Miss Dimple Picks a Peck of Trouble (15 page)

“Well, they’re going to take a closer look around that old shed where the little girls found him,” Dimple told them, “but we might never know what happened to that poor soul.”

Miss Dimple told them about her visit with Warren Nelson, except for the information about the rose petals. She wanted to ask Annie if she had heard from Frazier, but from the young woman’s downcast expression, she already knew the answer.

Phoebe added strawberries to her bowl, along with the contents of a small can of diced pineapple and a pinch of powdered ginger. “There’s no way around it,” she said, frowning. “It’s not the same without peaches.”

Suddenly, Annie found the two of them looking at her. “Well, I guess I’ll have to go back there sometime,” she said with a shrug. “Might as well get it over with.”

Miss Dimple wasn’t looking forward to a trip to the Peach Shed again, either, but she volunteered to go along. After all, she thought, Annie needed a bit of distraction, and how long did it take to buy a basket of peaches?

Phoebe looked up with worried eyes. “Are you sure?”

Dimple had learned that as a rule it was best to face unpleasant memories and do her best to deal with them. “Perhaps it will give me a chance to speak with Clay,” she said. It had been a while since she’d seen him and she wanted to discuss with him what Jasper had said.

But Clay wasn’t minding the Shed.

Asa Weatherby, who was helping out that day, told them Clay had gone across the road to Grady’s for a cold drink. “Be right back if you want to wait,” he said, filling a bag with the heady-smelling fruit, but Miss Dimple knew Phoebe was waiting for the peaches, so they hurried over to Grady’s on the chance they might have a quick word with Clay.

They found him in conversation with Grady Clinkscales at the cash register, but neither noticed them enter. “Don’t reckon you’ve seen Hattie lately?” Grady asked as he scooped up the dime for Clay’s RC Cola and ice-cream cup and tossed it into the cash drawer.

“Yeah, she was picking up bottles over near the high school. Had that old wheelbarrow,” Clay said.

“Well, she didn’t turn ’em in to me. When was this?” Grady slammed the drawer shut with a beefy hand and leaned on the counter.

“Hasn’t been too long—a few days maybe. Why?” Clay dipped up a bite of ice cream with a tiny wooden spoon, savoring the sweet vanilla rush.

“I don’t know, but I’ve got a feeling something ain’t right.”

“What do you mean?” Clay wondered when
anything had
been right lately.

“Hell, Clay, you know how Hattie comes in here every so often—couple of times a week at least.… Oh, sorry, Miss Dimple. Didn’t see you ladies come in.”

“I heard you speaking of Hattie,” Miss Dimple said. “I hope she’s not sick.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised, hot as it’s been,” Grady said. “She never asks for anything, you know, just wants to cool off some, she says, but I usually treat her to a cold drink or some of them cookies she likes.” He ran a hand over thinning red hair. “Hasn’t been in here in about a week now.”

Clay frowned. “You think something’s happened to her?”

“Maybe. That old woman is scared, and who can blame her?” Grady nodded toward the Peach Shed through fly-specked windows, where a display of canned tomatoes gathered dust.

Across the road, car doors slammed as two women got out of a gray Plymouth red with dust. Probably from the next county, Clay thought; he didn’t know them. He tossed his empty ice-cream cup into a trash can as he watched them buy peaches from Asa. They ought to put up a marker, he thought:
Something Terrible Happened Here!
Those women probably had no idea that almost three weeks before someone had snatched up Prentice,
his
Prentice, from this very place.

And then they had killed her. Clay still thought of her as his, even though she’d given him back his ring, told him she didn’t want to see him again. But he didn’t want to remember that. He would think of her as she was before, as
they
were before.

“I think Hattie’s afraid of the police,” Grady was saying. “They questioned her, you know.”

Annie frowned. “Why would she be afraid?”

“It’s the blue uniforms,” Clay explained. “She thinks they’re Yankees.” He took a box of cheese crackers from a display on the counter and dug in his pocket for money. “Told me they were after her. She was hiding something, she said. Some kind of gold thing.” He shook his head. “We’ve all heard that tale before.”

Grady gave him back his change. “When was this?”

Clay could never forget. It was the morning of Prentice’s funeral, he told them. He’d worked all day, until it was time to get cleaned up and go.
Climbing, picking, itching, sweating. Not thinking.
The Shed had been closed for the day, but it would be open first thing in the morning. Peaches didn’t wait for death; didn’t wait for anything. Hattie was there when he went to unload the baskets. Must’ve been waiting behind the Shed. Like to have scared him to death, he said, coming out at him like that, all dressed in black and yelling like a banshee about Nazis and Yankees and no telling who else. Said she
saw
what they did.

“Saw what who did?” Annie asked.

Clay shrugged. “Who knows? But you’re right,” he told Grady. “She
was
afraid. Seemed even crazier than usual, but I was going through hell myself. Didn’t pay much attention to her.”

“But somebody might have,” Miss Dimple said. “What if they believed her?”
And what if she was telling the truth?

“Do you think Hattie might be in danger?” Annie asked.

“I know the police questioned her, or tried to. Doubt if they learned much.” Grady went to the window and stared out as a truckload of pine logs rumbled past. “Who knows what that old woman sees. Or knows. She’s been telling folks she
found
something.… Well, maybe she did, but God knows what, or where she is now.”

“Maybe she went somewhere. She might be staying with somebody.” Annie spoke softly. As soon as she said it, she knew it didn’t make sense.

“And where would that be? Would you want Hattie McGee for a houseguest?” Clay asked.

Grady inspected the cans in the window as if he might rearrange them, then decided against it. “No, I think something happened, and I’ll tell you why,” he said.

“The other day, I looked out the window there, and here comes Hattie, plodding down the road, pushing that old wheelbarrow, and dressed head to toe in some kind of flappin’ black outfit. Looked for all the world like a witch. And hot! Remember how hot it was? Close to a hundred in the shade and it barely past sunup, too.” Grady pulled out a dingy handkerchief and mopped his face, as if the thought of it made him ooze.

“‘Hattie!’ I yells. ‘Why don’t you come in here and cool off a spell? Got a Co-Cola with your name on it.’ And you know what? That old woman didn’t pay a bit of attention to me. Just went on past like she didn’t hear, and I reckon I hollered three or four times. I swear she heard me, too, but she never looked back or nothing. I watched her turn in there where there used to be a road to that trailer she lives in. I tell you I felt like a damned fool!” Grady slammed a fist onto the counter so hard, it jumped two packages of cheese crackers and a package of Beeman’s gum out of the display box.

“And I’ll tell you something else,” Grady said. “She didn’t walk like Hattie, either. I’m tellin’ you, something ain’t right!”

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

“You mean you think it wasn’t Hattie, but
somebody else
? Maybe you ought to call Chief Tinsley,” Clay suggested, but he hoped Grady would wait and call after he left. He’d had enough dealings with the Elderberry police.

Grady flicked a dead fly off the counter and thought about that. “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you go over and check it out first? Hate to bring in the law if there’s no call to. I’d go with you, but I can’t close up here just yet. You can spare a few minutes, can’t you?”

“Sure, I guess so.” Clay didn’t relish the idea of what he might find over there, but he didn’t want to appear chickenhearted.

Noticing his reaction, Miss Dimple looked at Annie and Annie looked at Miss Dimple. “I’d like to use your telephone, Mr. Clinkscales, if you don’t mind,” she said. “We should let Mrs. Chadwick know we’re going to be a few minutes late.”

Across the road, Clay led them through knee-high undergrowth, pausing every few steps while Annie picked beggar-lice off her skirt. “I’ll have to admit I’m glad of the company,” he told them. “I’ve had enough surprises this summer to last me a lifetime.” He picked his way carefully through the brush until they came to Hattie’s worn little path, barely perceptible in a carpet of pine needles and yellowing grass. Hazy splotches of fading sunlight filtered through the trees and spread in patches on the ground. Everything was still.

Miss Dimple stopped in a spot of shade to breathe in the musty smell of the woods, the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and for only a second, wished she were ten again.

In the clearing ahead, white-painted stones marked a path to Hattie’s trailer home, and on either side bloomed roses of just about every color, all mixed up together. Clay had been here many times before, but he never got used to the magic of it. He had never admitted this to anyone, not even Prentice, but coming upon Hattie McGee’s rose garden was like stepping into a fairy story. Even Miss Dimple stopped wide-eyed in mid-stride and let out a delicate gasp of astonishment.

“The door’s not quite shut,” Clay said, moving closer. “She must be here.

“Hattie! Hattie! It’s me, Clay. You in there?”

There was no answer. Clay stepped back on the path, swept clean except for shattered petals, and wished he were somewhere else. “Maybe we ought to leave her alone,” he said. “She doesn’t like to be bothered.”

But Dimple had no such reservations. Stepping forward, she banged repeatedly on the dented door with the palm of her hand. “Hattie, it’s Dimple Kilpatrick. If you’re in there, answer us, please. We want to know if you’re all right.”

When Hattie still didn’t answer, Clay opened the door wider and poked his head inside. Annie tried to look over his shoulder, but she couldn’t see much.
Charlie’s going to hate missing out on this,
she thought. The adventure of helping to solve a mystery seemed to have become an integral part of their lives since the two friends began teaching in Charlie’s hometown of Elderberry.

“Perhaps we should take a look out back,” Miss Dimple suggested, and the women followed Clay single file, edging around rosebushes shoulder-high to a hard-packed area of red clay behind the trailer. Stooping, Clay pointed to the crawl space beneath it. “There’s her wheelbarrow, still heaped with empty bottles she’s collected.” He frowned. “Grady’s right. She never turned them in, and you know as well as I do Hattie would never go off and leave that behind.”

“Then where could she be? I think we should call somebody.… Grady should still be open.” Annie turned and started back up the pathway, but Miss Dimple put out a hand to stop her. “First let’s be sure she’s not inside,” she said, speaking softly, and the others knew then what she expected to find.

Under normal conditions, Hattie McGee didn’t smell like the roses she collected, Clay thought as he stepped inside. If the woman had been dead for even a few hours in this heat, they would know it as soon as they walked in the door, but if something had happened to Hattie, it had happened somewhere else. He breathed a silent “Thank you” as they made their way to the back of the trailer, where Hattie apparently slept. The place was dingy and close. Hattie wasn’t much of a housekeeper, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, although a good scrubbing with disinfectant wouldn’t hurt. Clay thought of his mama in her bleach-splattered cleaning clothes, sleeves rolled up above her elbows.

“Looks like she got rid of the funeral clothes,” Annie said, calling attention to a mound of black garments spilling over the narrow bed, with the veiled hat like a garnish on top. The niche that served as a closet in the corner of the tiny room held only a nubby winter coat, a pair of muddy galoshes, and a worn red velvet dress trimmed in lace, with dried mud weighing the hem.

“Looks like she took her other clothes with her,” Clay said. He certainly hoped so. The thought of Hattie McGee running around naked made the ice cream he’d just eaten squish around in his stomach. “What now?” he asked, turning to the others.

Miss Dimple dug in her large purple handbag and brought out a letter she’d received from her brother. “I think we should leave a message just in case,” she said, and carefully tearing off the back of the envelope, she wrote a note in her elegant Spenserian script. “If she sees this, at least she’ll know we’re looking for her, and if we don’t hear something from her in a day or so…”

“It will be time to get worried,” Clay said. He anchored the note under an empty fruit jar in the space that served as a kitchen, and the three of them hurried out, shutting the door firmly behind them.

Clay took the pathway in long strides, stopping now and then to see if the others were keeping up. They were, of course. Clay never thought he’d be glad to get back to grading peaches, but he couldn’t get away fast enough.

Annie was eager to curl up after supper to read for about the tenth time her most recent letter from Frazier and know that at least at the time he wrote it he was still alive, but it had been several weeks since she had heard from him last.

Miss Dimple was thoughtfully quiet.
If Hattie McGee wasn’t in her makeshift trailer home, where in the world could she be?

*   *   *

Charlie stood for a minute before Clay noticed her, and when he did, he merely raised a hand in acknowledgment and turned back to what he was doing. Drag-assed glum, an expression her father use to use, came to mind.