Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (11 page)

She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and tucked the handkerchief away to launder. She was through with crying. But she wasn't through asking questions. “Why?” she asked. “Why would anyone do this?”

“It appears they were searching for something,” the chief said. “Do you have any idea what it was?”

Virginia tried to turn her back on the disaster around her, but that proved impossible, so she stood and stared into the empty fireplace, the only thing that hadn't been disturbed. “I think it must have something to do with what happened to Dora Westbrook,” she said finally.

Bobby Tinsley stood by the piano and looked about the room. It was littered with books: books open facedown; trails of books like stepping-stones; books piled in haphazard stacks. It was difficult to walk without trampling on them. He wanted to turn away, but there was nowhere else to look. “The day Dora Westbrook showed up here,” he said, “you say she spent a good bit of time on the porch. Did she ever come inside?”

“We tried to get her to come in—Dimple and I—but she insisted on staying out there on the porch … until—wait a minute! Just before we left to take her to Phoebe's, she asked to use the bathroom.”

“Was she gone very long?”

Virginia reached down and picked up one of the books at her feet, a copy of Walt Whitman's
Leaves of Grass.
She stroked it, held it for a few seconds, then laid it carefully on top of an empty bookcase nearby. “I don't think so,” she said. “Honestly, I can't remember.”

“Try to remember this,” he insisted. “Did you follow her inside at that time?”

Virginia shook her head. “No. I'm sure I didn't. Dimple and I waited on the porch until she returned, and then I went back inside to get my purse. I locked the door behind us and we drove to Phoebe's in my car.”

“Well, it looks like she might have hidden
something
in here, and somebody wants it—wants it badly enough to kill for.”

Virginia felt slightly nauseated and suddenly weak in the knees, but she didn't have time to sit. There was too much to be done. “Let's hope they found it,” she said, and began gathering books in her arms.

“Now, listen to me, Miss V.” Bobby gently took the books from her and set them aside. “There will be plenty of time to take care of all this. What you need right now is rest. If you don't feel up to driving, Warren or I will be glad to take you home.”

“That's all right, Chief; I can do that.” Phoebe Chadwick stood in the doorway, and it was obvious she was making an effort to appear calm. “It looks to me like you could use a good strong cup of tea,” she told Virginia, enclosing her friend in a hug.

“Could you make that something even stronger?” Virginia said, and Phoebe saw she was smiling. “I'm all right, really, except for feeling like I've just been dangled by my feet from the Oconee Bridge.” And again she stooped and began collecting books from the floor. “I need to have something to do, and this should keep me busy for a good while, don't you think?”

Phoebe looked at Bobby Tinsley and shook her head. Both knew it would be no use to argue further. “Well,” she said, “I'm here to help, and I didn't come alone. And Augusta left a big pot of soup for the teachers' lunch, so we don't have to hurry home.”

For the first time, Virginia noticed the woman standing by the door. The rich color of her voluminous cape made her think of the moss along the banks of the sun-dappled creek where she'd played as a child. A penny-colored tam covered her ears but not her hair, and Virginia found herself staring. She had seen maple leaves that color in the fall, but she had never seen hair like that. It shone with the radiance of firelight, and when the woman smiled, Virginia knew that somehow she would manage to get through this day.

“You must be Augusta,” she said, crossing the room to greet her. “I'm glad to finally meet you, but wish it could be in better circumstances.

“I can't get my cat to come out from under the desk,” she said. “He must be terrified, and I don't know what to do.”
Now, what in the world made her say that to this woman she'd never even met before?

Augusta didn't hesitate, but knelt and extended a hand under the desk. “It's all right now. You can come out,” she said, speaking softly. “That's a good kitty, such a good kitty.” And Virginia watched in awe as Cattus not only crept out from under the desk but allowed Augusta to scoop him up into her waiting arms, and she was so relieved to see he was unharmed, she even forgot to be jealous.

Setting Cattus on his feet, Augusta shivered and drew her cape closer about her. “Well, this is a mess, isn't it? But we'll soon take care of that. The first thing, I think, is to get some warmth in here.” And while the others looked on in amazement, she soon had a bright blaze glowing in the fireplace, which had been dark only minutes before. “There! That's better!” Augusta rubbed her hands together. “Now we can get to work.”

Well, hadn't Dimple said she was bossy? “How did you do that?” Virginia asked, moving closer to see if the fire was indeed real.

“Do what?” Augusta tossed her cape and tam on a chair and looked about. “Is there a cart we might use? Or a basket will do.”

“How did you start that fire so quickly?” Virginia held her hands to the blaze. It was hot all right.

Augusta seemed perplexed. “The fire was laid, and I found matches on the mantel.”

But the grate had been dark and empty … hadn't it? And she never kept matches out, for fear of mice.
Virginia took a deep breath. Of course shock affects people strangely, and the room did feel warmer already, so what did it matter? Still …

“We'll be leaving now, but we'll be in touch,” Chief Tinsley said. “Be sure you keep the doors locked, and we'll send someone to board up that window until you can get the glass replaced.”

Virginia thanked them and locked the door behind them. Had the two men exchanged glances at Augusta's apparent expertise at fire building, or was she imagining things?

“This should help. I found it in the back,” Phoebe said, pushing a small cart in front of her. “We can stack the books on this and it will make it a lot easier to put them back on the shelves.”

“Exactly.” Augusta crossed with an armful of books. “We'll have this place boat-shape in no time.”

Phoebe, in the midst of picking up books from the floor, looked at her and laughed. “Oh, Augusta, only you could keep your sense of humor in a situation like this.
Boat-shape!
I suppose that's appropriate in this case. This cabin's not big enough to be a
ship.”

Augusta smiled but didn't reply and continued to pile books onto the small cart until the stacks teetered unsteadily.

“Just a minute, please.” Virginia stationed herself between the loaded cart and the shelves behind it. “All the fiction must be arranged in alphabetical order. Children's books belong in those two back rooms, and the nonfiction—well, there's a system for that.”

“You mean Mr. Dewey's system?” Augusta examined the spine of a book.

Virginia brightened. “Why, yes. Are you familiar with that?”

“It's been a while,” Augusta said, “but I believe I can remember. Why don't I put a few of those back and you can see if I'm doing it right.”

Phoebe volunteered to begin sorting books in the children's sections, and in a little while, satisfied that Augusta knew what she was doing, Virginia went to check on her other helper. She was pleased to find Phoebe had worked her way through most of the
D
's, and pulling up another stool, sat down to lend a hand.

“Phoebe,” she said, keeping her voice low, “were you in the room when Augusta built that fire?”

Phoebe frowned. “No, I don't suppose I was. Must've been back here looking for the cart, but I sure am glad she did. Why?”

“It was so quick, almost instantaneous, and I honestly don't remember seeing the fire laid there before.”

“Well, it must've been. Maybe Bobby or Warren built it there before they left.”

“I think I would've noticed that.” Virginia added a few more books to the shelf and shrugged. “Or maybe not. Don't they say your memory is the first to go?”

“Then we're all in the same boat,” Phoebe told her, laughing.

Virginia shook her head and joined her. She had a nice warm fire and two good helpers. With luck, they should get at least a running start by noon.

It was almost one o'clock when Virginia glanced at her watch an hour or so later. She stood and stretched. “I'm ready for something to eat,” she called. “How about hot dogs and malteds from Lewellyn's? My treat.”

Phoebe groaned as she stood and said that sounded fine to her, and from the other room, Augusta replied she thought it a good idea, as well.

“I can't tell you how much I appreciate your pitching in to help me like this,” Virginia said as the three took time about washing their hands. “It's backbreaking work, as you'll find out when you get out of bed tomorrow, and I know you both have other things to do this afternoon, so please don't worry about staying longer. With such a good start, I should be able to put things straight before you know it.”

Phoebe protested, as Virginia knew she would, but Augusta was strangely quiet, and Virginia didn't blame her. Why, my goodness, the woman still had to plan and cook supper for everyone at Phoebe's.

But when she stepped into the large front room, Virginia knew why Augusta had no need to volunteer further. Every book had been put back exactly in its proper place.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

“I thought it wasn't supposed to get cold in south Georgia,” Jo said, pulling a warm knitted hat over her ears. “So, where should we go next?”

“I guess we should get in touch with Dora's circle friend, Glenese Pitts.” Lou searched her purse for a small scrap of paper torn from the end of an envelope. “Priscilla wrote down her address,” she said, finding it. “It's only a couple of blocks from here. Priscilla said she was one of the lucky ones, as her husband's a field artillery instructor stationed at Camp Gordon and not likely to be shipped overseas.” She shaded her eyes against the sun. “We need to turn right on Sanders Street, just up ahead.”

“Maybe we should have telephoned first,” Jo said, turning up the collar of her coat. It seemed colder in the car than out and the sun had suddenly disappeared.

“What if she doesn't want to see us? I think we should take our chances. Dora didn't seem to be close to her neighbor. I'm hoping we'll have better luck with Glenese.”

Glenese Pitts lived in a small white cottage shaded by a huge live oak in the front yard. Yellow and bronze chrysanthemums surrounded a small birdbath and more bloomed in a large pot by the front door.

The woman who answered the door was blond, thirtyish, and pregnant. A wailing toddler pulled at her skirt and a little boy about four appeared behind her, clutching part of a sandwich that at one time might have been peanut butter and jelly.

“I'm afraid we've come at a bad time,” Jo said, introducing the two of them. Speaking above the toddler's cries, she explained as briefly as possible why they were there. “Priscilla Barnslow suggested we speak with you. We were told you were a friend of Dora Westbrook's, and we're trying to find out more about her background.…”

Frowning, Glenese scooped up her toddler and stepped back. “I'm sorry, but as you can see, it's past nap time here already.”

Lou gave her a smile that had eased many a nervous patient when she'd helped her husband in his early practice of dentistry. “We understand. Perhaps we can talk at a more convenient time. You see, this terrible thing happened in our own town, and it's been a shock to all of us. Dora was running from someone. She was afraid for her life. We want to know why. Won't you help us, please?”

“Donald, why don't you be a good brother and take your little sister out to the kitchen. You can give her one of your animal crackers,” Glenese said as she set the little girl on her feet.

Donald grabbed his sister's chubby hand, and yelled, growling, “Lion! Tiger! Come on, Betty!” And Betty squealed and followed him happily.

Glenese Pitts shoved a stray lock of hair from her face and sighed. “My mother will be here in a little while to stay with the children while I go to the grocery store. Why don't you meet me at Lulu's in about an hour? I'll be ready to take a break by then.”

The sisters nodded agreeably. “Lulu's?” both asked at once.

Glenese smiled. “It's a little place downtown. You can't miss it. You can get a cup of coffee there, or a Co-Cola or something, and they have good apple pie.”

*   *   *

“What if she doesn't show up?” Jo asked when they were seated in an empty booth at Lulu's exactly an hour later. The only other customer was a small older woman wearing a hat decorated with bright red and blue flowers of no known origin. She smiled at them from a corner table.

It was almost one o'clock and both were hungry, so they ordered apple pie à la mode and coffee, and at the risk of being rude, didn't wait to begin eating. Glenese was right, they found it delicious.

It was almost a half hour later when Glenese breezed in, slid into the booth next to Jo, and deposited a sack of groceries on the seat beside her. “I don't have a lot of time,” she began, “and I'm not sure I can be of much help, but I was fond of Dora, and I'll try to answer any questions I can.”

Lou leaned forward. “Do you have any idea why she was so afraid?”

Glenese started to answer but was interrupted by the waitress. “Just bring me a Co-Cola, Myra,” she said. Then: “Oh, what the heck! That pie looks too good to pass up. And give me scoop of ice cream, too.”