Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (26 page)

“I hear the Methodist church is having a Halloween carnival for the children tonight,” Phoebe said as it began to grow darker outside. “Maybe that will keep them out of devilment—for a while at least.”

Velma nodded. “Remember last year? Most of our downstairs windows were soaped and the porch furniture ended up at the top of the schoolhouse steps.”

“And somebody put the Olivers' lawn ornament—you know, the one that looks like a dwarf—in the lily pool down in the park,” Lily added. “It never has looked the same.”

Velma shook her head. “Pity,” she said, trying not to smile. She considered that no great loss.

“I'll bet it was Junior Henderson.” Annie laughed. She had taught that rascal the year before.

“Or his buddy Marshall Dodd,” Lily said. “Of course they'd both deny it. At least with the paper shortage, they won't be decorating all the trees with toilet paper like they used to.”

But this year, they would be prepared. When it was time for the carnival to be over, Annie, wrapped in one of Phoebe's worn-out sheets, greeted the children as they passed. Augusta had made popcorn balls with honey and molasses, and word spread quickly among them that this house was to be spared from their usual pranks.

“I didn't know we had that much popcorn on hand,” Annie said as Augusta passed around a tray for the grown-ups after the young goblins had left.

But Augusta smiled, explaining that popcorn usually makes more than expected.

“It's still hard for me to believe there's someone in Elderberry who is bold enough to invade our homes,” Velma said as they sipped hot spiced cider in front of the fire.

“Speak for yourself!” Lily snapped. “It doesn't seem hard for me.” And everyone, including Lily herself, laughed at her retort.

Augusta stole a glance at herself in the hallway mirror and brushed back a lock of hair before joining them. “I've been in touch with my friend in Macon,” she told them, “and asked her to inquire around the neighborhood where Dora's friend Carolyn lived. Perhaps one of them will be able to tell her how we can get in touch.”

“If we can locate Dora's friend, she might be able to tell us what everyone seems to be looking for,” Dimple said.

Velma stared into the amber flames. “Can you believe it has been just over two weeks since Dora Westbrook stumbled into our lives?”

“Seems to me she did a lot more than
stumble,
” Annie said.

“Annie Gardner!” Lily gasped. “Shame on you! The poor woman's dead.”

“Don't I know it? If the silly thing had just stayed with the Nelsons like you planned, she'd probably still be alive, and we wouldn't be on this wild-goose chase.” Annie quickly drained her cup and announced she was going upstairs to write to her fiancé.

Phoebe nodded wisely. “War nerves,” she whispered after Annie left the room. “I don't think she's had a letter from Frazier in a while.”

Lily groaned. “How long is this miserable war going to drag on?”

“If you think you're tired of it, remember the ones who are over there fighting,” Miss Dimple reminded her, and then went to her room to write her brother.

*   *   *

“My goodness, Phoebe, where are you going with all those heavy books?” Augusta said the next morning as Phoebe slid several volumes into a canvas handbag, grabbed her purse, and started for the door.

Phoebe paused in front of the hall mirror to adjust her green knitted hat. “I promised Dimple I'd return her two books, and Velma just finished reading that funny
See Here, Private Hargrove.…
I plan to check that out for myself, and there's that book of house plans Annie's been poring over.”

“Why not let me return those for you? I have to stop at Mr. Cooper's anyway. We're almost out of onions.”

Relieved, Phoebe wasted no time shedding coat and hat. That would give her time to gather the few cabbages left in the garden before the first frost.

Arriving at the library, Augusta was a bit surprised to find Rose McGinnis at the piano, her arm finally free from the sling. “I see you're learning ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart,' she said, wandering over. Rose looked up in chagrin. “Well, it's
supposed
to be ‘My Darling Clementine.' Guess I need a little more practice.”

“I understand you and your aunt suffered the same misfortune that we did,” Augusta continued. “You must be relieved that it happened while you were away. Let's hope the police will soon find out who's behind all this.”

Rose slid her fingers along the keyboard and frowned. “Oh, I think whoever took those things knew very well when we'd be gone. The vases I lost were fairly expensive, but that silver ladle has been in our family for years and Aunt Trudy is just sick about it.”

“I'm so sorry. I hope they can recover it before it's too late. Officer Nelson explained to us that thieves usually don't wait long before finding a market for stolen goods.” Augusta shook her head. “I just don't understand why someone would do a thing like that. It seems they don't care for anyone but themselves.”

“That's one reason I'm here,” Rose said. “Aunt Trudy's feeling so low, I thought I'd try to find a book to make her smile.”

Augusta knew just the right one, but she didn't want to mention it before making a phone call.

“Well, of course, I can read that book later,” Phoebe said in reply to her question. “I think Gertrude needs cheering up more than I do. At least the thief didn't take anything here—thanks to Lily.”

“Tell Phoebe I'll put her at the top of the list,” Virginia said when Augusta passed the book along to Rose. And then she frowned. “It seems to me some of this might be connected to Dora Westbrook. Just think of it—we had that break-in here and then the one at Phoebe's, the only two places Dora spent any time. Somebody seems to think she left something behind and it looks like they're determined to find it.”

“What do they think she left?” Rose asked as Virginia stamped her books.

“I wish I knew,” the librarian told her. “From what I've heard about Dora's mother-in-law—what's her name?”

“Lucille,” Augusta said.

“I'd be willing to bet that woman knows more than she lets on.” Virginia snatched wilted chrysanthemums from a vase on her desk, tossed them into a trash can, and dusted off her hands. “If anybody knows what Dora might've taken with her, it's bound to be Lucille. Why else would she accuse her of being a thief?” She frowned. “Do you think she might be behind this?”

“I believe Officer Nelson is looking into that,” Augusta told her. “He was to find out from the police in Fieldcroft if there's a way they might learn if and when she left town.”

“How are they planning to do that?” Rose asked. “She's free to come and go as she pleases, isn't she?”

“Of course, but there's the bus station, for one thing,” Virginia told her, “and you know as well as I do people talk in a small town like that. I suppose when it comes right down to it, they could even ask her son.”

On her way to the grocery store, Augusta saw Warren Nelson coming out of the barbershop and asked if he'd heard from his counterparts in Fieldcroft.

But the officer, cleanly shaven and smelling of Old Spice, said that as far as the authorities in Fieldcroft knew, Lucille Westbrook had been sticking close to home.

Later, leaving Cooper's, Augusta saw Jesse Dean taking groceries to the car for Charlie's mother, Jo, and stopped to say hello. She had spoken to him several times when shopping for groceries but never had had an opportunity for a conversation.

“I hope you know you have many supporters here who are sick at heart that someone would try to link you with what happened to Dora Westbrook,” she told him. “Your friends at Phoebe Chadwick's—and I hope you'll count me among them—are determined to learn who's behind this and why.”

Recognizing her, Jesse Dean smiled. “It sure came as a surprise to me,” he said, shaking his head. “For the life of me, I can't figure out who would do a thing like that!” And then he shrugged. “I wondered why the Presbyterians ordered vanilla wafers when they usually want graham crackers.”

“My daughter Charlie speaks highly of you,” Jo said to Augusta, introducing herself when the young man returned to the store. “I'm perfectly capable of carrying out my own groceries,” she added, smiling, “but Jesse Dean insists—and he refuses to accept any money.” She sighed. “I hope we can get to the bottom of this thing soon. It all seems to hinge on the person Dora planned to meet here.” Jo stepped closer to whisper, “I just hope it's not anyone we know!

“Believe me, when this finally comes out, the whole town will learn the truth.” And Jo confided her intentions for a front-page story.

“Let's hope it's soon,” Augusta said.

On her return, she put away the onions and tumbled apples into a wooden bowl, filling the parlor with the sweet scent of autumn. Then, passing the console table in the hall, saw a letter waiting from her friend Grace in Macon.

 

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-ONE

“I can't remember when I've been this tired,” Velma said after supper that night, kicking off her shoes in front of the fire. “Maybe I'm just getting too old to travel.”

“I think it's taken a toll on all of us,” Dimple admitted, “but I'm so glad you convinced me to go along.”

“Just think what you would've missed,” Phoebe reminded her, “meeting some of your Ned's family after all these years.”

Dimple touched the amethyst ring on her finger and smiled. “And I have all of you to thank for that. Elaine has invited me there for Thanksgiving, and I believe I'm going to accept.”

“What about Henry?” Phoebe asked, surprised.

“I believe he and Hazel—and Imogene—plan to have dinner at the Winecoff Hotel in Atlanta. It's lovely, of course, but I think I'll pass this time.”

Phoebe hid her smile. Good for you, she thought. It will be a wake-up call for Henry Kilpatrick to realize his sister has a life of her own.

“We always spend Christmas together,” Dimple added, “and naturally I look forward to that.” Perhaps by Christmastime, she thought, Henry will have come to terms with the stressful demands that weigh so heavily on his mind.

“Surely by Christmas we'll know more about what really happened to Dora, poor thing,” Annie said. She was in a more tolerant mood since receiving a letter from Frazier that day.

Augusta pulled up a chair beside her, the firelight reflecting off her dazzling necklace. “Maybe I can move things along,” she began. “I heard today from my friend Grace in Macon.”

“Did she learn anything about Dora's college friend?” Velma asked.

Phoebe leaned forward eagerly. “Did she find anyone who remembered her?”

“Oh, I hope she found out where we might locate her!” Lily said.

Augusta smiled. “To answer your questions, yes, yes, and yes! Grace spoke with a former neighbor of Carolyn's who has known her for most of her life. She told her Carolyn married soon after graduating from Wesleyan and still lives there in Macon.”

Taking out her handkerchief, Miss Dimple polished her bifocals. “That's grand news, Augusta. Has your friend had an opportunity to speak with Carolyn yet?”

“I believe that's where I come in,” Augusta said. “Unless there are objections, I prefer to speak personally with Dora's friend. Grace has been an angel to help, but sometimes she can be a bit flighty, and being here from the beginning—well, almost the beginning—I'm more familiar with the background.”

Everyone agreed that would be the best solution, although they disliked the idea of having to cook for themselves.

“I've left marinated slaw in the refrigerator,” Augusta reminded them, “along with a casserole of macaroni and cheese. All you have to do is pop it into the oven. I should be back in a couple of days.”

“But, Augusta,” Annie asked, frowning, “how are you planning to get there?”

“I happen to have a friend passing through town in the morning who is going in that direction, and I'm sure I can arrange a way back.” With long, slender fingers, Augusta smoothed her ocean blue skirt and adjusted the filmy scarf in her hair.

“I declare, Augusta, if you don't beat all!” Lily said. “How do you come up with all these convenient connections? What kind of agency do you work for anyway?”

“I suppose you might say my orders come from the top.” Augusta smiled. “And now I think I should say good night, as I plan to leave early in the morning.”

*   *   *

Phoebe was waiting when Miss Dimple returned from her morning walk the next day. “Did you happen to notice when Augusta left this morning?” she asked.

“I believe she had already left.” Dimple smeared margarine on one of her Victory Muffins. It really didn't look appealing at all after Augusta's tempting fare, but she knew she must think of the nutritional value. Maybe it would go down easier with a glass of milk.

“It must've still been dark, and I didn't hear a thing.” Phoebe shook her head. “It's uncanny, don't you think, how Augusta manages to do some of the things she does? But I'll have to say, she certainly has been a godsend.”

Miss Dimple smiled in agreement.

*   *   *

A chill wind whipped around the corner of Oak Lane and Partridge Avenue when Augusta arrived in Macon, and she tugged her hat snugly about her ears and wished she'd thought to wear something warmer. Making note of the correct address, Augusta remembered that Grace had told her Carolyn had two school-age children who boarded the school bus on that corner. Soon a young woman emerged from the yellow-brick house in the middle of the block, herding two little girls in front of her. Thinking it best not to be seen, Augusta stayed out of sight until all the children boarded the bus and the handful of parents drifted away. Carolyn chatted briefly with a neighbor until, shivering, each went her own way.