Miss Dimple Picks a Peck of Trouble (11 page)

Phoebe shook her head. “Poor child. She must’ve felt so alone. You know how far Leola’s house is from the road, and her driveway is almost lost in all those trees. Imagine having to wait there like that without a soul to call on for help.”

Restless, Charlie leaned on the back of the sofa. She simply couldn’t
sit
and do nothing. It was too late to help Prentice, but it galled her to think the person responsible for her death was running around free. “Actually, the ambulance got there in less than ten minutes, but it must’ve seemed like hours to Prentice,” she said.

“Leola probably saw or smelled the smoke and went outside to see what was going on,” Miss Dimple suggested.

“That’s what Sheriff Holland thinks,” Charlie said.

Velma nodded. “Some careless motorist must’ve thrown a cigarette into that dry grass, and that’s all it took, but I doubt if Leola’s place would’ve been in danger with that creek between her house and the road.”

It was true, Charlie told them, that the fire had burned itself out by the time it reached the shallow brown water.

But that hadn’t helped Leola Parker.

*   *   *

Dimple Kilpatrick experienced a brief surge of satisfaction as she walked past the Presbyterian church where Delia Varnadore played London Bridge with a number of five-year-olds in the grassy area in the building’s shade. Good. That should keep her safe for a while. She knew Delia was determined to find out who was responsible for Prentice’s death and had been questioning people on her own, but one young life lost was one too many. Prentice’s friend Karen James, Delia had reported, was surprised to hear Prentice could have been seeing someone other than Clay and seemed to have no idea who it might have been. Iris was spending part of the summer as a camp counselor in North Carolina, and her parents were withholding the news of Prentice’s tragic death until their daughter came home at the end of the session. “I wanted to write and tell her,” Delia had explained. “Maybe she would know who Prentice might have been seeing, but her mother asked me to wait. She didn’t want her to hear it like that.”

“I doubt if she would have access to a radio or newspapers at the camp,” Miss Dimple had said. “You can find out more when Iris gets home.”

“Her aunt Bertie says she has no idea who Prentice was seeing,” Delia added. “Frankly, I don’t think she believes it.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Miss Dimple told her, hoping the girl would take her advice. For Delia to try and investigate further could be dangerous, and she trusted she would keep that in mind.

Since Prentice’s death, some of the retired men in the community were taking time about helping Knox at the Peach Shed. Delia couldn’t bear to even look at the place, and Charlie, who loved peaches almost better than chocolate, confessed that she hadn’t been able to drive past since Prentice disappeared over a week before.

When she heard they were looking for helpers at Vacation Bible School at the Presbyterian church, Miss Dimple had offered Delia’s name. Charlie and her mother said they would be glad to take care of little Tommy, and all agreed it would be good for Delia to keep her mind and body occupied with something positive. It would also, Dimple hoped, prevent Delia from asking questions of the wrong people, and give
her
the time she needed to look into things on her own.

Miss Dimple prided herself on being an unerring judge of character, and felt strongly that Clay Jarrett wasn’t capable of murder. She had promised his parents she would help clear their son’s name by finding the true killer, and now she would start at the beginning. With Leola Parker.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

“I’m so glad you dropped by,” Chloe Jarrett said, pouring coffee for both of them. “Thank goodness the police decided to release Clay, but I feel like we’re walking a tightrope, waiting to see if he’ll be arrested.”

Miss Dimple had telephoned before stopping by on her early-morning walk, hoping to speak with Clay before he and his father left to work in the orchards, but the two had already gone, and Chloe sounded so distraught, she found herself facing Clay’s mother alone. And so they talked of Clay and Prentice and what had brought them to that sad summer morning.

“Clay told me Prentice was having a hard time dealing with Leola’s death,” Chloe told her. “She was with her when she died, or soon after—awful enough in itself—but Clay got the idea Prentice seemed afraid.”

Miss Dimple nodded. Delia had noticed it, too. “Does he think it might have something to do with the way Leola died? That she might have seen or heard something?”

“I don’t know. There was that fire right in front of her house. They think it started out near the roadside.”

Miss Dimple wasn’t so sure about that. “But it seems she would have said something, told someone,” she said.

“Maybe she wasn’t sure,” Chloe said. “Clay thinks she was afraid to say anything about it.”

But afraid of what?

Chloe rose and took a pan of cinnamon rolls from the stove. “I bake because I don’t know what else to do, and it helps me to keep busy,” she said, sliding the buns onto a plate. “Do have one while they’re hot, and let me heat up your coffee,” she offered, setting the platter on the scarred oak table. Miss Dimple rarely indulged in sweets, especially between meals, and she had eaten one of her wholesome Victory Muffins along the way, but the enticing aroma of yeast bread overcame her. “Perhaps just this once…” she said, helping herself.

“You know, I wouldn’t put it past that Jasper Totherow to have set that fire,” Chloe said, taking a seat across from Dimple. “He’s been seen hanging around Leola’s property in the past and he’ll stick like a tick once he finds a place to burrow in.”

If Jasper had ever had a regular job or a permanent place to live, Miss Dimple didn’t know of it. He mowed lawns when the mood struck him, picked a little cotton in the fall, and sometimes helped Knox Jarrett harvest strawberries and then peaches, but dependability was not one of his attributes and he showed up only when it suited him.

“This summer, he ate more peaches than he picked,” Chloe continued, “and Knox finally ran him off.” She sighed. “We have about all we can put up with here with Hattie.”

Miss Dimple relished the last bite of her cinnamon roll and washed it down with coffee. “I noticed her at the funeral the other day,” she said.

Chloe nodded. “Not one to miss a funeral, our Hattie isn’t, or much of anything else, but you can’t believe a word she says. She and that Jasper—two of a kind when it comes to stretching the truth.”

Miss Dimple frowned. “But why would Jasper want to hurt Leola? What would he gain?”

“Oh, I doubt if he meant to,” Chloe said. “Jasper doesn’t have the foresight to plan too far ahead, but he might’ve caused it. Sets those piddling little fires all the time. That’s how he heats his beans, or whatever it is he eats. “Wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on Jasper,” she added, “and I’ve said as much to Sheriff Holland. He’s the kind that bears watching.”

*   *   *

“Tell me again why we’re looking for Jasper Totherow,” Virginia Balliew said as they bumped along the narrow, winding road to Leola Parker’s place. “I’ll have to admit, Dimple, that man makes me feel uncomfortable, especially after what happened to Leola, and now Prentice.”

The town librarian, Virginia had reluctantly agreed to use her lunch hour to drive her friend on her quest to find the elusive Jasper. “I’m sure the police have checked out here already,” she said, “and if you don’t mind my asking, what do you intend to do if we find him?”

Dimple had to admit to herself she didn’t know, but Jasper was the only link she had so far with the fire that took place the day Leola died.

Near the main road, weeds were already stretching across blackened splotches of burned earth, but the charred area widened closer to the shallow creek. The grass around Leola’s house was higher than a cat’s back in spite of the long dry spell, Dimple noticed. And why, she thought, would Jasper have built a cooking fire right in front of Leola’s place, where she’d have been sure to see him?

Virginia parked the car under a drooping dogwood and the two picked their way across yellowed grass. Leola would be vexed for sure if she could see the encroaching weeds, the unswept porch.

Shades were drawn inside the silent house, and the only sound they heard was the humming of bees in Leola’s weed-choked zinnia bed. Beside the porch, a pink climbing rose, sweet-smelling and dainty, made Dimple think of Prentice. If the police suspected the Rose Petal Killer, they hadn’t released the information to the newspapers. Was Prentice’s murder made to look like one of the serial killer’s in order to mislead the investigation?

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a while,” Virginia said, stepping cautiously over a fallen limb, “and people will wonder where I am if I don’t get back by one o’clock.”

If they were smart, Dimple thought, they would rest in the shade of the wide porch that stretched across the front of the quaint log cabin library. Built in the early part of the century with funds from the local Woman’s Club, the rustic building was one of Dimple’s favorite spots.

“Let me take a quick look in the back,” she said, when from somewhere behind the house a metallic clatter like discordant wind chimes made them stop in mid-stride.

With Virginia clinging to her arm, Dimple turned, prepared to bolt for the car, when a large gray cat leapt from the corner of the house and darted into the bushes.

“Well, God bless America, if that cat didn’t scare me all the way into next week!” Virginia said, finally relaxing her grip.

Dimple had experienced a moment or two of uneasiness as well but decided she should probably investigate the noise. If the stray cat had somehow managed to get through a back window, she would have to get in touch with Leola’s daughter, Mary Joy, to see what damage had been done.

She found instead a rusting pile of empty food cans by the steps and was just in time to see the back door of Leola’s house slowly closing.

“Who’s in there?” She said it before she had time to think.

“Are you crazy. Dimple? This is none of our business,” Virginia reminded her. “Let’s get out of here!”

Dimple tended to agree with her friend, but it was too late now.

“It’s only me, ma’am.” Jasper Totherow, in filthy jeans and shoes that looked as if they’d been chewed by a lawn mower, stood in Leola’s doorway.

“Jasper? What on earth are you doing here?” In spite of her revulsion, Dimple wanted to shake him.

And to add to her annoyance, he grinned. “Oh, hit’s all right. You don’t have to worry none. Leola’s youngun, she asked me to keep an eye on things, see if they’s anything missin’ and all.”

If anything was missing, Dimple thought, it was Jasper’s brain if he thought she’d buy that fable.

“I suggest you be out of here by the time the police come, because I intend to call them as soon as I get back to town.” Dimple clenched her fist so hard, her fingernails cut into her palm.

Pulling on the straps of his sagging overalls, Jasper stepped into the yard. “Now look ahere, lady, I’m doing a favor is all. That old woman owes me after all the work I done for her.” He kicked at Leola’s back step with a grimy foot. “I ain’t plannin’ to hang around here, you can bet on that. Nooosirrree bobtail! Not after what I seen!”

“Exactly what is it you
saw
?
”
Ever the teacher, Dimple couldn’t resist emphasizing the verb.

Of course it didn’t do any good. “Seen somebody around here that oughtn’t’ve been. Seen what they did.”

“When?” Dimple asked. “You mean the day Leola died?”

“That’s right.” Jasper nodded, then, probably realizing he’d said too much, started to slink into the pine thicket behind the house.

“Wait!” Dimple called after him. “Who did you see? What was he doing?”

“Didn’t say it was a
he,
now, did I?” And with that, Jasper disappeared into the trees.

*   *   *

“I’m glad that’s over,” Virginia said with a heavy sigh. “No telling what he’s been doing in there. I’m afraid Mary Joy’s going to have a mess on her hands.”

The two quickly made their way to Virginia’s car and down the narrow driveway to the road. Both were silent on the drive back to town. A herd of white-faced cattle grazed peacefully in the pasture down the road, and a little farther along, a man and woman, backs bent, made their way down the long rows of cotton, chopping the weeds away. Dimple, who, as a girl, had helped with that toilsome chore on her father’s farm, remembered the welcome shade of the oak tree and bucket of icy well water that waited at the end of the row.

Small wooden signs placed at intervals along the route encouraged passersby in the war effort while advertising shaving cream for Burma Shave. They usually evoked a smile, as this most recent one did:

Let’s make Hitler

And Hirohito

Feel as bad as

Old Benito!

Burma Shave

They drove past Bertie’s small brick home, which sat back from the road in a grove of pecan trees, and Dimple was tempted to stop and see how Bertie was holding up, but she didn’t like to drop in unannounced, and, too, Virginia was in a hurry to get back to the library. Delia had said Prentice’s aunt had no idea who her niece might have been seeing, and surely the police had asked her that as well, but perhaps, after given time to think …

Miss Dimple knew she would
have
to speak with Elberta about this soon, and even though she had expressed her condolences earlier, every part of her agonized about facing such grief again. How can one comfort someone who has lost a child?
Is there anything I can do?
How useless! No one can bring back that precious life.