that's all right.”

“Of course, but it's already turning colder, and I'll be closing the library soon.” Virginia introduced herself and Dimple. “Is everything all right? There's a telephone inside. Is there anyone I can call for you?”

“Oh, no. No. I'm fine, really.” The woman hugged her paper bundle to her chest as if it were a baby. “It's just that … well, I wondered if I might stay here tonight.”

Virginia's eyes widened. “Where? Do you mean here on the porch?” She glanced at Dimple, who shook her head. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that won't be possible. Besides, it's going to be cold out here, and where would you sleep?”

“Surely you have family who might help,” Dimple offered in what she hoped was a gentle voice. Their guest seemed as easily spooked as a young colt. “You can phone them from here.”

But the woman, who finally told them her name was Dora, only shook her head, and as Dimple stood there with Virginia, puzzling over what in the world to do, she noticed that Dora was trembling.

“Well, my goodness, you're getting cold out here. Let's get you somewhere warm. Have you had anything to eat?”

Reluctantly, Dora admitted she'd had only a banana and part of a pack of cheese crackers all day. “But I still have a few of them left,” she added, patting the bag in her lap.

“Well, I know where we can remedy that,” Miss Dimple said, urging her from the chair. “We'll work on the other problem once we get there.”

*   *   *

And so while the strange newcomer sat in Phoebe Chadwick's kitchen, eating canned chicken noodle soup with bread and cheese and a cold baked apple left from the day before, Miss Dimple Kilpatrick attempted to explain the situation to her fellow boarders.

“She's been on the cabin porch all afternoon, and I can't get a thing out of her except that her name is Dora,” she told them. “The poor thing has nothing but a light sweater for a wrap, and it's supposed to turn colder tonight.”

“She looks about my size,” Velma Anderson said. “I've an old tweed coat I was getting ready to put in the Bundles for Britain, but it'll do just as much good here at home. I'll run get it before I forget. It's right there on my closet shelf.” Organized to the hilt, Velma, who taught secretarial science at the high school, hurried upstairs to retrieve the coat. Dora had accepted it gratefully, she told them a few minutes later.

“But what can we do about a place for her to stay?” Phoebe asked. “There's no extra room here, and I'm sure she's harmless, but after all, we don't know anything about her.”

Lily Moss gulped. “Oh, you're right, Phoebe! Why, she might be … well, running from the law, or even a murderer. We could all be killed in our beds—hacked to pieces or stabbed or something. Why, I read just the other day about—”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Lily! You've been reading too many of those gory paperbacks,” Velma said. “We'll make some phone calls. I'm sure we can find a place for the woman to stay, at least for the night.”

“What about that tourist home just on the other side of town?” Annie offered. “They take in travelers for about a dollar a night, and I'm sure they don't require credentials. Couldn't we chip in and pay for a night or two?”

Miss Dimple smiled. “That's an excellent idea, Annie. I believe that's Warren and Opal Nelson's place. You remember Warren? Works with Bobby Tinsley at the police department. I'll call Opal right now and find out if they have a room available. She and I have served several times together for the Red Cross Blood Drive, and she seems to be an understanding person. I'll just explain to her about Dora.”

*   *   *

After a few minutes' deliberation, Opal agreed to let Dora stay for the night. “And let's just see how that goes before we add on another,” she told them.

“What about nightclothes?” Phoebe asked. “Do you think she has a gown or clean underwear in that bag she carries?”

Velma offered an extra pair of pajamas but said Dora was on her own for the underwear. She did add that she would be glad to drive the woman to the Nelsons' in her Ford V-8, which looked every bit as new as it had when she bought it in 1932.

“I'm sure she'll be relieved to know she has a place to stay,” Miss Dimple said. “And tomorrow, maybe Dora will feel more inclined to tell us about herself. Now, I imagine she's tired and ready for a good night's rest. I'll go and tell her.”

But when Miss Dimple returned to the group a few minutes later, it was obvious that she was upset.

Annie jumped to her feet. “What is it, Miss Dimple? Is something wrong?”

Dimple Kilpatrick sank into the nearest chair and sighed. “She's not there,” she told them. “When I went to the kitchen to tell her, she was gone.”

“Did you look in the bathroom?” practical Velma asked, and Dimple nodded. “The bathroom door was open and I stood in the hall and called to her, but I never got an answer. I'm afraid it looks like Dora has decided to leave.”

“Should we try to find her?” Annie frowned. “Where do you think she might go?”

But Dimple shook her head. “She knows we'll help her if we can. That's all we can do. Maybe she'll change her mind and come back.”

“I don't think so,” Velma said. “She seems afraid of something, or somebody. I don't believe she trusts us.”

Phoebe nodded sadly. “I doubt if she trusts anyone.”

*   *   *

Dimple Kilpatrick slept little that night, thinking of the woman wandering alone in the cold and dark. At least, she thought, before drifting off into a restless slumber, she has Velma's warm coat to help ward off the chill.

The next morning on her way downstairs for breakfast, she was relieved when the doorbell rang, and being the only one awake and stirring at the time, hurried to answer it. Surely Dora had decided to seek their help and make the best of her situation, which was exactly what Miss Dimple would have advised her to do—if she had been asked, which she hadn't.

But it wasn't Dora who waited on the porch, and Dimple Kilpatrick, who usually took everything in stride, found herself at a loss for words at the woman's appearance.

She stood there wrapped in a voluminous cape of deep emerald, with flyaway folds lined in shimmering plum. A tam that seemed to be woven of bronze silk sat crookedly on hair the color of which Dimple had never seen the like, except perhaps in paintings by some of the old masters, and a tapestry handbag about the size of a boxcar sat on the floor beside her.

“I do hope I'm in the right place,” the woman said, clutching her cape about her. “I'm afraid I came away rather hurriedly. Last-minute notice, you know.”

“No, I'm afraid I don't know.” Miss Dimple struggled to regain her breath. “And what's all this about a last-minute notice?” She didn't want to be unkind, but two
very
strange people in less than a day was really just too much!

Her visitor smiled, and for some reason Miss Dimple felt her frustration begin to fade. She found herself smiling back. “I'm afraid it
is
rather sudden,” the woman acknowledged. “I received my instructions only this morning. I've been assigned here, you see. There are problems, I believe?” And drawing her cape more snugly about her, she shivered in what could only be described as a lovely and delicate way. “My goodness, it's quite cold here, isn't it?”

And of course Miss Dimple stepped back and invited her inside. What else could she do? “You were assigned here for what reason?” she asked, closing the door behind them.
What was that she smelled? Strawberries in mid-October? Was this some new cologne?

“Why, to help, of course. Augusta Goodnight at your service.” With one quick motion, she swirled her cape to hang it neatly on the coatrack, and set her bag sedately aside. “A place for everything and everything in its place,” she said. “Now, where can I begin?”

Stunned, Miss Dimple heard a gasp behind her and turned to find Phoebe standing there. “Well, for heaven's sake, Dimple,” her friend said, “tell her to start in the kitchen.”

 

C
HAPTER
T
WO

“But where in the world did she come from?” Miss Dimple whispered to Phoebe. “The woman dropped in out of nowhere, and I don't believe she even knows why she's here.”

From the kitchen she heard the sizzle of batter being poured into a hot waffle iron, and her mouth watered at the sound of it.

“Coming in on a wing and a prayer…” the newcomer sang as she whisked into the dining room with a large pitcher of orange juice before again disappearing into the kitchen.

“Off-key!” Dimple muttered, wondering how the curious woman had managed to squeeze that many oranges so quickly. “And we don't know a thing about her.”

Phoebe smiled as she dealt out silverware for six places. “I suppose she read the notice I put up in Harris Cooper's store.”

“Would you give me a hand with the napkins, please, Dimple? You'll find clean ones in that second buffet drawer.”

Dimple Kilpatrick knew very well where the napkins were kept. After all, hadn't she lived in this house for almost thirty years? “What notice?” she asked, placing the napkins, thin from years of use and laundering, around the table.

Phoebe sighed. “With Odessa gone, it became obvious I needed help around here, so I put a little notice on the bulletin board—you know, the one by the stove in the back of the store.”

This woman, Augusta Goodnight, if that was indeed her name, didn't seem the sort to fit in with the cigar-smoking, yarn-spinning bunch who kept the chairs warm around Harris Cooper's old woodstove, Dimple thought. “When did you put up the notice?” she asked.

“Strangest thing! It was only yesterday morning. I asked Annie to put it there for me when she went downtown to the post office.” Phoebe smoothed the cloth and set a bowl of pansies on the table. “Must've been our lucky day.”

“I suppose so,” Dimple said. Well, time will tell, she thought, and those waffles
did
smell wonderful.

*   *   *

“Mmmm … It's almost like Odessa's back!” Annie took a deep breath as she helped herself to another waffle. “And this strawberry syrup is out of this world! Have I died and gone to heaven?”

Phoebe smiled at the newcomer. “I think Augusta's brought us a little heaven on earth,” she said.

“Well, I hope you won't be in a hurry to leave.” Velma sipped her second cup of coffee. “You must be new in town, Augusta. I don't believe I've seen you around.”

“I think an angel must've brought you,” Lily said, declining another waffle. “Have you found a place to stay?”

It appeared the thought hadn't occurred to the newcomer. “Do you suppose I might stay here?” Augusta looked about, and her smile seemed to light up the room.