Miss Dimple Suspects (6 page)

“Good! I’ll telephone her tonight to discuss plans for the program.” Her hostess offered cake and coffee but Miss Dimple politely declined. She seldom indulged in sweets before supper. “Miss Dimple,” Kate began, “Mathew and I don’t even know how to thank—”

“You already have, so please don’t say any more.” Miss Dimple held up a hand. “I’m so very happy things worked out as they did and that I could be a part of it.”

“I’d like to thank Mrs. Hawthorne and the other person who took such good care of Peggy, but they don’t have a telephone,” Kate Ashcroft said. “Of course I plan to write to them, and when Peggy is feeling stronger, she’ll be writing to several people as well to thank them for their help and apologize for the trouble she caused—

“No, she
should,
and we know she should,” she added before Miss Dimple could reply. “Violet told her we would look for Peaches when we got home and she disobeyed by running off on her own. She should be made to realize how much grief she caused, not just to Mathew and me, but to Violet, and you, and all those who love her and took time to search for her.”

Miss Dimple, who had always stressed responsible behavior to her students, agreed silently, although the memory of a very sick little girl huddled alone in the cold almost caused her to protest. “A few of us plan to drive out to see Mrs. Hawthorne after school tomorrow,” she told her. “If you’d like to send a message along I’ll be happy to deliver it.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! And I’ll send more than a message. We just got a crate of fruit from my aunt in Florida. Do you think they might like some oranges and grapefruit?”

Miss Dimple said she was certain that they would, and the next afternoon she climbed in the front seat beside Charlie, and with Annie in the back, the three started out for Mae Martha Hawthorne’s with ginger mint tea from Miss Dimple, yeast bread from Odessa, a large bag of citrus fruit and a letter from the Ashcrofts, and a crayon drawing of a smiling little girl in a blue coat from Peggy.

“Do you think we should first stop at the nephew’s?” Miss Dimple asked as they came in sight of the weathered farmhouse at the foot of the hill. “I hesitate to just show up on someone’s doorstep, but I don’t see that we have any choice.”

Annie spoke up from the backseat. “I don’t think it’s necessary. If they’re not in the mood for company, I guess they don’t have to let us in.” She sniffed. “But once they get a good whiff of Odessa’s bread, I’ll bet they’ll welcome us with open arms.”

According to Charlie’s uncle Ed, Esau Ingram and his wife, Coralee, lived in the old family place and his brother had a small house near his blacksmith shop a little farther down the road.

Charlie drove slowly along the rutted red dirt road that snaked its way up a hill where winter bare trees stood stark against a mottled background of brown. During her search for Peggy, Dimple Kilpatrick had walked a distance of several miles from the other side of those same hills. The rustic cottage where Mae Martha lived, she learned, had belonged to a family from Atlanta who used it as a weekend getaway, but the people lost interest in it when the father died, and after the place remained empty for several years, Mae Martha’s grandson convinced her to buy it to be closer to her relatives while he was away.

“I thought we might see somebody outside when we passed Esau’s place,” Charlie said, avoiding a hole in the road that looked like it went down to China, “but it seems deserted around here.”

“Wait, I believe there’s someone up ahead,” Miss Dimple said, and Charlie slowed as they came in sight of a stocky grizzled man with a rifle over his shoulder and a burlap sack in his hand.

Charlie rolled down her window. “We’re on our way to visit Mrs. Hawthorne,” she told him. “Do you know if they’re at home?”

The man glanced at them but didn’t slow in his walk. “They were there about an hour ago,” he said, swinging the sack by his side. “Don’t know where else they’d be.”

Annie giggled as Charlie thanked him and drove on. “The strong, silent type. Wonder what he has in the sack.”

“Probably a squirrel or two, or rabbits perhaps,” Miss Dimple answered. “That must be the man who does odd jobs for Mae Martha. I believe she said his name was Bill.”

“Ugh! Creepy if you ask me,” Annie said. “I don’t think I could eat a squirrel, or a rabbit, either.”

“You could if you were hungry,” Miss Dimple said, and had.

*   *   *

Max greeted them, first with barking, and then with wildly wagging tail when he recognized a friend, and Dimple stooped to pet him, calling him by name. The two women who lived here would surely know they had visitors by now, she thought, and looking up, saw Suzy glance at them from the kitchen window.

“Why, it’s Dimple, isn’t it? And you’ve brought company. Come in, come in.” Mae Martha Hawthorne stood in the doorway with what looked like a man’s shirt over her dress and hugged herself in the cold.

“I’m afraid we’ve interrupted your painting,” Dimple said, noticing splotches of color on the woman’s shirt.

“Aw, I was fixing to quit anyhow.” Mae Martha paused to rub her right elbow. “These old bones are lettin’ me know I’m no spring chicken anymore. Would you all like some coffee? Bill brought me up some from the store just a little while ago and I think Suzy’s already put on a pot. Lordy, it’s good to have real coffee again!”

Miss Dimple declined, but Charlie and Annie said they would love to have a cup, and would it be all right if they looked at some of her paintings?

“Oh, law, go ahead. I just keep on paintin’ ’cause I don’t know when to stop,” Mae Martha said. “And a good thing, I reckon, because folks keep buyin’ ’em.”

“Where is Suzy?” Dimple asked. “I was hoping to thank her, as well as you, for coming to our rescue the other night. I’ve brought some fruit from Peggy’s parents as well as a letter and some other things.” Miss Dimple looked about for Suzy but didn’t see her.

“Oh, she’s here somewhere. She’s a funny one, that Suzy, but she was in here just a minute or so ago.” Mae Martha took the coffeepot from the kitchen stove and poured it into three mugs. It looked to Dimple exactly like the oil she’d seen her brother empty into his car. “Sure you won’t join us in a cup?” she asked Dimple. Dimple was sure.

“Suzy!” Mae Martha bellowed. “Suzy! Where’ve you gotten off to now? We got some friends come to see us!”

Dimple didn’t see how such a thundering voice could come from a woman so frail but was happy to see Mae Martha’s young companion step quietly from what she assumed was her bedroom. She relayed messages from Peggy’s grateful parents to both women, and although Suzy was courteous and thanked her for coming, she seemed uneasy in her presence.

“Miss Dimple, you
have
to come and see these!” Charlie called from a doorway off the kitchen.

“Oh, you must be Suzy,” she said, seeing the other woman had joined them. “I’m Charlie, and my friend Annie is in there trying to decide which of those wonderful paintings she likes best. I like all of them, but can only buy one … that is, if they’re for sale…”

Mae Martha flushed and laced her fingers together. “Shoot! You all are gonna give me the big head. My nephew Isaac usually takes care of that kind of thing, but it doesn’t matter to me. You go on and pick out whichever ones you want and pay me what you can.”

Miss Dimple turned to Suzy. “There must be a price list,” she said softly so that Mae Martha couldn’t hear, and Suzy smiled and shook her head. “There is one of sorts, but she has no idea of her talent,” she whispered. Everyone followed the artist into the room that obviously served as her studio, where several easels stood near the windows and a large table and several chairs took up one side of the room across from shelves cluttered with paints and brushes. Stacks of finished paintings lined the space that was left. The room had originally been used as a dining room, Mae Martha told them, but she chose it to paint in because it got the best light. Charlie had selected an oil painting of a man fishing from the banks of a small stream for her sister. “Our father loved to fish,” she explained. “I don’t think he ever caught a thing, but he didn’t seem to care.” She didn’t add that the father, for whom she was named, had died several years before.

Miss Dimple chose one of two children picking blackberries. The little boy wore overalls such as her brother, Henry, had worn, and the girl, a purple dress with an apron smeared with berry juice. A sunbonnet much like the one young Dimple had worn hung down her back. The painting was priced at twenty-five dollars, which seemed an enormous amount to her, but over Mae Martha’s protests, she wrote a check for the full amount. What fun it would be to watch her brother open his Christmas present!

Annie finally decided on a watercolor of people gathered outside a country church, and Mae Martha flatly refused to take more than ten dollars from either of the young women. “I know how hard it is on you young ones just startin’ out, and what Isaac doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she told them.

Less than five minutes passed, it seemed, before Max began barking and Mae Martha’s nephew Esau turned up at the door along with his wife, Coralee.

Coralee and Esau Ingram reminded Dimple of Jack Spratt and his wife of nursery rhyme fame. Wiry and thin, Esau lacked an inch or so of being as tall as his wife, while Coralee bulged in every place one could bulge, Dimple thought, and seemed out of breath from walking the short distance from the car to the door.

“Bill said he saw you folks headed this way, so I thought—well, Coralee and me—we thought you might like some of her sweet potato cake.”

His aunt accepted the offering with thanks and introduced her visitors. “Miss Dimple here was the lady who found that poor little girl who got lost, but she tells me she’s doing a lot better. Got to have her tonsils out, though.

“Law, Suzy, I’ll bet we’ve done let that fire die down!” Mae Martha turned to lead the way into the living room. “You folks come on in here and sit yourselves down.”

“I wish we could, Auntie, but it looks like rain, and I’d better rush home and get the clothes off the line,” Coralee said.

“Best be careful on this road coming down,” Esau added. “It’s hard to see up here after dark.”

“I’d offer you some of this cake,” their hostess said after the couple had left, “but I doubt if it’s fit to eat. Coralee means well, bless her heart, but she either stints on the sugar or doesn’t bake it long enough.” To demonstrate, she gave the dish a shake. “See there—not even done in the middle!”

“I guess we should be getting back,” Charlie said. “I don’t want to run off the road in the dark.”

“Oh, don’t pay any mind to Esau!” Mae Martha poked up the fire. “Sit and visit a spell.”

“Miss Dimple tells me you studied at Emory,” Annie said, turning to Suzy. “Is that where you got to know Mrs. Hawthorne’s grandson?”

Suzy nodded. “Madison and I had several classes together.”

“And lucky for me they did!” Mae Martha inched her chair closer to the fire. “I’d have been in a fix without her, especially now that Madison’s gone. Esau and Coralee—Isaac, too—they’re mighty good to me, but they’ve farms and a blacksmith shop to run, and when I was so sick last March, Madison didn’t like me being here alone. That was right before he shipped out.”

“You must be very proud of him,” Miss Dimple said, and that was all Mae Martha needed to take a cigar box of letters down from the mantel. “I’d be a whole lot prouder if he was still alive,” she said. “His mama and daddy were taken with the typhoid fever when Madison was just a little thing and this is about all I have left.”

While Mrs. Hawthorne shared her grandson’s correspondence with Dimple, Charlie and Annie had a chance to talk with Suzy, who had seemed reluctant to say much earlier. Now she wanted to know about their lives as teachers and Annie’s experience living in a boardinghouse, while they were curious about her life on a large university campus.

“Do you ever get homesick?” Annie asked, and Suzy shook her head. She didn’t answer for a while, and when she did, her eyes held a faraway expression. “A little, I suppose,” she said, “but I was raised here in the States—in California.”

Charlie frowned. “Don’t you ever have a chance to get out—to town, I mean, to see a picture or do some shopping?”

“Oh, Esau and Coralee, and once in awhile Bill will bring me what I need when they go into town. I really don’t mind being here.”

“Do you think Mae Martha would care if we came for you some Saturday? We could have lunch at the drugstore, look around in the shops, or just visit.” Annie kept her voice low so she wouldn’t offend Mae Martha.

“Shoot! You don’t have to whisper around me,” that lady said. “Suzy knows she’s free to go where and when she likes. Max and I will be just fine, but I never learned to drive so I don’t have a car, and she has to depend on somebody else to give her a ride.”

“I’m going to write down my phone number, and Annie’s and Miss Dimple’s, too,” Charlie said as they were getting ready to leave. “Now promise you’ll call one of us when you’re ready for the grand tour of Elderberry. And we’d love for
both
of you to come—that is, if you think you can stand the excitement.”

Suzy accepted the piece of paper reluctantly. “I don’t want to impose—”

“Oh, shush, girl!” Mae Martha told her. “I’m happy here with my paints and my dog, but you’re too young to be cooped up all the time.

“She’ll be calling,” she said aside to Charlie as she followed them to the door. “You can count on it.”

*   *   *

“Suzy doesn’t seem especially eager to visit us in town,” Annie worried as they bumped their way back down the hill in the dark. “I’d think she’d be more than ready for a break.”

“I know I would be,” Charlie agreed. “I hope she doesn’t think we’re trying to force her or anything. I like Mae Martha a lot, but I’d go crazy up there all the time.”

Dimple Kilpatrick didn’t say a word, but she thought she knew what was troubling Suzy. And she’d noticed, too, that they had never heard her last name. Of course she was probably making an issue over nothing. She could almost hear her brother saying,
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dimple, don’t invent trouble where none exists!