Miss Dimple Disappears (20 page)

“It’s about Cornelia,” Annie whispered. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you what happened last night. She said she was going to bed early … made kind of a big issue of it I thought. We were all tired from the Thanksgiving party but several of us stayed up to listen to
Lum and Abner
on the radio, you know how funny they are—”

“I know, I know. Go on!”

“I didn’t go up until after the news, and the door of her room was closed so I assumed she’d gone to sleep. It must’ve been about two o’clock when I got up to go to the bathroom—all that coffee, you know—and from the bathroom window I saw Cornelia coming across the back lawn.”

“At that hour? I wonder where she was going,” Charlie said.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure there was ‘a method in her madness,’ and she wasn’t
going,
she was
coming
! She must have cut across underneath that weeping willow in the Elrods’ yard so she wouldn’t be seen, and she didn’t take her car, so she must have gone out to meet somebody. I ran and got back in bed when I heard her come upstairs.” Annie made a face. “Something tells me it wouldn’t be a good thing if Cornelia Emerson found out I saw her.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

The sound of voices woke her. She wasn’t accustomed to hearing people talking in this place. Miss Dimple sat up in bed and listened. There were two of them; one she recognized as her jailer but they were speaking so low she couldn’t identify the other. She had turned down the heater for the night and the room was damp and cold. Heated or not, it made little difference. She was living in a basement. It smelled like a basement, felt like a basement, and if she wandered too far from the heated area, the dankness seemed to permeate her very core.

Miss Dimple wrapped a quilt about her and felt for her shoes in the dark. She had seen cockroaches on several occasions and had almost stepped on one before she learned to look first. The nasty, disgusting beetles scurried away when she turned on the light but tonight she didn’t want anyone to know she was awake. She felt her way across the room and stood silently at the bottom of the steps listening to snatches of muted conversation. It didn’t sound friendly.

Miss Dimple took a step up, and then another. From the cadence of what was being said, she guessed they were arguing—probably about her. If only she could hear what they were saying! Should she dare venture farther? Dimple Kilpatrick put one tentative foot on the next step and the board beneath her groaned and creaked with such a racket that she jumped in spite of herself. Surely they must’ve heard it. She froze where she stood, clutching the handrail and hardly daring to breathe until the sound of the voices diminished and footsteps moved away.

Creeping quietly down the stairs, Miss Dimple waited until she heard a door close and the sound of a car driving away. She knew she had to do something soon. Tomorrow she would put her plan into action.

*   *   *

“What time?” Charlie asked Annie after church the next morning.

“I really don’t feel comfortable about this, Charlie. Are you sure this is necessary?”

“You saw that house yesterday and said yourself it would be the perfect place to hide somebody away. And what about those dirty dishes you saw?”

“But who knows how long they’ve been there.” Annie shrugged. “From the looks of them, probably since the house was built! We didn’t actually see anything that would lead us to believe anybody’s
staying
there.” She grabbed at her pert green hat with a feather in it to keep it from blowing away.

The service had lasted a little longer than usual since it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving, and after the sermon the choir had led the congregation in a number of patriotic songs. People lingered in clusters on the lawn talking mostly of war.
Have you heard from Sonny lately … my goodness, all the way to California … we expect them to ship out soon … so handsome in his uniform … their grandson lost an arm … did you hear … Gabriel Heater says the Russians counterattacked at Stalingrad … we won’t have a Christmas like last year …

Charlie spoke to Hugh’s sister Arden, as she and her mother made their way through the throng. She wanted to tell her she’d heard from Hugh, but didn’t want to mention it in front of Emmaline in case she hadn’t received a letter, too. Arden smiled and spoke but her eyes were red and Charlie could tell she’d been crying, as were many. Their last song that morning had been the stirring and beautiful “Navy Hymn,” one of Charlie’s favorites, but the line about “those in peril on the sea” made her think of the men who had lost their lives during the Battle of Midway and those who would probably share the same fate in the months to come.

“We have to do it sometime today,” she said, leading Annie aside. “When do you think would be the best time?”

“Tonight, I guess. He usually goes to vespers at the Episcopal Church after supper, and most of the others will be listening to the radio. Fred Allen’s on tonight and they never miss Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy. Why don’t you plan to come over about seven—and don’t forget your magnifying glass, Nancy Drew!”

“What are you two laughing about?” Virginia Balliew waved to them as she approached and Charlie was glad she didn’t persevere with her question. “I wanted to let you know that Bobby finally collected that scrap of yarn I found but I doubt if anything will come of it.”

“What makes you think that?” Charlie asked, although she wasn’t surprised.

“I got the definite idea he wanted me to back off,” Virginia said. “Said it would be best if I just let the police handle things.”

Annie shook her head. “Well, it’s a good thing they’re not
handling
the war or we’d all be speaking German!”

Charlie had fried a chicken and made creamed potatoes earlier that day and the whole house greeted them with a mouthwatering aroma when she and her mother returned from church. Both women quickly tossed hats and gloves on the hall table on their way to the kitchen, and Jo spooned potatoes into a casserole dish, spread melted margarine over the top, and put them in the oven to brown while Charlie took a Waldorf salad from the Frigidaire and set the table with her mother’s fragile rose-patterned china. They had invited Bessie Jenkins to join them but she had declined as Ollie was treating her to dinner out. Bessie would drive, of course.

“Guess what Lily Moss told me at church today?” Jo said, taking threadbare linen napkins from a drawer.

Charlie looked up. “No tellin’.”

“I know you and Annie made a big joke out of Lou and me following Amos Schuler the other day,” her mother said, “but there might be more to that than you think.”

Charlie didn’t answer. She was still trying to figure out what Lily Moss had to do with Amos Schuler.

“Seems somebody told Lily what happened to us,” she said with a glaring look at her daughter. “It wasn’t you, was it? I’ll swear,” Jo continued, “you just can’t keep a secret in this town! Anyway, Lily told me Amos had it in for Miss Dimple for holding back his grandson last year. Lily said he even went to the school board and tried to get Dimple fired.”

Charlie filled the coffeepot with water. “If she held him back, I’m sure she had a good reason. I didn’t know Boyd even had a son.”

“Married fairly young, I think. Too young! Didn’t last long. The couple divorced a short time later, and then Boyd went off and got himself into all that trouble in Atlanta, but Amos dotes on that little boy. If I’m not mistaken the child and his mother live out there with the Schulers.”

“What’s his name? I’d probably know him,” Charlie said. She was familiar with most of Miss Dimple’s students.

But her mother shook her head. “From what Lily says, they took him out of Elderberry and enrolled him somewhere else—some private school in Henry County. At any rate, there doesn’t seem to be any love lost between Dimple Kilpatrick and Amos Schuler.”

Charlie remembered what the milkman had said about almost backing over the teacher and how he’d pretended not to know her name. What if he had killed her, accidentally or otherwise, on one of her early-morning walks? They would never find her body on the Schuler farm, partially covered in dense woods and undergrowth. Suddenly she seemed to have lost her appetite.

*   *   *

“Do you really think he would?” Annie asked when Charlie told her later what her mother had said. “Kill somebody, I mean.”

“I hope not, but I’m glad Mama and Aunt Lou didn’t get in the truck with him the other day. They might’ve disappeared, too.”

Several of Miss Phoebe’s roomers were eating a light supper of sandwiches and potato salad in the dining room when Charlie walked the few blocks over that night, but she found Annie in the kitchen washing the dishes she had used and stacking them in the drain. Everyone was responsible for their own cleanup on Sunday nights so Odessa could go to meeting. Elwin, she said, had already left for church.

“Come on up, and I’ll see if I can find that book I was telling you about,” Annie said in a voice loud enough for the diners to hear. Aside to Charlie she whispered, “We’ll wait until everybody’s gone into the living room to listen to the radio.
Charlie McCarthy
comes on in a few minutes and just about everybody listens to that.”

From Annie’s room at the top of the stairs they soon heard the announcer’s familiar voice hawking Chase and Sanborn Coffee followed by the ventriloquist’s clever conversation with Charlie McCarthy, and even listening to it from a distance, the two friends exchanged smiles. The dummy with top hat and monocle seemed like a real person to most. They were halfway downstairs when Cornelia Emerson passed them going the other way.

“You’re going to miss
Charlie McCarthy,
” Annie said as the woman approached.

The new teacher shrugged. “Too many papers to grade. Guess I should learn to budget my time more wisely.”

They hesitated until they heard her door close behind her before continuing. Elwin’s room was the first door to the right just behind the stairs, and the two crept cautiously through the hallway, avoiding the living room where Velma Anderson’s distinctive whinnying laughter could be heard above everyone else’s.

Charlie darted a look upstairs. “Do you think Cornelia suspects what we’re doing?”

Annie shook her head. “Why should she? But I’d like to know what
she’s
up to! I don’t think she noticed us when she passed us yesterday or I believe she would’ve said something.”

“She was in too much of a hurry,” Charlie said. “Do you think we should mention it to her? I’m dying to find out what she was doing out there.”

“I can’t figure that one out,” Annie said. “Maybe we ought to wait … give it a little time.”

But Miss Dimple might not
have
much time, Charlie thought as she stood guard outside Elwin Vickery’s room. The door wasn’t locked, Annie explained, so that Odessa and Bob Robert’s niece, Violet, could get in to clean a couple of times a week, and Charlie couldn’t resist a quick look inside. She found the room as neat and immaculate as she expected it to be. The bed was made with a blanket of a colorful Indian design folded neatly at the foot. Books jammed the shelves under his window and black-and-white photographs of the Grand Canyon and the cacti and mesas of the desert area hung in an orderly row above his bed.

Waiting outside the room, Charlie heard Annie open and close a drawer, and then another. She stiffened as the treads creaked over her head as someone from the living room hurried upstairs. “I’d better get my glasses if I’m going to work on that embroidery,” Velma said, and Charlie heard her footsteps returning soon after. All the guest rooms except Elwin’s were on the second floor, but Phoebe’s room was next to his at the end of the hall. What if Phoebe decided to go back to her room or to the kitchen? There was no way she would miss seeing her. She took a deep breath and pressed her back against the wall.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all!

When the air-raid siren went off a few seconds later, she was absolutely sure.

“Quick! Somebody get the hall light,” Miss Phoebe called from the living room.

“Oh, dear! I’ll draw the blackout curtain,” Lily offered in a quivering voice. “We just had a drill a few nights ago. Do you think this might be the real thing?”

“Annie and Cornelia will take care of things upstairs,” Phoebe said, ignoring her, “but I guess we’d better check and see if Elwin left a light on.”

“I’ll do it,” Velma offered, and, hearing her footsteps approaching, Charlie quickly slipped inside the door and switched off the light. “Velma’s coming! Hide somewhere—hurry!” she called under her breath, and almost collided with Annie as they headed for the closet.

They heard Velma call out that the room was okay and the door closed behind her. “That was close!” Annie whispered. “I hope she couldn’t see the desk drawer I left open. I didn’t have time to close it.”

“Then let’s close it now and get out of here while it’s still dark.” Charlie felt her way across the room to where she remembered seeing the desk and gave the open drawer a shove. It squeaked.

“Aw—applesauce!” Annie groaned beside her. “Here, let me help,” and together they managed to shut the drawer without further protests. They were on their way to the door when they heard voices just outside in the hallway.

“Is that you, Elwin? I thought you were at vespers,” Miss Phoebe called from what sounded like the kitchen. “We’re in here if you can find your way to join us.”

“I was halfway to church when the siren sounded, so I decided to come on back here,” Elwin answered. “Just let me get rid of this coat and I’ll be right there.”

Where else would you hang a coat?
Charlie wondered from her hiding place in the closet. She huddled behind what felt like a wool jacket that made her want to sneeze and wondered where Annie had fled. This had really, really, really been a rotten idea!

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

Miss Dimple was ready when she heard the car approaching. The first time she had done this had been many years ago on a fine, sunny day in May. She had gathered her small students on one of the rare grassy areas on the school playground with a large bowl of soapsuds and lopsided wands fashioned from wire. The children laughed and tried to catch bubbles like tiny rainbows as they floated over the school grounds bursting in midair. She had explained to the class about the colors in the spectrum and refraction of light, and wasn’t sure at the time if any of them would ever remember what she’d told them. But she hoped as they slogged now through mud and freezing cold, or pitched about on an angry sea in some fierce and hostile land, that they might recall the beauty of the day, the gossamer bubbles drifting to the trees, and the blessed peace of being in such a place.