Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause (31 page)

“Well, at least for
part of the time.
” Lou’s eyes gleamed. “Just think, Jo, if we can find out who
that
was, we’ll know who Millie was running from when she fell—and maybe even who killed Cynthia Murphy!”

“Jordan should be home from school in a few hours. Let’s see what he has to say.” Jo loved her sister—if only there were some way to dampen her reckless enthusiasm.

Twisting her dish towel, Lou walked from one end of her kitchen to the other. “I don’t know. That’s a long time to wait, Jo. I think we need to set up a trap.”

Jo sighed. “What kind of trap?”

Lou thought about that for a minute. “Well, one of us could call Reynolds on the phone—tell him we know what he did—that we have proof…”

“What kind of proof?”

“It doesn’t matter what kind of proof, Josephine. He won’t know we don’t have any. Anyway, you’ll arrange a place to meet him—someplace private…”

“
I’ll
meet him? What about you?” Jo demanded.

“Silly, we’ll all be there—the police, too,” her sister explained, “but he wouldn’t be aware of that yet. Then when he makes a move toward you, that’s when we step in.”

They heard the front door close just then and Ed Willingham hollered, “Dinner ready? I’m home!”

“Oh, lordy! Don’t let on to Ed,” Lou said. “He’ll never understand.

“Back here, Ed!” she yelled.

“I have to get home. Talk to you later,” Jo told her. On the way out she gave her brother-in-law a resounding kiss on the cheek. She had never been as glad to see him.

The spicy aroma of gingerbread greeted her when she got home, and Jo was delighted to find her younger daughter peeling potatoes for supper.

“I told Mrs. Mote I’d come back and read to her this afternoon,” Delia said. “She’s broken her wrist, and it’s hard for her to hold the book. Besides,” she added, “I think she likes being around my little Pooh Bear.”

Jo smiled. “And who wouldn’t?” she asked, giving the baby a kiss. “Smells like gingerbread. Is that for Marjorie?”

“And for us, too, if it turns out all right.” Delia frowned. “What’s wrong, Mama? You look worried. I’m not going to burn down the house—I promise.”

Jo laughed. “It’s just something I have to think about, but it will keep, and if your aunt Lou calls, tell her I’m not here.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-EIGHT

Miss Dimple stood on the corner watching the convoy of trucks passing by, each khaki-colored vehicle filled with soldiers wearing the same drab color. Most smiled and waved back at the people who had gathered to wish them well. Across the street Marjorie and John Mote stood together on the curb with hope on their faces and the worst kind of hurt in their hearts. Some of the soldiers laughed and called out, and a few threw chewing gum and hard candy for the delighted children, who hustled to collect it. Most of the men looked young; they had probably finished their basic training, she thought, but had not yet seen war. How many would come back?

Beside her Willie Elrod stuffed a stick of gum into his mouth and waved a small American flag as high as his slender arm could reach. “One of these days,” he said proudly, “I’ll be on one of those trucks. I’m going to be a soldier, too!”

Dimple Kilpatrick drew in her breath, closed her eyes, and said a silent prayer.

*   *   *

What to do?
If she brought her concerns to the police and they turned out to be wrong, not only would she be a laughingstock, but she would also hurt an innocent person. But, Jo wondered, what if she was
right
? Cynthia Murphy had been killed, her body buried in a shallow grave; someone had to have pulled the trigger that injured Jesse Dean and then tried to burn down his house; and now Millie McGregor was dead, and she suspected it was all by the same hand. Who would be next?

Jo didn’t mention her concerns to Charlie when her daughter came home from school that afternoon. It had been several days since Charlie had heard from Will, and she was in a foul mood. Two of the boys in her class had gotten in a fight at recess, and she had been compelled to send them to the principal; a window shade in her classroom had fallen on a goldfish bowl in the windowsill, and not only did she cut her finger cleaning up the broken glass, but the surviving fish was now swimming around in an old metal candy box they’d used for crayons until they could replace the bowl. Charlie didn’t have much hope for its chances.

“And I know I shouldn’t be resentful, Mama,” she added, “but Annie got
three
letters from Frazier all at the same time yesterday and she’s been reading me parts of them all day. Doesn’t she know I haven’t had a word from Will all week? What’s the matter with him? You’d think he would at least call!”

Maybe the convoy passing their house that afternoon had increased her worries over Will as it had reminded all of them of the casualties of war. Jo tried to soothe her ruffled offspring as best she could. “Charlie, you know very well how it is with the mail. I’m sure you’ll hear something soon. Why don’t you see what’s on at the picture show this afternoon? Get your mind on something else.”

“Huh!” Charlie said, and disappeared into her room.

With one daughter out and the other in her room sulking, Jo took advantage of the opportunity to telephone Dimple Kilpatrick and was relieved to find her in. She needed someone with a level head.

“Coach McGregor should be at home by now,” Miss Dimple said when Jo explained the situation. “I’ll try again to convince him to tell me who Millie claimed she saw. He told me he wanted to be absolutely sure before he said anything as he plans to do some investigating on his own. I don’t think it would be a good idea, however, to tell him who you suspect. We don’t want to upset the apple cart.”

Jo Carr agreed and waited by the telephone for Miss Dimple to call her back. It didn’t take long.

“Your suspicions are correct,” Miss Dimple told her. “Could we meet somewhere and talk about this? There’s no privacy here or I’d invite you over.”

“Then I’ll come by for you,” Jo said. They seldom used the car in their garage, and as far as she knew it still had gas in the tank.

She found Miss Dimple waiting by the curb, her purple coat buttoned to the chin as the afternoon had turned much colder. “I do believe we might be going to have our first frost,” Miss Dimple said.

Jo didn’t answer. The weather wasn’t her main concern just then, but she knew Miss Dimple was mulling the problem in her mind and would eventually come up with a practical solution. At the older woman’s suggestion, she drove into town and parked on one of the less crowded streets.

“I don’t believe your sister’s idea of a trap is the best way to handle the situation,” Dimple said after a time.

“Then how?” Jo shivered. She wished she’d parked in the sun.

“First, I believe we should speak with Cyrus Stone at the Super Service. If it’s true that Reynolds did, indeed, indulge in a longing for ice cream, it would prove most embarrassing for all of us.”

Jo agreed. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

They found Cyrus behind the candy counter, treating himself to a bag of peanuts and a NuGrape soda. Why, of course he remembered the night of that fire at Jesse Dean’s, he told them. He’d had a heck of a time getting past the fire truck and all that commotion on his way home that night. Cyrus frowned. Good gracious! The last time Reynolds Murphy had been there was sometime back in the summer when he came in to get a tire patched.

“Now what?” Jo asked as they drove back to town.

“I think we should confront him all together.” Dimple looked at her watch. “Most of the stores close at six, and he always stays after to take care of the accounts and to lock up.”

Noticing Jo’s doubt, Miss Dimple continued. “I know this man. I’ve known him for a long time, as have you. I don’t know how this all started, what made him do the things it looks like he’s done, but I can assure you that he’s suffering. That’s a lot of guilt to carry around. It must be a terrible burden. I think it would be a relief for him to finally face the truth.”

“But he shot Jesse Dean! And look what happened to Millie McGregor.”

“Reynolds Murphy is a crack shot, Jo. Why, he instructs the Home Guard in riflery. I don’t think Jesse Dean was his intended target, but I do think he wouldn’t be alive today if Reynolds had wanted to kill him.

“As for what happened to the coach’s wife,” she continued, “that might have been an accident, although I don’t think there’s any doubt he was responsible for it.”

Jo drew in her breath. She wanted to put an end to all the questions, the fears, the doubts they had lived with for the past several weeks, but she also wanted to live to welcome their sons home from the war, to see Charlie happily married, and to watch her grandchildren grow up. “And what if he isn’t all that eager to confess?” she asked.

“Then that would be Bobby Tinsley’s problem, and Sheriff Holland’s, too, of course, as Cynthia Murphy was probably killed out in the county. Naturally, I intend to ask Bobby to come with us.”

Jo frowned. “Do you believe Bobby will go along with it? What makes you think he’ll take our word?”

Miss Dimple smiled. “Let’s just wait and see.”

*   *   *

Jo insisted that Lou be included in the plan as she wanted to be able to exist peacefully with her sister for the duration of their lives, and they agreed that the two of them would wait in the car while Dimple went in to talk with the police chief. When she came out she wasn’t exactly smiling, but she did look a bit pleased with herself.

“We’re to meet Bobby at the end of the alley that runs behind the store promptly at six thirty,” she told them. “That will give Reynolds time to account for the sales they took in today and put the money in the safe. His office opens onto that alley, and I’ll knock on the door and call to him so he won’t be alarmed. Bobby thinks he’ll be more likely to open the door to me, but of course he’ll be right there with us.”

Jo gasped. “What if he has a gun?”

But Miss Dimple only frowned and shook her head.

“And then what?” Lou asked.

Miss Dimple took time to tuck a soft gray strand of hair under her violet knitted hat. “Then we tell him what we suspect he did, that we know from Jordan that Millie saw him put the rifle in his own car the night of the follies and we believe she was trying to blackmail him for that reason.”

“And I’ll tell him I recognized him from the way he ran the night Millie struck her head,” Jo said, “and we know he wasn’t at the Super Service the night of Jesse Dean’s fire.”

“What do I tell him?” Lou wanted to know.

“You tell him that it’s time for him to admit his mistakes and make a clean breast of things. Tell him that no matter what he’s done, he’s still one of ours, but it’s time for him to pay the price.” Miss Dimple might have been speaking to one of her students.

Lou brightened. “I’ll try, but I’m not sure I can remember all that.”

*   *   *

She did, however, and said it most convincingly with only the slightest tremor in her voice.

After a brief pause, Reynolds Murphy had opened the door at Miss Dimple’s request to find the four of them standing there, and at first he didn’t seem to notice Bobby Tinsley in the background. When he did, he stepped back and let them have their say, and as Miss Dimple had predicted, he didn’t deny their accusations.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen to Millie McGregor,” he said later. She had attempted to blackmail him, he said, and he had waited that night to see who would show up to collect the money. “When she saw me, she ran, and I ran after her. I don’t know what I meant to do—frighten her, maybe—but I certainly didn’t intend to kill her,” he told them. “It looked like she ran into a tree and fell. I didn’t know until later she’d hit her head on a rock. I ran, of course, because I didn’t want anyone knowing why she expected me to pay her. It’s true she’d seen me put that rifle in my own car,” he admitted. “I did it to confuse them after what happened to Jesse Dean, but Millie threatened to tell everyone what she’d seen. I only wanted to try and reason with her. You have to believe me—I wasn’t planning to hurt her.”

“What about Jesse Dean?” Jo asked. “He could’ve died, you know. And you were the one who set fire to that trash can, too, weren’t you? What has he ever done to you, Reynolds?” Jo was fond of Jesse Dean Greeson, and it saddened her to think how he must have suffered.

Reynolds shook his head and sighed. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing! I only set that fire so everyone would believe Jesse Dean was the original target, and I made sure he got out before it did much damage.”

“So convenient, your being there,” Miss Dimple commented, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Buddy Oglesby was supposed to be on that side of the stage—not Jesse Dean, and I only meant to frighten him.”

“Why?” Miss Dimple wanted to know.

“Because he’d said earlier—back when rehearsals first started—that even though he had nothing to do with my wife’s death, he insinuated that he knew who did. Cynthia had told me the two of them had been sweet on each other years ago, and I knew they’d kept in touch. I didn’t know how much he knew or thought he knew … I’ll admit I can’t bear to look at the man, but I just meant to scare him into silence, that’s all.”

“You scared him, all right,” Bobby Tinsley said. “He took off and didn’t come back until we dragged him home.”

“He wasn’t even talking about you,” Jo told him. “Buddy thought H. G. Dobbins was responsible for Cindy’s death.”

“Still, he had no business keeping after Cindy. They’d been a couple in high school—
high school,
mind you! Why couldn’t he leave her alone?”

Bobby Tinsley didn’t tell him that from what he’d heard, it was Cynthia who wouldn’t leave Buddy alone. “Do you want to tell us how your wife ended up buried next to the Hutchinsons’ cotton field? Was that an accident, too?”

Reynolds Murphy didn’t try to stop the tears. “It
was
an accident! I didn’t mean to kill her. I loved her, and I don’t think anybody who knows me would argue with that. Cindy was my world—she and Ross.” He paused and shook his head.
“Was,”
he repeated.