Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (28 page)

“Didn't Jo Carr tell us the police officer there in Fieldcroft—what's his name? Reece something—anyway, he told her he'd let us know if Lucille left town. Do you suppose he forgot?” Phoebe said.

Dimple closed the curtains with a twitch and glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I think we should let Chief Tinsley know what's going on. Perhaps he can get in touch with the officer in Fieldcroft.”

Dimple relayed the information to Warren Nelson, who assured her they would patrol the neighborhood that night and keep an eye out for Lucille's whereabouts. “Meanwhile,” he told her, “be sure to keep your doors locked, and call us if you hear anything out of the ordinary.”

“Huh! He won't have to worry about that!” Lily snorted. “I doubt if I'll close my eyes all night.”

*   *   *

“I worried about that Lucille woman all night,” Lily said at breakfast the next day. “I don't think I got a wink of sleep.”

Velma laughed. “Then what was all that noise I heard coming from your side of the room? I thought we were being attacked by the enemy.”

Fortunately, Augusta placed a dish of steaming waffles on the table, delaying Lily's response. Later, as the teachers were getting ready to leave for school, Phoebe telephoned Odessa, who said her aunt was improving, although not fast enough for her, and left a message for Bob Robert.

“Are you all all right over there?” Odessa asked, her voice dark with concern. “I hear there've been some funny goings-on.”

Not wanting to worry her, Phoebe assured Odessa that they missed her but that everyone was fine.

“Humph!” Odessa responded. “So, who's taking care of all of you while I been gone?”

Phoebe told her a temporary worker from an agency was filling in to help out.

“She feedin' you all right?” Odessa wanted to know, and Phoebe whispered that the temp was doing fine
for now
and they were doing their best to get by without her, so please not to worry about them. How could she admit they looked forward to Augusta's meals as much as they had Odessa's?

“Humph!” Odessa said again.

*   *   *

Bobby Tinsley dropped by around noon, just in time for some of Augusta's apple cobbler with whipped cream on top. He had been in touch with the authorities in Fieldcroft and was told that Reece Cagle hadn't been aware that Lucille had left; he found out later that Edna Watson had dropped by the day before while he was out and left a message on his desk, but it had somehow disappeared.

“I wonder what happened to it?” Annie asked.

“I think I know.” Augusta passed a cup of coffee to Chief Tinsley. “My friend there tells me his receptionist is Lucille's niece.”

The chief finished the cobbler and leaned back in his chair. “Sounds like he might want to keep an eye on that one.”

Phoebe told them she had spoken with Evan Mitchell at the church and that he promised to remind Bob Robert to keep an eye out for the mysterious book. “If Dora meant to sell that book, she must've had a buyer in mind,” she added, frowning. “I wonder who it might've been.”

“Probably the person who killed her.” Annie's words were stark.

“I'll be willing to bet that's what Lucille Westbrook is after,” Bobby said. “Unless she got off the bus somewhere between Fieldcroft and here, she should've been here already,” he said, “but so far, nobody's seen hide nor hair of anyone new in town.”

“Wait a minute,” Miss Dimple began. “Didn't Jo or Lou mention something about a fellow in Fieldcroft who ran a small library? I believe they said he was a friend of Dora's, and there may be a chance he knows something about the book she planned to sell.”

“It's worth looking into,” Bobby said. “I'll try to check with one of the ladies this afternoon.”

“You'll have to wait until the bus gets back from Milledgeville,” Annie warned him. “They work three days a week at the munitions plant over there, and so does Bob Robert.

“I don't have anything special to do after school this afternoon,” she added, “and if the minister doesn't object, I'll be glad to look around the church and see if anything interesting turns up. I'm sure Charlie will want to help, too.”

Evan Mitchell said that was fine with him as long as they left his office alone, and he didn't see how Dora could've had access to that, as he kept it locked when he wasn't there.

*   *   *

“Why don't you search the balcony and I'll look in the choir loft, then we can go over the rest of the sanctuary together?” Annie suggested when they stepped inside the narthex that afternoon.

The day had been drizzly and gray and the stained-glass windows made the small church seem even darker. The minister had left for the day, planning to visit sick parishioners, so the church had an empty, eerie feeling, and Annie hurried to turn on a light. The old stone building, constructed soon after the turn of the century, consisted of the church proper, an office, and the belfry. A tiny kitchen, bathrooms, and a few Sunday school rooms made up the basement area. The sanctuary always remained open for worshipers, but on weekdays the floor below was locked.

“All I can find are hymnals and a few forgotten Sunday school papers,” Charlie reported after searching the balcony, “and it looks like somebody has been here before us. Everything's in a mess.”

Annie had no more success in the choir loft, where sheet music seemed to be strewn about. “If only we knew what to look for. These hymn books are far from new, but there's nothing rare about them.”

Charlie stood in the middle of the sanctuary and shrugged. “Beats me. Hey, you don't suppose we're looking for a Gutenberg Bible, do you?”

Annie laughed. “I don't think we'd have trouble recognizing that. It's huge—two volumes, I think—and written in Latin. I can't see Dora lugging that around in a paper bag!”

“Bob Robert will have a fit when he sees this mess, so let's try to straighten things as we go. Why don't I take this side of the aisle and you take that one,” Charlie suggested. “And hurry! I know it's a church, but this place is giving me the creeps.”

“Oh dear, looks like somebody forgot their gloves.” They had been searching silently when Annie held up a pair of tan leather gloves she'd found on the end of a pew. “Nice ones, too. I'll turn them in at the church office tomorrow, as I'm sure someone will be missing them.”

“Look and see if they have a name inside,” Charlie advised. “I'm always losing mine, so I try to put at least my initials in there.”

Annie sat down to examine the gloves, straining to see in the poor light.
“Charlie
 … These gloves belong to Lucille Westbrook. Come and look. Just inside, it's clearly marked
L. Westbrook.”

Joining her, Charlie gripped the back of the pew for support. “Looks like she got here before we did. Annie, what if Lucille's
here
? In this church. Right now?”

“But why would she bother us? That book—whatever it is—probably belongs to her or her son. We're not trying to claim it.”

Charlie sighed. “No, but from what I've heard about Lucille, I doubt if she'd believe us. Look, I'm beginning to feel uneasy in here. Let's get out of this place.”

“I'm with you, but I left my coat down front.”

“Yeah, my hat and gloves are down there, too, but let's hurry!” Charlie urged.

They had almost reached the front of the sanctuary when Charlie froze in place. “Somebody's here!” she whispered, crouching behind a pew.

“Oh, you're just trying to scare me.”

“No, I'm not. Get down and be quiet.
Somebody's in the narthex.”

Annie was just about to tell her it was probably a worshiper who had come in to pray, when the lights went out overhead.

 

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-THREE

Charlie crept close beside Annie. “We're sitting ducks,” she whispered.

“No, we're not. Whoever that is can't see any better than we can,” Annie reminded her. “I think I know of a place we can hide, but we'll have to stay down. Just follow me.” Earlier, while searching the choir loft, she had noticed a small closet partially concealed by a dark curtain off to the side, and it was the only place she could think of to hide—if only Lucille, or whoever was out there, hadn't noticed it, too.

On their hands, knees, and stomachs, the two of them more or less shimmied under the pews to the open area in front of the pulpit, where Annie whispered directions. “Let's make a dash to the choir loft and see if she follows. If not, we can slip into the closet.” Charlie was jammed beside her so tightly, she could feel the imprint of her friend's jacket zipper on her shoulder, and she had encountered several hardened wads of chewing gum—at least she
hoped
it was gum—underneath the pews along the way.

How many steps up to the choir loft? One or two?
Annie wished she could remember. Thank goodness the carpet softened their movements as they crawled quickly behind the first row of seats in the loft, hardly daring to breathe.

Where was she?
Crouching, they listened as their eyes became adjusted to the dim interior of the church.
Just as Lucille's were doing!
Annie felt as if the world stood still, and all she could hear was the drumroll beating of her heart—plus, she was getting a cramp in her leg. Finally, after squatting statuelike for long, painful minutes, the two made their way to the covered doorway and slipped inside.

Feeling her way in the dark, Charlie bumped into a cardboard box, which threatened to tip over until she managed to get a firm grasp. The small closet-like room smelled musty and stale and she tried to calm her breathing and hoped she didn't run across a mouse—or vice versa. “Quick, lock the door!” she said in what she thought was Annie's direction.
Where was Annie anyway?

“I can't. There isn't a key.” Her words seemed to hover in the darkness.

Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into.
Why now, of all times, to remember the famous words attributed to comedians Laurel and Hardy? Annie thought.

“Then we'll just have to block it somehow.” Charlie's bleak words seemed hopeless.

“How?” Annie pressed an ear to the door. Nothing.

“Our bodies. We can block it with our bodies. After all, there're two of us and only one of her.”

“Charlie…”

“What?”

“I hate to have to tell you this, but…”

“But
what
?” Charlie hissed.

“We can't block the door,” Annie explained. “It opens
out.
”

“Oh … Annie, I'm scared.”

“So am I, but get off my foot.”

Shuddering, Charlie clawed at a spiderweb. The place must be covered in spiders, and there were probably mice in here, as well. “Can you hear anything out there?” she asked.

Annie shook her head and then realized Charlie couldn't see her. “Nothing. Maybe she's gone.”

“How long do we have to stay in here? I'm getting claustrophobia. What if that was just Bob Robert or somebody cutting off the lights to save electricity?”

That sounded like a lifeline to Annie, but, she reasoned, surely whoever did it would have heard them in the sanctuary, even if they didn't see them. “Let's wait awhile, okay? I'll think about Frazier, and you think about Will.”

“I
am
thinking about Will. I'm thinking I want to live to a ripe old age with him and have our children and grandchildren over on Sundays.” Charlie swallowed a sob. “And I think I'm about to sneeze.”

“Don't you dare! Hold a finger under your nose.”

Charlie clamped a hand over her mouth, smothering the sneeze just in time. “I hear somebody moving about out there. Listen!”

Annie groaned. “It's pitch-black dark in here. I can't see a thing. Feel around and see if there's anything we can use as a weapon.”

Charlie blindly groped the wall behind her, inching along until she came to what felt like a flagpole, but when she attempted to lift it out of its stand, the staff slipped from her hand and rolled to the floor with an enormous clatter.

“Well, that does it! Now everybody will know where we are,” she said, retrieving the pole at her feet. “Quick! Get back as far away from the door as you can and we can try to fight her off with this flagpole.”

Silence prevailed during the seconds that followed, and Charlie was beginning to wonder if they were truly alone, when her foot nudged something soft and bulky. “Annie? Where are you? What are you doing down here on the floor?”

“What? I'm over here!” Annie replied from the other side of the room.

Charlie knelt, and reaching out a trembling hand, drew in her breath when it met with another hand in the darkness, but this one was cold and still. “I think I've just found Lucille,” she said, and dropping the flagpole, ran screaming from the stifling room right into someone's outstretched arms.

“Charlie! Charlie!” Someone clasped her in a firm grip. “Honey, it's all right. It's me!”

Dazed, Charlie looked up into her mother's face and threw her arms around her. “There's a dead woman in there and I think it's Lucille Westbrook. We have to get out of here
now
.

“Annie? Where's Annie?”

“She's over here with me,” her aunt Lou said. The two huddled nearby in the choir loft, where Annie seemed to have a death grip on the older woman's arm. “Miss Dimple phoned your mother to ask if you had returned, as they were concerned you and Annie were taking so long over here.”

“So here we are,” Jo chimed in, “and thank goodness you're all right. Hurry now. We'll call the police from Phoebe's.”