Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (12 page)

“Well … I know Dora was unhappy,” Glenese began when the waitress left. “I don't think she and Leonard had a…” She paused, as if searching for the right word. “I suppose you'd say a
comfortable
relationship. She told me once she'd like to leave, but what would she live on? She didn't have the money to do it.”

“Do you think she was afraid of her husband?” Jo asked.

Glenese shook her head. “No. I hate to say it, but I think the marriage had just run its course. He spent most of his time on the farm. Why, he didn't even realize she was missing until she been gone at least twenty-four hours. And then Len's mother lived with them, you know. Sometimes that can be an advantage, but not in this case, I'm afraid.

“They tell me Dora's body was found in a church in Elderberry,” Glenese said after the waitress brought her order. “And from what I've heard, the authorities seem to think it wasn't an accident. It just doesn't make any sense!”

The two told Glenese how Dora had turned up at the library in Elderberry and disappeared later that same day from Phoebe's. “Our friends had found a place for her to stay for the night,” Jo said. “If only she had let them help her, she might still be alive.”

“They had arranged for her to stay in a tourist home run by a local couple, but Dora must've overheard them say the place was owned by a policeman and his wife,” Lou said. She shook her head. “For some reason, it seems she was afraid of the police. Do you know why?”

Glenese frowned. “The only thing I can think of is that she didn't want to be found. Didn't want to come back here.”

“I don't understand why Leonard's mother didn't notice she was gone,” Lou said. “Doesn't that seem odd to you?”

But Glenese shook her head.”Not really. They kept to their own schedules, and I think Dora stayed out of her way as much as possible.” She smiled. “Lucille belongs to some kind of knitting society. I think they've knit enough socks to take care of the army, the navy, and the marines!”

“Do you know if she had any enemies?” Jo asked. “From what I've heard, she didn't seem the type.”

Glenese finished her pie before answering. “You're right. I can't imagine Dora having a serious conflict with anybody.”

“You said she didn't have the money to leave,” Lou reminded her. “So, how do you think she managed to get as far as she did?”

“She must've had help from somewhere,” Glenese said. She sipped the last of her drink and stood to gather her groceries. “Her parents both died fairly young, I understand, and she and her sister were raised by their grandmother. From what Dora said, it seemed the two were close, and then the grandmother died a few years ago.

“She always seemed lonely to me. I think she must've been headed to her sister's in Tennessee.”

“But her sister wasn't expecting her until around Christmas, and she'd bought a bus ticket to Elderberry,” Lou said. “I guess it was as far as she could get on the money she had.”

“Or,” Glenese suggested, “she was counting on somebody in Elderberry to help her.” She sighed. “And that's when things went wrong.”

Glenese Pitts tugged her coat around her bulging stomach and picked up her check to pay, but Lou intercepted her. “No. This is on us, Glenese. And thank you for taking the time to talk with us.”

Glenese nodded. “You will let me know if you find out what happened, won't you?”

Jo stood to say good-bye. “We'll let you know
when
we find out what happened.”

“Well, if you aren't the confident one, Dick Tracy,” Lou said, referring to the detective comic strip character, as the two walked to their car. “What makes you so sure we
will
find out what happened?”

“And how do you know we won't?” The car had warmed in the sun, and Jo tossed her hat in the backseat and climbed in. “Lou, do you think Dora was expecting help from someone in Elderberry?”

Her sister frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Remember? Glenese said she might've planned on getting help from someone in Elderberry but that things apparently went wrong.”

“Well, that's a comforting thought.” Lou turned up the collar of her coat. “I wonder who it might've been.”

Jo shrugged. “Unless you have other suggestions,” she said, “our next step, I guess, is to talk with the local police.”

“Reece Cagle,” Lou said. “Bobby Tinsley was to let him know to expect us, and if he can't tell us much, maybe we can find some people around here who don't mind a bit of gossip. I noticed a little bandstand on the corner back there where some of the older fellows seem to congregate.”

“But first,” Jo reminded her, “you'd better have remembered to bring along your gas ration book, or we'll never get back home!”

*   *   *

The Fieldcroft police station was a tiny red brick building just down the street from Edna's Groceries:
If It's Not Rationed, We've Got It!
At the reception desk, a woman with dandelion hair and wearing a tight pink sweater pointed them to the boxlike office behind her, and once inside, Lou was sorry she'd eaten the pie. There was barely room for the two of them plus Reece, and he couldn't have weighed more than 130 pounds.

An ashtray of cigarette butts filled to overflowing sat on his desk, along with a half-empty bottle of Orange Crush soda and a MoonPie, still in its wrapper. Reece, who looked to be a little shy of fifty, stood and offered them both a chair and a soft drink, to which they accepted the former and declined the latter. He had a receding hairline, a warm smile, and a soft pinkish complexion and looked nothing like what Lou expected. She wondered how in the world a man as agreeable-looking as Reece Cagle could manage hardened criminals. But then she doubted if there was an abundance of criminals in Fieldcroft, and realized she hadn't noticed a jail.

“I can't tell you a whole lot about the circumstances surrounding Dora Westbrook,” the policeman began after introductions were made. “Her husband doesn't seem to have any idea why she took off the way she did, or why she ended up in your town.” He took a cigarette from a pack of Lucky Strikes in his pocket and then thought better of it and put it back. Both sisters breathed a sigh of relief. “Had everybody out looking for her as soon as he realized she was gone. Seemed real anxious to find her.”

“I suppose you have proof Leonard Westbrook wasn't in Elderberry at the time of his wife's death,” Jo said.

“If he was, ma'am, you can bet your boots we'd be holding him for questioning.” Reece spoke with a smile in his voice but not in his eyes. “Len Westbrook can account for his whereabouts every minute since his wife went missing.”

Jo thought that seemed awfully convenient, but she refrained from saying so.

“We don't know what goes on in people's lives,” Reece continued, rearing back in his chair. “As far as I know, the two seemed to get along okay, but something must've happened to set her off like that. Her husband thinks she was headed to her sister's in Tennessee. Now, why she ended up in Elderberry is anybody's guess.”

“I suppose she ran out of money,” Jo suggested.

He laced his hands together and considered that. “Well … she had money in her purse when they found it—not a lot, mind you, but probably enough to get to her sister's. Looks to me like Dora had a reason for stopping in your town.”

“Do you have any idea why?” Lou asked. She didn't like the sound of that. “Have you been able to find any record of letters or phone calls—anything like that—to somebody in Elderberry?”

Reece shook his head. “Nothing's turned up yet.”

“You will let us know if it does, won't you?” Lou asked, rising to leave. “Or anything else that might help. This is affecting innocent people through no fault of their own, and we want to get to the bottom of it.” She wished Dora Westbrook had had the sense to stay on the dad-blasted bus all the way to the state line and then some.

“Of course I'll stay in touch, and I'd like it if you'd do the same,” Reece said, standing to see them out.

Jo stopped and turned at the door. “We noticed a group of men sitting on a bandstand down the street. Do you think they might be able to tell us something?”

“That bunch of buggers? Why, I wouldn't believe a word they told me. Heck! If they don't have an answer, they'll make one up.” He grinned. “Naw! If you're looking for somebody to speak out of school, you'll do well to go next door.”

Lou frowned. “Next door?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Edna Watson of Edna's Groceries. Our Edna's got a lot more going on in there besides selling something to eat.”

 

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

“Dimple, I tell you, you'd have to have seen it to believe it,” Phoebe said to her friend that afternoon as the two set the dining room table for supper. “She had every last book back where it belonged, and even the cat was sitting in the window looking smug and licking its paws like nothing had happened at all!”

From behind the kitchen door they could hear Augusta humming something that might or might not have been “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and Dimple couldn't suppress a laugh.

“Laugh if you want to,” Phoebe whispered. “You know as well as I do that some of the things Augusta does aren't … well …
natural.
”

The hearty aroma of ham and bean soup coming from the kitchen smelled natural enough to Dimple, but she understood Phoebe's concerns. Augusta
was
different, but different in a good way, if one could overlook the bossiness.

“I suppose she's had some experience as a librarian, and she does seem exceptionally organized,” Dimple said.

Phoebe nodded. “She did say she was familiar with that decimal system Virginia uses.” She sighed. “Poor Virginia! I've never seen her so unsettled. And I'll have to admit, I didn't know if my two legs would hold me up when I walked in and saw our cabin like that.”

Dimple frowned. “Did you hear any more from the police?”

“Not since we left there. Other than the broken window, which, I assume, is the way they got in, they didn't do any physical damage to the building,” Phoebe said, “but it certainly wasn't good for the books, pitching them around like that.”

Dimple patted the last folded napkin in place. “Well, whoever it was certainly seemed to be looking for something and didn't care how they went about it.” She paused. “I wonder … is it possible it might still be there?

“Did you notice anything—anything at all—that might have been missing when you were putting things right?” Dimple asked as Augusta filled a blue crockery tureen from the pot on the stove.

Cheeks flushed from the steam, Augusta stopped to fan herself with a dish towel. “If we just knew what to look for, but I only saw books—books everywhere—and I can't imagine why any of them would be the object of such a frantic search—unless there was something tucked within the pages.”

“That might be why they were treated so roughly,” Phoebe said. “If somebody was looking for something they would've probably flipped through the pages and then tossed the book aside.”

“Or something might've been hidden behind the books themselves,” Dimple added. She smiled. “I remember how our mama would hide peppermints behind the cookbooks on her kitchen shelf from my young brother, Henry.” She smiled. “He would've eaten them, every one! And chocolate drops—oh, how he did love chocolate drops!”

“And how is Henry?” Phoebe asked. “Have you heard from him recently?”

“Not since we spoke, but he has promised to call more often, or at least drop a note now and again,” Dimple said. “Henry's all wrapped up in this project at the Bell Bomber Plant and it doesn't leave much room for anything else right now.”

Augusta spoke softly. “I imagine your brother's work is especially stressful now with the responsibilities he must be shouldering.”

Dimple nodded. “He can't discuss it, of course, and I don't believe I'd want to hear about it even if he could.”

“Maybe Charlie has heard something from her mother down in…” Phoebe frowned. “What's that place?”

“Fieldcroft,” Dimple told her, “but I doubt if they've had time to learn much yet.”

Charlie hadn't heard a word, Annie told them at supper, but then, she hadn't expected a call. Neither her mother nor her aunt would telephone long-distance unless it was an emergency, as the cost was what Jo Carr referred to as “outlandish.”

“Well, I hope they'll be careful down there,” Lily said. “Whatever happened at the library last night must've had something to do with that Dora woman.”

“I suppose she was in there long enough to have hidden something,” Dimple said as she spread margarine, on a muffin. She made an effort not to look at the product with distaste as she knew they should all be grateful to have it, but, oh, how she missed the real thing! The margarine was purchased in a round white glob with a red button of coloring in the middle that had to be massaged into the contents to color it yellow. She'd heard her first graders discuss how they competed with siblings for that honor, but Dimple Kilpatrick would be a happy woman when butter came in the color God made it.

“Augusta, this soup is delicious,” Velma said. “I wonder if I might have half a bowl more?”

Augusta smiled and dished up a ladleful from the tureen. “Why, have all you want. There's plenty.

“I wonder,” she continued, “if the next step—after Jo and her sister return, of course—is to talk with Dora's sister in Tennessee.”

Velma put down her spoon. “I think that's an excellent idea, Augusta. I've been thinking, we have a long weekend coming up, and I've heard that's a lovely area. I've been frugal with my gasoline coupons, so I should have enough to get us there and back. This thing with Dora has worried me more than I'd like to admit. I mean, the woman was
here
—right here in this house—and I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd like to get to the bottom of it.”