Miss Dimple Disappears (13 page)

Determined, she climbed down from her perch, emptied the second drawer from the chest and turned it upside down on top of the table. This time she was able to see just over the edge of the window, but the filthy glass had obviously not been washed in years, if ever, and a small cedar and several berry-laden nandina bushes blocked most of her view. There was a small crack in the corner of the window pane and she saw that the cement that held the outside grille in place had begun to crumble. If she could push out the glass and pry it loose enough … Miss Dimple looked about. Mr. Smith had not yet collected her tray from the midday meal, which had included a bowl of canned tomato soup and a metal spoon with which to eat it. If she could manage to dislodge a large enough piece of glass, maybe—just maybe—she could dig away enough of the disintegrating cement to remove the grate and to escape.

But it took only a minute to realize that even if she did manage to remove the glass and the grillwork, the opening wasn’t large enough for her to crawl through, even if she could manage to pull herself up! She would just have to think of another way.

She had hardly put the furniture back into place when she heard the back door slam upstairs, and Miss Dimple sank into her chair with the beginnings of a quilt in her lap. She had been able to tell right away the man harbored bitter resentment and certainly wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. And although he tried to disguise it, his voice sounded vaguely familiar. She had heard it before—but where? And what did he mean when he said, “It isn’t money we’re after”? Dimple Kilpatrick thought that frightened her most of all.

*   *   *

Cornelia Emerson was tall, even taller than she was, Charlie noticed. She wore her dark hair in a pompadour, a round gold watch on a chain around her neck, and responded with a nod when the principal introduced them, saying in a clipped accent that she hadn’t taught in a while and hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed in her.

Everyone assured her that she would be just fine, although of course no one mentioned how grateful they were to be rid of Alma Owens. The woman wore a dark green suit with a gold lapel pin in the shape of the letter
C,
and in spite of the new teacher’s admission of misgivings, Charlie decided right away it could have stood for
Confidence.

“If you have any questions, just give any of us a holler,” Geneva said with a smile. “We’re kind of like family here, and everyone’s always glad to help.”

“And that goes for me as well,” Froggie added, before bustling away to investigate a ruckus on the playground.

Annie held out a hand. “I didn’t have a chance to welcome you to Phoebe’s last night, but I think you’ll find it about as close to home as you can get without actually being there. Some of us enjoy a game of bridge now and then after supper, and if you’re interested, we’re always looking for a fourth.”

“I see.” Cornelia’s expression didn’t change, but Charlie got the distinct impression she considered playing cards a waste of time. “I understand your Miss Kilpatrick was quite skilled in that area.”

“She
is,
yes,” Annie said, accenting the present tense. “I don’t know anybody who enjoys trumping an opponent’s ace more than Miss Dimple.”

Cornelia fingered her watch and frowned. “I don’t suppose you’ve learned any more concerning her whereabouts?”

“Not yet, but we’re hoping … we’re hoping
something
will turn up soon.” Charlie swallowed a lump in her throat. She didn’t think she would ever get used to seeing another teacher in Miss Dimple’s classroom.

“But isn’t it true that she left a note?”

“Right.” Annie nodded. “But you’ll have to ask Miss Phoebe about that.”

The first bell rang just then and Cornelia followed Geneva to supervise the lower grades as they lined up by the front steps.

“So, what do you think?” Annie asked as she and Charlie took their customary stations by the back door.

“I don’t think we’ll be hearing any more games of musical chairs or fruit basket turnover,” Charlie said. “I couldn’t help noticing how interested she was in what happened to Miss Dimple, but I guess I’d be curious, too, if I were in her place.”

Annie, who had come outside without a wrap, hugged herself for warmth. “Peculiar accent. I can’t place it.”

“Scandinavian, maybe?” Charlie clapped her hands. “Get in line, now, Marshall! The bell’s about to ring.”

“But, Miss Charlie, Willie says a spy’s been sleepin’ in the toolshed! He’s been eatin’ in there and everything.”

Charlie looked at Annie and groaned. That child saw spies in his sleep. “That toolshed always stays locked, Marshall. No one’s been sleeping in there. I’m afraid Willie has an overactive imagination.”

“No, ma’am, it’s true,” Ruthie Philips said, shoving Marshall aside. “There’s cans of Vienna sausage and baked beans in there, and a pile of old empty ones, too. Willie found burlap sacks all piled up like somebody’s been sleeping on them. Mr. Faulkenberry said they’ve done gone and broken the lock.”

*   *   *

“Probably Delby O’Donnell,” Geneva said when they discussed it during their midday meal. “Some of you might not remember, but Fro— uh, Mr. Faulkenberry had to run him off a couple of times last year.”

“That’s right.” Velma Anderson inhaled the aroma of her chicken pie and dug in with as much delicacy as she could muster. “Had too much to drink and his wife wouldn’t let him in the house.”

“Disgusting!” Lily Moss made a face to match. “Do you think he might have been the person who broke into Miss Dimple’s desk?”

“Not unless there was booze in there!” Geneva said, laughing in spite of Elwin’s disapproving glare.

The new teacher, Charlie noticed, didn’t have a lot to say during the meal, but concentrated on her food. The morning had been quiet and uneventful. The first-grade line had never been straighter as they walked to and from the building, and she had glanced in the doorway to see them sitting docilely in their assigned places, reciting their sums in unison.

“Any news from Miss Dimple’s brother, Henry?” Annie asked Phoebe over Odessa’s apple cobbler.

Their hostess shook her head. “He did say he was going to look into things, and I keep thinking I’ll hear something any day, but I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him.”

Charlie downed her last swallow of coffee. “I find that most peculiar,” she said, and several others agreed. But Elwin Vickery, she noticed, excused himself and left the table.

*   *   *

“Do you think Delby O’Donnell really might have been the one who broke into Miss Dimple’s desk?” Annie asked as she and Charlie walked to the library later that afternoon.

“I doubt it,” Charlie answered. “Geneva said Bobby Tinsley dusted for prints but the desk had been wiped clean except for the ones left by Alma and a couple of the children. Delby wouldn’t have worried about that. He probably left fingerprints all over the toolshed along with his stash of canned goods. Besides, that happened in the daytime, and it sounds like Delby only takes advantage of the sleeping accommodations there at night.”

She found herself peering into store windows as they passed the drugstore and straining to see if she could catch a glimpse of Hugh at the counter or inside the family dry goods store, hoping she might see him just one more time before he left.

“If you want an excuse to go inside, I need a couple of pairs of rayons,” Annie said, urging her across the street. “What I wouldn’t give for some decent nylons! I only have one pair left and even those have a run in them.”

But Charlie kept on walking. “This is Emmaline’s day and I’m not going to spoil it for her,” she insisted.

“Huh! You know you want to see him! You’re afraid of the old bat, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid of Hitler, too, and I’m not going to drop in on him, either,” Charlie told her. “Come on, now, let’s hurry before the library closes.”

*   *   *

Virginia Balliew looked up as they returned their books to the stack beside her desk. “You’re just the two I want to see,” she said, taking her pocketbook from a drawer. “I have something to show you.”

Silently she laid the tiny twist of purple yarn on the desk in front of them. “I found this caught on a crape myrtle bush between Phoebe Chadwick’s and the Elrods’,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

Charlie looked closer. “What? It looks like—”

Annie frowned. “Do you think it might have come from Miss Dimple’s purse?”

“It could have, according to Willie Elrod,” Virginia said, and told them the story the child’s mother had related to her. “And if there’s any truth in his tale, that’s exactly the thing Dimple would do … if she had time to think.” The librarian’s voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. “Every day I think maybe, just maybe, we’ll have some kind of explanation, but to tell you the truth, I’m very much afraid we’ll never see our old friend again.”

“Don’t say that, please!” Charlie, who felt like crying, too, put an arm around her. “Willie’s full of all kinds of wild tales about spies and creatures from Mars. He told me the same story just the other day. I wouldn’t put too much faith in what he says.”

Virginia fingered the shred of yarn and returned it to her purse. “Then where is she?”

“Did you show that to the police?” Annie asked. “It’s not much, but at least it’s something to go on.”

Virginia sighed as she began to sort the returned books. “Bobby promised he’d come by and look at it but the man hasn’t darkened my door yet!”

“Then we’ll just have to see that he does,” Charlie said, frowning, although she really didn’t think Bobby Tinsley would know what to do with a clue if it slapped him in the face. “Have you ever met Miss Dimple’s brother?” she asked Virginia.

“Henry? Yes, he’s treated us to dinner in Atlanta on several occasions. The two of them have always been close. She practically raised him, you know, although”—Virginia lowered her voice—“I don’t believe Dimple cares very much for his wife.”

And that was when Charlie decided she would try to find out why Henry Kilpatrick hadn’t shown up to look for his sister. If Annie could manage to get his phone number from Phoebe Chadwick, she would telephone him tonight.

But her mother and Aunt Lou were holding a record-breaking phone conversation when she got home later that day, and every time Charlie approached to interrupt, Jo Carr covered the mouthpiece with her hand and gave her daughter a “go away” look. Charlie finally gave up and escaped to the kitchen where she opened a can of Spam for supper.

A persistent knocking on the front door startled them later as she and her mother finished putting away the supper dishes and Jo immediately switched off the overhead light. “Could that be Jesse Dean? Hurry, Charlie, and get the curtains! I didn’t know we were having a blackout tonight! Did you hear the siren?”

But it wasn’t Jesse Dean standing on the darkened porch. It was Hugh Brumlow, and Charlie forgot all about telephoning Miss Dimple’s errant brother.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Bessie Jenkins smiled at herself in the mirror. That new hair color really was becoming—not nearly as brash as the cheaper kind, and hadn’t Ollie said it made her look even younger? “Even younger.” Those were his very words, and tonight he would be bringing a slice of country ham and some of that good stone-ground corn meal from his employer’s larder. Old Paschall Kiker couldn’t afford to pay him much, but he was generous in other ways, and now that Ollie had that job at the school, he had even hinted at taking her out to supper. Bessie fluffed the bow at her throat. It helped to hide her sagging chin, and the striped print of her cotton blouse brought out the green in her eyes. She had stayed up well past her usual bedtime the night before to finish sewing it and was pleased with the way it turned out.

In the kitchen, Bessie paused to admire the single pink sasanqua blossom floating in a cut glass bowl and centered it on the table. Her camellia bush had bloomed late that year and this would probably be the last of them.

Hearing a slight noise outside, she hurried to turn on the outside light for Ollie. He usually brought his bicycle up on the porch when he came as it was almost impossible to buy anything made of metal now and somebody had even stolen a neighbor child’s roller skates just the other day. She glanced at the clock. It was already dark at a little after six, but Ollie wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes. Bessie narrowed her eyes as she peered through the living room window before turning on the light. What was Ollie doing out there? Why didn’t he come on in? She had her hand on the doorknob to call to him when she realized it wasn’t Ollie, but Jesse Dean Greeson who stood right there in the middle of her front yard obviously studying her house.

*   *   *

“They’re up to something,” Charlie said the next morning.

“They who?” Annie asked, soothing a sobbing second grader, who had skidded in the gravel. The two had playground duty and several of the children in the lower grades were engaging in the popular pastime of “boys catching girls.”

“Mama and Aunt Lou. I can’t keep an eye on them all the time and, of course, they take advantage of it.”

Annie sent the injured child to the office for Mercurochrome and a bandage. “How? What’ve they done now?”

“Well, for one thing, they’re gone,” Charlie explained.

Annie gasped, thinking, no doubt, of the missing Miss Dimple. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Mama wasn’t there when I got up this morning, so naturally I called Aunt Lou. No answer. They’re together, all right. I know they’ve been plotting something.”

“Hey! No shoving!” Annie called out suddenly. “Where do you think they might be?”

“Oh, I know where they are,” Charlie said. “They’re out trailing the milkman.”

*   *   *

“Did you see which way he turned?” Lou asked. “What’s wrong with you? For heaven’s sake, Josephine, sit up, will you? You can’t see anything all bent over like that.”

Her sister, who had crouched beneath the dashboard, pulled herself erect. “Well, I don’t want him seeing me, either. I’m almost sure he turned left onto Wintergreen Street but it’s hard to tell in the dark. Wait … isn’t that him? That’s Amos, all right, stopping at Edwina Foster’s … and he’ll probably be there a while, too. With all those children, there’s no telling how many gallons they’ll need.”