Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause (21 page)

Jo agreed and called her sister’s attention to the deep red color of the sumac on the side of the road, pleased that she had guided her safely past her curiosity about Dimple and Virginia.

“It wouldn’t take long,” Lou said after a few minutes of silence.

“What wouldn’t take long?”

“Just to ride past there a few times—about the same time I saw them, you know. If we see them there tonight we’ll know something’s up for sure.”

“You can forget the
we
part,” Jo told her. “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Louise sighed. “Very well, Josephine. I’ll go without you, but if I
do
see them there again, then will you believe me?”

“Oh, all right!” Jo Carr smiled to herself. She knew she was safe.

*   *   *

“I don’t think anyone’s going to show up,” Virginia said that night after two more unsuccessful surveillances.

“They will if they think Phoebe’s going to leave fifty dollars there,” Dimple said. “I expect they’re just giving her time to get the money.”

“What makes them so sure she’s going to do it? I wouldn’t.”

“You have nothing to hide, and of course she’s not going to do it, but they don’t know that yet. She’s frightened, Virginia. Whoever is doing this has done an appalling thing to Phoebe. I just hope we can find out who it is before it goes any further.”

Virginia yawned. “Well, they’re not going to show up tonight, and my feet are freezing. I hope no one has seen us here. They’ll think we’re both crazy. A car drove past last night just as we were leaving, and I’m sure they could see who we were.”

“I wonder if it might’ve been the person we’ve been waiting for,” Dimple said. “Perhaps we should stay a bit longer tomorrow night.”

“Then you’ll have to do it on your own,” Virginia said. “Saturday’s always a busy day at the library, and tomorrow night I plan to have an early supper and relax in a warm bath.”

And tomorrow would probably be the night someone showed up, Miss Dimple thought, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t keep an eye on the place every minute unless she camped out on the lawn, and that hard, cold ground didn’t look one bit inviting.

*   *   *

Saturday morning turned out clear and bright with a crisp feeling of fall in the air, and Annie took advantage of it by curling up in Phoebe’s front porch swing to write a long letter to Frazier. Soon Miss Dimple and Velma Anderson followed suit and made themselves comfortable in two of the rocking chairs—Dimple with an Agatha Christie mystery, and Velma with a guest towel she was embroidering for her niece’s birthday.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you ever found what you were looking for in those old annuals we brought up from the basement the other night,” Velma said to Dimple.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Dimple closed her book, marking her place with a scrap of paper. “And I’ve been wondering if it’s of any importance. I’m reluctant to make an issue of something that might be irrelevant, yet…”

Velma set aside her needlework and Annie her letter. “Yet what?” they asked, speaking together.

“You might not remember this, Velma, but Reynolds Murphy’s wife, Cynthia, was a student here during her freshman year in high school, and perhaps even after that. Her maiden name was Noland.”

Velma shook her head and frowned. “Name’s not familiar. Of course I don’t remember all of them.”

“Is that what you were looking for?” Annie asked.

“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure,” Miss Dimple said. “I knew Buddy Oglesby had gone to high school here but wasn’t certain of the dates until I looked through Velma’s annuals. Virginia told me how he reacted when someone in the follies cast suggested the remains that were uncovered probably belonged to a tramp passing through. Of course we didn’t know it was Cynthia at the time, but later it made me wonder if he might have known the woman earlier or if there was a connection somehow.”

“And was there?” Annie asked.

Miss Dimple nodded. “They went to the school dance together. It was during Buddy’s junior year when Cynthia was only a freshman.”

Annie heard herself gasp before realizing she’d done it. From what she’d heard of Cynthia Murphy, she didn’t seem the type to be interested in Buddy. Of course at that time he might have appealed to her as an “older man.” And to object so strongly to her being described as a tramp, he obviously still felt something for her. “But he didn’t even know—” she began. The thought was so horrible, she couldn’t bring herself to finish.

“How did he know who was buried there unless he put her there himself?” Velma pointed out. She had no such qualms.

Miss Dimple remembered how Buddy had reacted when they discovered the sad remains beside the cotton field. How silent and pale he had become, and she had worried that he might not be composed enough to drive the bus.

“That was so long ago. They were practically children,” Dimple said, “and I don’t know how long after that their relationship continued. Still, I suppose I should mention it to Bobby Tinsley.”

Velma jabbed the needle through the linen in her embroidery hoop, where a circle of morning glories was slowly emerging. “Somebody has to be behind all this devilment going on around here. How do we know it isn’t Buddy Oglesby?”

“Do you think he might still be around?” Annie asked. “If he took that money, I’d think he’d be as far away from Elderberry as he could get.”

Miss Dimple laid her book aside. “I wonder…” she said.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

Eyes burning from the fumes, Buddy Oglesby turned the handle of the old metal food grinder as a potent mélange of onions, cabbage, peppers, and green tomatoes oozed from the blades, mounding in the large bowl beneath. Already, gleaming jars of the finished product lined the counter behind him and still more simmered on the stove in an enormous enamel pan.

“How many more jars of this stuff do you plan to make?” he asked, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“As many as we can until we run out of ingredients,” she said, frowning. “I gotta do something with all this stuff from the garden, and you might as well make yourself useful. You don’t have anything else to do.” She shrugged. “Besides, chow chow sells well over at the general store, and I can use the money.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. In fact, he couldn’t argue
period.
After all, she’d let him stay here, hadn’t she? And it sure as hell wouldn’t do to upset her! He had to stay out of sight, and where else was he to go? Sighing, Buddy fed another wedge of cabbage into the grinder and thought back to the day he’d arrived.

*   *   *

“I need a place to stay for a while,” he’d said.

Ima Jean Acree narrowed her eyes. She had put on at least fifteen pounds since he’d seen her last, and a diapered child of about two tugged at her skirts. “Buddy? Good Lord! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since I was working up in Atlanta … What’s it been? At least five years.”

Buddy Oglesby smiled. “I know, and I’m sorry about that. It’s just that I’ve been—well—kinda busy. You know how it is. We sure had us some good times though.” He glanced behind him to make sure he hadn’t been followed. Thank goodness Ima Jean still lived in her mother’s old place a few miles on the other side on the little town of Winder and so far out in the sticks nobody would think to look for him there.

“Is anything wrong, Buddy? What’s going on?” Ima Jean stooped to pick up the baby. The screen door remained closed between them, and she made no move to let him in.

He sighed. “There’s been sort of a mix-up, Ima Jean, and I just need a place to stay.” Buddy reached back to rub his neck. He’d slept in his car all night and ached in places he didn’t even know he had. “It won’t be long, I promise, and I have a little money. I can help you out with groceries and things.”

“Well, you can’t stay here. I reckon you haven’t heard, but I got married a few years ago. My husband’s in the army, and I don’t think he’d like it a whole lot if he was to hear you were living here with me.”

“Oh, no!
No!
It wouldn’t be anything like that. Don’t you still have that little building out back? The one your mama used for a sewing room?” Buddy glanced at the baby and tried to look interested. “Come on, Ima Jean, please! I really need somewhere to stay, and you could use a little extra money, couldn’t you? I won’t be any trouble, I promise.”

He could see she was relenting, but she still didn’t open the door. “What have you done, Buddy?”

He sighed. “Ima Jean, I reckon you know I wouldn’t hurt a soul. It was all a big mistake, and I can explain … oughta be cleared up in no time … please, you gotta believe me!”

“You better not be lying!”

He raised his right hand. “I swear. Just for a few days … okay?”

“Heck, there’s nothing out there to sleep on except that old sofa,” she said, “and no bathroom, either, but I guess you could use the one Daddy had put in off the back porch.”

“How are your folks?” Buddy asked. If those two were still around, they might not take too kindly to this arrangement.

“Daddy died a year ago,” Ima Jean told him. “And Mama’s gone to live with my sister in Americus, but just ’cause it’s just me here with the baby don’t mean you don’t have to behave, Buddy Oglesby!”

Again Buddy raised his right hand and swore he’d be as good as gold.

*   *   *

The day had finally come! Annie woke early and stretched, luxuriating in the double bed in the room that had been assigned her. It was definitely a boy’s room. College pennants and framed photographs of sports teams lined the walls, and a snapshot of a pretty girl smiled at her from the bedside table. It was signed,
Love, Mary,
and Annie wondered if she was a special girlfriend of the sailor whose room she was using.

After catching a ride to Atlanta with one of Phoebe’s neighbors, she had been welcomed the night before with a light supper by Geneva’s aunt Maggie. Afterward they listened to a radio program featuring the All-Girl Orchestra with Evelyn and her Magic Violin, and Maggie shared pictures of her son, who was serving under Admiral Nimitz in the Pacific Theater. He had just begun his sophomore year at Georgia Tech, his mother said, when he enlisted with several of his friends.

When the radio program ended, they listened quietly to the news, Maggie concentrating intently on every word, and when it was over, she took a deep breath and smiled. “Well … no news is good news—for now.”

Annie hoped it continued. She was glad her hostess understood the importance of this time with Frazier and had assured her she was not to worry about the hour she returned as the door would be unlocked.

Frazier was staying with parents of one of his old Georgia Tech fraternity buddies and would have the use of their car for the next day. Earlier, she had given him the phone number and address of Geneva’s aunt, and the two women were finishing breakfast when he telephoned.

“I’m not that far away and can’t wait to see you,” Frazier began. “I can probably be there in fifteen minutes.”

Annie glanced at her polka-dotted flannel pajamas, her feet in blue fuzzy slippers. “Could you make that twenty?” she asked.

After the fourth try with the hairbrush to tame her short dark curls, Annie gave up in disgust. She added a dab of powder, although it did little to disguise her freckles, and fastened the locket Frazier had given her for her birthday around her neck. The gold oval looked perfect against her new burgundy sweater, and she had even found a shade of lipstick that matched it.

Less than twenty minutes later, Annie watched him swing up the front walk in his easy, long-legged stride, overseas cap in one hand and a bunch of red roses in the other. As he drew nearer, she could distinguish the silver first lieutenant’s bar from a recent promotion on his collar.

She was breathing too fast!
Please, God, don’t let me pass out!
He was so handsome with his dark hair and eyes the warm color of chocolate that could look right into her heart. So wonderful, and so
right,
Annie couldn’t wait another minute. She flung open the door and threw herself into his arms.

He picked her up off her feet and kissed her right then and there while Geneva’s aunt looked on discreetly from the living room and, after brief introductions, they were on their own for an entire day in Atlanta.

“I’ve a surprise for lunch,” Frazier told her after spending the morning sharing peanuts with the elephants and monkeys at Grant Park Zoo. “I hope you don’t mind my planning our day, but I thought you might enjoy seeing some of the places most people like to visit when they come here.”

The October weather was sunny but cool enough for a sweater, and leaves were just beginning to turn red on dogwood and sumac. Soon sweet gum would join them with darker hues, and hickory would show off in glorious gold.

Annie didn’t care what they saw as long as she was with him, and told him so. He took her hand as they walked back to the car. “I don’t think you can beat the atmosphere of the place I’ve chosen, but we have to make a stop first,” Frazier said.

Annie was surprised when, after a short drive, they pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant on Ponce de Leon Avenue. The Ship Ahoy looked like a good place to eat, but
atmosphere?
Maybe it would be different on the inside, she thought.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you around,” Frazier said, leading her to the door. “I worked here while I was at Tech, and I
still
like the food.”

After hugs and greetings from all the staff, Hugo the cook presented Frazier with a huge picnic basket filled with good-smelling things and covered with a red-and-white-checkered cloth.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Hugo insisted when Frazier tried to pay. “This is our going-away gift to you with blessings from all of us. Just come home safely,” he said, clearing his throat before turning away. The waitresses all cried, and the maître d’ kissed him on both cheeks and walked with them to the door.

“Wow!” Annie sighed upon reaching the car and, sniffing, swallowed a salty tear. “Now I think I’m going to cry.”