Miss Dimple Suspects (14 page)

Later, as they cleared away the dishes, Dimple told her of their visit to the nephews the day before, and of meeting the couple from the church.

Suzy filled a dishpan with hot soapy water. “Curtis … the name sounds familiar. I believe those are the people who came to the house—came a couple of times if I’m not mistaken. I never met them, of course, but Miss Mae Martha seemed to like them.” She put the flatware in to soak. “And how are Esau and Isaac? I suppose they’re convinced I killed their aunt.”

“I think they just want the truth, as we all do,” Miss Dimple said. “And you might as well know the police found your prints on the poker that was used.…”

Suzy gripped the side of the sink with both hands and shook her head. “I’m not surprised, since I was the one who used it—to tend the fire.”

“By the way,” Dimple added, “as we were leaving we received a surprise visit from that fellow Bill Pitts.”

Suzy made a face as Dimple told her about how the man stood in front of the car. “I’ll have to admit I never felt comfortable around him. Miss Mae Martha seemed to get along fine with Bill, but she liked almost everybody, I guess.”

After the dishes were clean, Suzy stacked them in a dishpan and scalded them with boiling water from the kettle. Miss Dimple picked up a dish towel to dry. “You said something earlier about Mrs. Hawthorne injuring her ankle on some hickory nuts that were on the steps. Did that happen often?”

“Only once that I know of.” Suzy gave her a questioning look. “I swept the porch and steps clean and that seemed to be the end of it.”

“That’s odd.” Dimple frowned as she tossed the dried silverware into the drawer. “If the branches hung over the porch, I’d think more would eventually fall. It’s most unlikely for a tree to shed its harvest all at once, don’t you think?”

Suzy met her gaze across the table. “Do you think somebody might have
put them there
?”

“I’m beginning to believe it’s possible,” Dimple said. “But
who
?”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

“What are you going to do with yourself when the assembly program’s over?” Charlie asked Lottie Nivens as they walked to school that last Friday before Christmas vacation began.

“Kate plans to take several weeks off, so I expect I’ll be here at least through January,” Lottie said as they waited to cross Katherine Street. “That is, if Miss Bessie can put up with me!” she added.

“She loves having you here!” Charlie burrowed her hands deep in her coat pockets, having forgotten her gloves. “I’ve never seen her so excited about Christmas. Delia and I are bringing you a tree from the country when we get ours.”

“She’s been so kind to me—everyone has.” Lottie smiled as she looked around. “A cousin of ours lived here for a short time when she was growing up and it’s every bit as nice as she said it would be. I wish … well, when Hal comes home after the war, maybe we…”

“I don’t see why not,” Charlie said. “I’m sure Miss Bessie would be glad to have both of you until you find a place of your own.” Lottie waved to Clarissa Sullivan as she swept her walk across the street and paused to admire the large magnolia in her yard. “I love a magnolia, don’t you? They’re messy, I know, but there’s something kind of sheltering about them—gives me a good kind of feeling.”

“They make good Christmas decorations, too,” Charlie agreed. Her mother already had a glossy arrangement on the dining room table. Even though the town had to forego its usual colored outside lights because of the threat of bombing, most people managed to display some token of the season. A large evergreen wreath with a red bow hung in Phoebe Chadwick’s front window, and on the Elrods’ porch next door, a freshly cut cedar waited in a bucket of water to be taken inside; even Marjorie Mote, who had lost a son in the war, had tied a festive wreath of holly on her door.

There would be no lessons today and the children would be wild, but a nice kind of wild, Charlie thought. The assembly program would take up most of the morning, and the afternoon would be filled with parties in the individual classrooms. Even with the rationing of sugar, grade mothers had been baking Christmas goodies for the children and in every classroom mounds of tissue-wrapped gifts surrounded a small cedar or pine brought in from the countryside and decorated with popcorn and colored paper. Earlier Charlie had purchased and wrapped several small gifts from the dime store in case someone didn’t receive one from the person who drew his name. It was not a day for tears and disappointments.

And it wasn’t a day for worrying, either. Just for today, Charlie decided, she wasn’t going to think about what had happened to Mae Martha Hawthorne and the woman they were sheltering from the local police.

That notion lasted until noontime.

“Would it be possible for us to take a short drive to the Hawthorne place tomorrow?” Miss Dimple asked as she, Charlie, and Annie hurried back to school after a hasty pick-up lunch at Phoebe’s. “Virginia will be at the library most of the day and I don’t believe we should delay this any longer than we have to.”

“As long as I’m free in the afternoon,” Charlie told her. “I promised Delia we’d look for our tree tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t that family live out that way somewhere?” Annie asked. “The people who’re getting the basket?”

“You’re right. The Culpeppers,” Miss Dimple said. “It shouldn’t be too far out of the way. I believe they live a few miles farther on.”

For several weeks the first through fourth grades had been collecting nonperishable food and small gifts for a family that had fallen upon hard times after the father was killed in the war, although only the teachers knew who would receive the basket.

“I’ll tell Mr. Faulkenberry we’ll collect it in the morning,” Miss Dimple said, referring to the school principal. “I have a key if the janitor’s not there to let us in.”

Charlie laughed. “Good! That’ll give me an excuse to take the car. Mama and Aunt Lou don’t miss a thing, you know, and they’ve been asking a lot of questions about our recent outings. I honestly don’t know how much longer I can pull the wool over their eyes.”

Annie paused on the steps when they reached the brick building with the belfry that housed their respective classrooms. “When shall we three meet again?” she asked with a grin. Charlie laughed and Miss Dimple smiled as well. Both knew she was quoting from the witches’ scene by her favorite playwright.

They didn’t qualify as witches, Charlie thought, but what they were doing was scary just the same.

*   *   *

“I feel like Santa,” Charlie said the next morning after they had delivered the basket to a small unpainted house with a clean-swept yard where a yellow cat sunned itself on the steps and a tire swing hung from the only tree. She was glad they had thought to add fruit and candy to the other contributions when she saw the three small children peering from behind their mother. What would become of them? she wondered. Her sister, Delia, had moved back home after her husband was shipped to the front. If anything happened to Ned, Delia would eventually have to find work while their mother and Charlie helped raise their child. She hoped this woman had family she could rely on as well, but most of all she hoped Ned would come safely home.

“What now?” Charlie asked as they turned back onto the main road.

“Now I’d like to investigate some hickory nuts,” Miss Dimple said.

“Some
what
?” Annie laughed, wondering if she’d heard correctly.

Dimple explained why she wanted a look at the trees close to Mrs. Hawthorne’s porch. “Most of the leaves have fallen by now, but some of the nuts would still be on the ground and the bark would probably have a shaggy appearance,” she added.

“And if we don’t find them there…?” Annie sat forward in her seat.

“Then they must have been scattered there on purpose,” Miss Dimple said. “A fall from the top of those steps might have injured her badly—or worse. As it was, she only got a bad sprain.”

“I guess Suzy will be blamed for that as well,” Charlie said as they turned into the road that led to Mae Martha’s property. “Somebody has made sure there’s evidence against her. The empty money box was supposedly
hidden
on top of her wardrobe, and naturally the poker had her prints.”

Annie glanced out the window as they made their way slowly up the rutted winding road. “I sure hope we don’t meet up with any of Mae Martha’s kin. They might wonder what we’re doing here.”

“And I’d just as soon not run into Bill,” Charlie admitted.

It had rained some during the night and it took longer than usual for Charlie to maneuver around pondlike puddles in the road in addition to the usual rocks and ruts. They parked in the graveled area behind the house and walked around to the front, where the wide porch stretched from one side to the other.

“Do you feel as sad as I do?” Charlie said, noticing that someone had turned the rocking chairs against the wall. The war had reminded all of them that life might end abruptly, taking with it a part of those left behind. She didn’t know Mae Martha well at all, but felt diminished by her death.

Annie murmured in agreement as they searched the ground for hickory nuts, and Dimple didn’t answer because she was having trouble getting past the lump in her throat. The house, once warm and welcoming, was dark and empty and joyless. Mae Martha Hawthorne wouldn’t have recognized it.

“Well, I haven’t found one hickory nut,” Charlie said after the three had been searching for a while.

“That’s because there aren’t any here. I know they grow around here because I noticed several shagbark hickories the day we searched for Peggy, but they were lower on the hillside. There are several redbud trees up here, as well as a few young oaks and dogwoods, and of course plenty of pines, but I couldn’t find even one hickory close to this house.”

“I knew they had to grow in this area,” Annie said as they made their way back to the car. “The other day in the blacksmith shop I noticed Isaac Ingram had fitted some of his tools with handles and he told me most were made from hickory.”

Charlie shivered as they waded through soggy leaves. The place was bleak and gray with a raw chill and smelled of dampness and decay. She flooded the engine in her rush to leave and had to wait to try again. “This place makes me uneasy,” she confessed. “I know I’m being silly, but I have a feeling somebody’s watching us.”

Miss Dimple spoke softly. “Someone is.”

“Who? Where?”
Oh, please, God, don’t let it flood again!
The engine finally sputtered to life and the old Studebaker rocked forward. Charlie found herself gritting her teeth as they splashed, slipped, and bumped to the bottom of the hill. “It will be fine with me if I never see this place again!” she said. “Miss Dimple, were you able to see who was watching us?”

“I’m afraid not. Whoever it was, was partially obscured by an evergreen. All I could see were legs.”

Annie frowned. “A man’s legs or a woman’s legs?”

“It’s hard to say with so many women wearing slacks now. I suppose it could’ve been either.” Miss Dimple looked at the small timepiece pinned to her dress. “We’ve a good part of the morning left. If you don’t mind, I’d like to pay a call.”

Annie glanced at her muddy feet and giggled. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring my white gloves, Miss Dimple.”

Charlie smiled. What a relief to make light of the situation! Yet she knew that Dimple Kilpatrick actually did keep a pair of spotless white gloves in her bottomless handbag.

“I noticed that we passed the house where the Curtises live when we went to take that basket this morning,” Miss Dimple pointed out. “I saw their names on the mailbox.”

Annie frowned. “Who are the Curtises?”

“The couple from Mrs. Hawthorne’s church,” Miss Dimple reminded her. “They brought supper to Esau Ingram and his wife while we were there the other day. Remember the fried chicken?”

“Ah—of course! But won’t it seem kind of strange—our dropping in like this?” Charlie asked.

But Miss Dimple had that covered as well. “They seemed a pleasant sort and I feel certain they might share a few sprays from that lovely holly tree in their yard. Phoebe would like some, I know, and Virginia as well. I would have felt uncomfortable asking them about Mrs. Hawthorne with the Ingrams present and this might offer an opportunity to get an opinion from someone outside the family.”

Charlie nodded. “It’s all right with me, but I’m afraid I didn’t bring any clippers.”

Miss Dimple patted her handbag. “My little pocketknife should do fine.”

*   *   *

“Well, of course! Please take all you want,” Harriet Curtis said when she met them at the door. “We use that holly tree to decorate our church every Christmas and, my goodness, you can hardly tell we’ve taken any.”

“Miss Dimple, Annie and I will do that,” Charlie offered, accepting the pocketknife. “I know you must be tired from all our tramping around.” She avoided looking at Annie, knowing, as Annie did, that the morning’s amount of walking was trifling to Dimple Kilpatrick. It did encourage, however, the invitation they had hoped for.

“Oh, you mustn’t wait out here in the cold! Please, come in and get warm. There’s coffee on the stove and I’ll cut us a nice piece of fruitcake. Stanley can’t ever wait until Christmas to get into it so we might as well enjoy some before he eats the whole thing.”

Dimple, who had begun to remove her shoes on the doorstep, considered slipping them back on. She simply despised fruitcake and the idea of anyone consuming an entire cake almost made her ill.

“Thank you. Coffee would be most welcome, but I really don’t care for—”

“Nonsense!” Harriet Curtis seated Dimple at a small kitchen table covered in bright blue oilcloth and proceeded to pour the coffee. Dimple eyed the tin warily as her hostess pried off the cover. “I really shouldn’t…” she began as Harriet sliced into the cake … “Well, just a
small
piece, please.” She hoped it wouldn’t have citron in it. Her aunt Ethel had used enough for ten cakes in her recipe and had always brought one along on her annual Christmas visit.