Miss Dimple Disappears (28 page)

Ruthie Phillips screamed and jumped back. “Eeeuuw! Don’t you dare come close to me, Junior Henderson! I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“I think you’re going to be quiet and take your seat,” Charlie told her sternly. She turned to Willie who was holding his nose and gagging. “Enough of that nonsense, Willie! Haven’t you ever been sick before? Now, run down to the basement and ask Mr. Thigpen to please come and clean the floor for us—and hurry! The rest of you may sit quietly at your desks and read while I telephone Junior’s mother to come for him.”

Willie backed away, fanning the air in front of him but the class had already started filing into the classroom and nobody paid any attention to him. Maybe losing his candy to Junior hadn’t been such a bad thing after all, he thought. If he stayed out long enough, he might even miss that boring science lesson, and he took his time on the way downstairs to Ollie Thigpen’s headquarters in the furnace room. He’d found a dime one time on the landing and if he looked real good, maybe he’d find another.

But luck wasn’t with him today and Willie decided he’d better do what his teacher asked and fetch the janitor. He sure didn’t want Miss Charlie mad at him.

But Ollie Thigpen wasn’t in his usual little room next to the furnace, although his jacket hung by the door. Willie called to him but it was plain to see the room was empty. He was probably cleaning somewhere in another building. Willie grinned. It might take a l-o-n-g time if he had to go and look for him, and he was turning to leave when he saw the small fold of paper showing just above the top of the janitor’s jacket pocket. Less than an inch of it was exposed, but Willie Elrod didn’t let anything get past him because he never knew who might be in cahoots with the enemy, and when he saw it, his hand shook so he couldn’t put it back fast enough. It was a grocery list, kind of like the ones his mother wrote, only neater, and for yucky things like soy flour and stuff like that.

Not only was the list written in Miss Dimple’s distinctive printing style, but Willie had seen that paper before. It came from a small notepad bordered in some kind of purple flowers, and Willie had seen it more times than he’d like to remember when Miss Dimple had sent notes home to his mother.

He quickly stuffed the note back into the pocket and hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Whoa, there! Where ya goin’ in such a hurry?” Ollie Thigpen stood at the top, arms outstretched to stop him.

Willie ducked underneath and darted away as if Hitler himself were on his tail. “Junior’s done gone and puked in the hall, and Miss Charlie needs you to come clean it up!” he shouted over his shoulder.

*   *   *

Thank goodness the days were getting shorter. She didn’t think she would be able to wait for darkness much longer. He had brought a paper-wrapped bologna sandwich with her breakfast that morning and told her to save it for lunch but she had been too keyed up to have much of an appetite, and she had never cared for bologna. Who knew what part of the animal went into its making? But he usually brought her something for supper at a little after five and tonight she would be ready for him. Walking briskly, Dimple Kilpatrick prepared herself by making forty-eight circuits of the room: One circle for each state, and with every step she promised herself she would somehow manage to thwart the plans of the traitorous people holding her hostage. The longer she walked, the angrier and stronger Miss Dimple became until she felt like that comic-book hero the children read about, the one who changed his clothes in a phone booth.

She had seen the empty soft-drink bottles in a case behind the stairs, and now she dragged them out and placed them on their sides, two on each step, beginning at the top of the stairs. And although it took her several tries, she threw the local library’s copy of Agatha Christie’s
Murder at the Vicarage
until she hit the lightbulb in the ceiling of the stairwell and shattered it to bits. Surely Mrs. Christie would understand.

*   *   *

Just to make sure the room was good and dark, Miss Dimple stood on the table to cover the small windows with the quilt from her bed. And then she waited.

Darkness came early, but Mr. Smith was late. It was almost half after five when she heard his footsteps overhead, and Miss Dimple immediately turned off the lamp beside her bed, armed herself with the broken chair leg (in case the bottles didn’t do the trick), and held her breath as the door opened at the top of the stairs.

“Why is it so dark down here? I can’t see a thing!” She heard the repeated clicking of the light switch and a muttered curse before the blessed racket began. And when it did, it sounded more exciting than the fanfare of a thousand trumpets as Ollie Thigpen thudded, bumped, hollered, and rolled his way to the foot of the basement stairs and sprawled like a disjointed scarecrow at the bottom. Dimple Kilpatrick stood over him, holding the chair leg like a bat and had a strange desire to sing “The Hallelujah Chorus,” but she didn’t know all the words, and only the alto part at that. Handel would have to wait.

Was he dead? She had to be sure. Miss Dimple leaned closer, keeping her distance, of course, and saw his eyelids flicker as a groan escaped his lips. Good! She wanted him alive to get what he deserved. With one oxford clad foot, she shoved him aside and started up the stairs, taking care to keep a firm grip on the railing in case a bottle or two remained.

Ah! Sweet freedom! She stood in what looked like a farmhouse kitchen and assumed it belonged to Paschall Kiker as she knew that was where that poor excuse for a human being, Ollie Thigpen, worked. But where was old Mr. Kiker? Surely he couldn’t be in on this. Miss Dimple looked in distaste at the dirty dishes in the sink and the plate of bacon from breakfast now covered in a gray greasy film. Maybe they were holding Paschall Kiker a prisoner as well, but she didn’t have time to look for him now. Ollie Thigpen wasn’t in this alone and that other one might be along at any minute. It saddened her to think who the other person might be, but it angered her as well. And she had always considered herself a good judge of character! An old-fashioned telephone hung on the kitchen wall and Miss Dimple hurried toward it. First she must call for help.

And that was when Elwin Vickery stepped in from the other room to block her way. “Ah, Miss Dimple, my friend! So that’s where that racket came from! I was hoping we could avoid this, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to accompany us to meet your brother.”

“How dare you call me
friend
! And you’re wasting your time with my brother. Just leave him out of this!” Still armed with the chair leg, Miss Dimple swung from the shoulder as the boys did on the playground. But she was no match for a gun.

*   *   *

Why wouldn’t anybody believe him? He had tried to tell Miss Charlie what he’d found in the janitor’s pocket but she was too busy wiping Junior Henderson’s face—the baby! Well, he guessed he’d just have to take care of this himself, and wouldn’t they all be surprised? He would probably get to ride in a big parade with all kind of medals hanging off him.

Willie Elrod waited behind the big oak tree in the schoolyard until he saw the janitor roll out his bicycle and start for home. He’d brought his own bike back with him earlier when he’d gone home to tell his mother Miss Charlie wanted him to help her clean the blackboards that afternoon and he might be a little late. It was beginning to get dark as they rode into the country but Willie was afraid to turn on his bicycle headlight for fear of being seen. Ahead of him on the dusty road, Ollie Thigpen rode with purpose, his light making dim yellow circles in the fast-approaching night. Now and then a car passed, and Willie slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. He didn’t have time to explain what he was doing there. Miss Dimple was in trouble and only he, Willie Elrod, could save her. Then wouldn’t she be sorry she’d made him write all those sentences about not chewing gum back in the first grade?

But first he had to find out where Miss Dimple was being held, and then, when Ollie was out slopping the hogs or feeding the chickens, or whatever it was he did out there, he, Willie, would sneak in and set her free. Willie hid in a small grove of cedars not far from the house and waited for the janitor to come outside. It grew darker as he waited and still the man didn’t appear. Willie’s stomach growled. He was hungry and his mama was going to wallop him good! Ollie, he’d noticed, had parked his bike out back and gone in the back way, and a few minutes later he heard what sounded like that same door shut again. If he hurried, maybe he could find a door or window unlocked in the front of the house.

Willie’s heart chugged double time as he crept across the lawn and took cover under some kind of scratchy bush. This wasn’t nearly as much fun as he thought it would be. If he could find a foothold in the shrubbery, he might be able to climb in the window that was above him and a little to his right and had started moving in that direction when he saw that somebody else had gotten there first. The person who stood pressed against the wall looked like a shadow dressed in dark clothing with only the face exposed.

“Miss Emerson!” Willie yelped. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Be quiet!” she commanded, her hand clamping over his mouth. “You’re going to give me away.”

“A little late to worry about that,” Elwin said from behind them. “I didn’t know to expect a party. A shame we have no refreshments.”

And the next thing Willie Elrod knew, he was being tied up in a kitchen chair along with that new teacher, Miss Emerson, and the missing Miss Dimple herself. He wondered if his mother would be sorry if he got killed. He knew his dog would.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SIX

Charlie froze when she heard the doorbell. The house had been bleak and cold when she arrived home from school a few minutes before and she had brought up a scuttle of coal and started to lay a fire so at least one room would be warm and a little more cheerful when her mother got off from the plant. And then she remembered that her mother would be working later that night as a favor for a coworker. And it couldn’t be Bessie because their neighbor had volunteered to fill in as well.

Who could be ringing their bell? Had the boy on the black bicycle brought more news of Fain? Charlie stood and gripped the mantel, forcing herself to take deep breaths until her heart rate eased. If her brother had died she didn’t think she’d be able to bear it … and she would have to face her mother. Damn this war!

But what if the news was good? What if Fain had been found alive and well and the army had made a mistake? The bell rang again and she risked a quick peek out the window to see if the bicycle was there. Instead she saw a strange van parked in their driveway. It was a blue van with white lettering on the side but she couldn’t make out the words. Charlie hurried to see what they wanted. Anything was better than the black bike.

The container of flowers was so big she couldn’t see the person’s face behind it until he set the arrangement on the table by the front door where her mother kept a pot of ferns in warmer weather. The flowers were from a florist in Covington, the man explained. Charlie had to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck, and she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

“But we didn’t order any flowers,” she finally managed to tell him—especially these flowers, she thought, as they must have cost a fortune.

The man smiled. “Well, obviously somebody did.” And he plucked the order form from his pocket and read the name and address. “I believe you’ll find a card to explain it,” he added, tipping his cap as he left.

Charlie took the vase into the sitting room and set it on the walnut chest that had belonged to her grandmother. The billowing arrangement of roses, gladiolas, and carnations in varying hues of pink was interspersed with tiny white chrysanthemums, baby’s breath, and dainty ferns, and it brought blessed springtime into the room. Charlie sat in her mother’s rocking chair next to the unlit fireplace to read the card addressed to her as well as to her mother.

“Our thoughts and love are with all of you,” it read, and it was signed by Will and Joel.

After a good cry, Charlie propped the card on the table so her mother would see it immediately, and resumed her fire-building. The two cadets had brought chocolates to them as well as to her aunt Lou when they came for Thanksgiving, so the flowers must be in response to the news about Fain. Annie probably had telegraphed one of them—probably Joel—as soon as she learned what had happened.

Elderberry had put gentle arms around them in the only way they knew how. One of Odessa’s chicken pies waited in the Frigidaire along with a congealed fruit salad from Virginia Balliew and potato salad from Geneva Odom. Their neighbor Bessie had brought some of her homemade bread and butter pickles, and kind Marjorie Mote, who knew too well the heartbreak of losing a son, had called to say she would be bringing fried apple pies for their dessert.

She had just sat down to write thank-you letters to Joel and Will when Emma Elrod phoned to ask if she’d seen her Willie.

*   *   *

Charlie glanced at the clock. It was almost six. “Why, no, Mrs. Elrod. I haven’t seen him since he left school at the regular time. Do you think he might’ve gone to the movies?” If Willie could come up with nine cents, the price of a ticket to the picture show, he’d been known to take advantage of it without first asking permission.

The woman’s voice was choked with emotion. “I’ve already been there. They haven’t seen him, and he’s not with any of his friends. He came home earlier to get his bicycle and said you’d asked him to clean the blackboards, so I wasn’t surprised when he was late.”

Charlie drew in her breath. “Oh, Mrs. Elrod, I’m afraid that isn’t true. I wouldn’t have—”

“I know, I know! I ran into Annie Gardner at Miss Phoebe’s and she said you’d left for home hours ago. I can’t imagine where he’d be. Half the neighborhood’s out looking for him, and his daddy and I are frantic.”