An Angel to Die For (6 page)

If I could have kissed her, I would.

A few minutes later I learned I had a nephew. Joseph Scott Dobson was born August 15 weighing seven pounds five ounces and was twenty-one inches long.

Our father’s name was Joseph. “She named him after Dad,” I told Augusta. “And he has my middle name!”

It took less than five minutes after another call to learn my sister had never lived in that area. If she had, she had never owned property, subscribed to a phone service, or voted.

“Sounds as though she kept on the move,” Augusta said, “and if, as you say, Maggie wanted to keep the baby’s birth a secret, I’d think she’d move on soon after his birth.”

It made sense, yet there had to be some other trace of them in the area where Joseph was born. “A doctor!” I said. “I know Maggie would see that her baby had medical care.”

It took another three calls to find the right pediatrician, and a long wait while the phone charges mounted as the receptionist scrolled her records. As “Margaret Dobson,” I asked if they had sent my son Joseph’s records to the doctor in Athens. “I’m almost sure I requested them,” I gushed, “but during the move and all I might not have gotten around to it.”

“Ms. Dobson, we faxed those records to Athens back in September. Doctors Huntley and O’Hara, wasn’t it? If they didn’t receive them, I’m sure we would’ve heard by now.” She spoke as if she couldn’t believe anybody
would be as irresponsible and dimwitted as I appeared. I didn’t blame her.

“Yes, I’m sure they must have. Just wanted to make certain. I’m trying to keep a complete record of Joseph’s immunizations—for his baby book, you know.”

“You’ll need to check with the doctors there about that,” the woman told me. “They should have all that information.

“Good grief!” I heard her utter as she hung up. It sounded like a prayer.

“What if he’s living with his father’s people?” I said. “The baby might not be in Athens now.” I told Augusta about the pediatricians there where Joseph’s records had been sent. “They should be able to give me an address,” I said, reaching again for the phone.

“I’d go easy there.” Augusta spoke calmly. “Remember, they don’t know who you are.”

Athens was a fairly large city. I wondered if the baby’s doctors had learned of my sister’s accident.

“Just give me a minute,” I said to Augusta. Then, taking a deep breath, I picked up the receiver. “I’m going to gamble on the assumption that they still think Maggie’s alive,” I told her.

“This is Maggie Dobson, Joseph’s mother,” I said to the receptionist who answered. “Joseph Dobson . . . that’s right . . . Joey. I’m afraid we missed an appointment—when was it?” I glanced at Augusta who was rolling her eyes heavenward. “My goodness! Two weeks ago? I’m terribly sorry, but we’ve been in the process of
moving and I’m afraid I let it get by me. I’d like to reschedule if I could . . . You don’t have anything until the end of the month? Oh, dear! Well, would you call me if you have a cancellation?” I looked at Augusta who perched on the window seat watching me. “I’m not sure I gave you my new number,” I told the receptionist. “Would you mind. . .”

I wrote down the number as the woman read it to me. “Yes, thank you. That’s the one!” It was all I could do to keep from jumping up and down, but I waited until I replaced the receiver to pull Augusta to her feet and swing her around the hall, her filmy scarf billowing. “She called him Joey!” I sang. “Joey!” At least we had somewhere to start. But what if no one answered?

Weakness overtook me as I moved back to the desk. My whole body felt hollow from my toes to my head, and my hand shook when I picked up the phone.

“Close your eyes,” Augusta said, and I felt her standing behind me. Her hands touched my shoulders so lightly they might have been butterflies resting there, and I began to breathe calmly again.

A woman answered. “Ola Cress.” She sounded like she wasn’t one to put up with any dilly-dallying, so I came right to the point.

“Ms. Cress, I’m calling about little Joey,” I began. “Joey Dobson. His moth—”

“What’s wrong?” Augusta asked.

“She hung up. Wouldn’t even let me finish. She just hung up!”

“I expect you startled her, calling out of the blue like that. She didn’t know who you were, what you wanted.”

“If she’d given me half a minute, I would’ve told her. She has no right to keep that baby from us!”

Augusta remained serene. “You mentioned a name?”

I nodded. “Ola. Ola Cress. Who do you suppose she is?”

“I don’t know. Housekeeper. Baby-sitter. Maybe a relative of the Gaineses.” She smiled. “Tell you what, let’s go thaw some of that vegetable soup I saw in the freezer. You’ll think better with something in your stomach. Let things settle a bit and we’ll try her again.” She shrugged. “Maybe she thought you were selling magazines.”

But when I tried to call her after lunch, Ola Cress either wasn’t at home or she didn’t answer the phone. “I’ll just have to go there,” I told Augusta.

“We’ll
just have to go there,” she said. “And what about your mother? Aren’t you going to mention this to her?”

“Of course I am, but I don’t think she could stand the emotional stress if we don’t find Joey right away.” From the way Ola Cress had reacted, I was afraid of some kind of snag, and it was about all I could do to keep my own feelings under control. But then I had Augusta. “I’ll tell her as soon as I know something for sure.”

I smiled, imagining Mom’s response to hearing the news. If you could capture hope in a bottle, she would
have enough to last a lifetime. Maggie was my mother’s baby who came along when I was almost six. Her pictures lined the walls: Maggie in her pink tutu for her first ballet recital; her flag uniform in the junior high band; her high school cheerleading outfit. The blue china tea set that had belonged to my sister sat on a tray on the dining-room sideboard. The tiny red chair Dad had made for her doll, Miss Mary Priscilla, named for Maggie’s first Sunday school teacher, waited in the hall upstairs. Maggie had taken Miss Mary Priscilla with her when she left.

I was going to phone the sheriff’s office and let them know I would be out of town for a few days when I remembered I hadn’t yet told them about the man Suzie saw.

“I was just going to call you,” Deputy Weber said. “We picked up a vagrant near your place this morning and put him on a bus to Atlanta, which is where he claimed he was headed. Don’t see how he could be the one who killed that woman we found or tampered with your uncle’s grave. No record, and he says he got here yesterday from North Carolina. Story checks out.”

“Did he have a beard and earflaps?” I asked.

The deputy laughed. “I’d say he looked kind of scruffy. Hadn’t shaved in a while, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t notice his hat.”

“What about Jasper?”

“We haven’t turned up anything there either, but
he’ll surface. Jasper always does. Just lock up tight when you leave, and we’ll be out to look around as often as we can.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve learned anything more about the dead woman?” I asked. “Or my uncle Faris?”

“Still no lead on the woman, but we’re working on it. One will lead to the other. I’m sure of it.

“Oh, and don’t be alarmed if you see a truck backing up to your barn. We’ll store that casket down at the county barn until . . . well, until we know what’s going on.”

I was ready to leave that very day for Ruby, Tennessee, which turned out to be the area of Ola Cress’s phone listing. According to the map, Ruby was less than fifty miles from Athens, where Maggie was killed, and if we left right away, we should be there by dark. But Augusta convinced me I needed a good night’s sleep and a fresh start in the morning.

And how did she expect me to sleep, I wanted to know, with the wicked things going on in our backyard and the prospect of finding my sister’s baby on my mind? But I packed a small bag at Augusta’s urging (You never know how long you’ll be gone, and the weather is so unpredictable this time of year!), and tumbled into bed.

The phone rang before my head even warmed the pillow.

“Prentice? Hey, you weren’t asleep, were you? Don’t know how you can with all that going on over there.” My cousin Be-trice paused for a snuffling breath. She
has chronic adenoid problems. “Have they found out who that body is yet? You must be a nervous wreck! Why would anybody want to dump the poor soul there?”

I told her that as far as I knew, the woman’s identity was still a mystery, but I hoped the police would know something soon.

“Is it true that somebody made off with Uncle Faris? I heard they sacrificed a goat or something, smeared blood everywhere!”

Our uncle’s grave was empty, I said, but as far as I knew there had been no animal sacrifice. She sounded disappointed.

“I’m going to have to be out of town for a couple of days,” I said. “Would you mind feeding the cat?”

I knew my cousin would pounce on an excuse to see what was going on, and I’d found out long ago the best time for Be-trice to visit was when I wasn’t around.

That night I dreamed I heard a baby crying and the sadness of it pulled at my heart. I wandered about in the dark following the sound, only when I thought I was getting closer, the crying stopped. When I opened my eyes, my face was wet. It was morning. The morning of the day I hoped to meet my nephew.

T
he image of little Joey traveled in front of me as we drove to Tennessee that morning. Of course it was only the Joey I imagined. Would he have long lashes like his mother’s? Her dark, sparkling eyes? He looked blond in the photograph—like his grand-daddy and me. Maggie had our mother’s rich brown hair.

Augusta sat up front with me and sang—not always on key, but somehow it didn’t matter. She liked the old ones best, she said, songs from as far back as the twenties and thirties. I learned the words to “Side by Side,” a Depression song, and some silly thing from the forties about little lambs eating ivy. Her favorite, of course, was “My Blue Heaven.”

The singing helped to keep my mind off what we might find—or not find when we got there. What if
Sonny’s family had reached Joey first? In spite of the cheery songs, a dark thought slipped in, and I couldn’t help but think of a frightened toddler crying for a mother that never came. A tear slipped down my face.

“None of that,” Augusta said. “The time for crying is past. Tears won’t help your sister or her little boy now.”

“What tears?” I blinked away a shimmery haze. She was right, although I hated like the dickens to admit it. “What if Sonny’s relatives have Joey?” I said. “I don’t even know where they live.”

“It might be a good idea to find out.” Augusta leaned back in her seat and shook loose her hair. Today she wore a gauzy dress of turquoise and lilac with a scarf long enough to circle the state. She fingered the necklace as she spoke, and it shimmered like fiery opals. “You might check with the police in the town where the accident happened.”

I frowned. “But if we tell them about Joey, they might not let us see him. Sonny’s people could have legal custody.” The thought turned my insides to mush.

Augusta’s eyes were closed and she was so quiet I thought she’d gone to sleep. “What about the people at the funeral home there? Do you remember which one it was?”

“Clark and Clark.” I would never forget it. I had to deal with them over the phone to have Maggie’s body shipped home. “Ruby’s on the other side of Athens; it wouldn’t be out of the way.” I looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Shouldn’t take too long if we hurry.” I
glanced at my seraphic passenger. “What do we do about lunch?”

“I’m rather fond of barbecue. With pickles. And some of that wonderful stew. Brunswick stew I think it’s called.”

“I thought angels only ate ambrosia,” I said.

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Only those who haven’t tasted Brunswick stew.”

We saw a likely looking spot on the other side of Chattanooga and I ordered our lunch from the drive-through. Augusta gave it her blessing, proclaiming the sweetened tea close to her own.

It was midafternoon by the time we reached Athens, and I stopped at a gas station to look up the address of the funeral home. Fortunately, it wasn’t far away.

“What should I say?” I asked Augusta as we pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later.

“You could start with the truth.” Her tranquil gaze gentled me. “Don’t worry; you’ll be fine.”

And I knew I would.

The junior partner of Clark and Clark looked to be about seventy and walked with a cane. If his father was around, I didn’t want to meet him.

Yes, of course he remembered speaking with me, he said after we were seated in a small hushed room that smelled heavily of carnations. “Such a tragedy about your sister, a young life cut short.”

I let him finish his spiel. “I’m trying to locate my sister’s husband’s family, the Gaineses,” I said. “To tell the truth, I didn’t know Maggie was married until the
accident. I’m afraid she wasn’t much for keeping in touch,” I added, seeing his long face grow longer, and maybe I was mistaken, but I thought I detected a slight expression of distaste at the mention of the family’s name.

“Yes, I remember the family,” he said. “The young man’s father came for his body. There were several brothers as well, I believe.”

“Do you know where I can find them?”

“Not right offhand, but I can look them up.”

I trailed after him into an adjoining room where he seemed to move in slow motion as he switched on a computer, then hesitated before punching a few keys. “Right. Here it is: Pershing Gaines, lives over in Sleepy Creek. That’s about thirty miles the other side of Knoxville.”

Sleepy Creek. That sounded peaceful enough, I thought. He wrote something on a card and gave it to me. It was a business card promoting the funeral home and on the back was an address,
278 Wildwater Road
.

“Do you remember if the family had a child with them?” I asked. “A small boy?”

The man switched off his computer and stood slowly, bracing himself against the desk. “A child? I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “No, I’m certain of it. I would’ve remembered that.”