Miss Dimple Suspects (22 page)

“I doubt if either of them would know your aunt or your mother,” Dimple assured her. “What reason would they have to link the two incidents?”

“Oh, dear!” Pausing, Annie turned to face the others. “That might not be completely true.”

“What do you mean?” Miss Dimple asked.

“I left the jar of chow-chow on their porch. It has your aunt’s name on the label.”

Charlie shrugged. “Oh, well, I think we should let Miss Dimple handle the situation,” she suggested, holding aside a clawing limb. “You certainly thought fast back there when the Ingrams suddenly showed up.”

Miss Dimple poked at a briar with her umbrella. “I dislike telling falsehoods as a rule, but there are times when a person has to do what she deems necessary.”

“This Rebecca sounds like a recluse,” Annie said. “I hope she doesn’t have a shotgun.”

“I expect she’s just shy because of her scarred face,” Miss Dimple told her. “At any rate, we should find out in a minute.”

The small house sat in a grassy area bordered by trees on one side and a fenced garden on the other. A weathered barn sat behind the house, and to the rear of that, the rolling hills of a pasture. The garden was barren now, but a tangle of brown bean vines still clung to the remaining skeletons of cornstalks and it looked as if the withered leaves of melons or pumpkins had been gathered into piles at one end. At one time the house had been painted white but it was sorely in need of another coat, and orange-red berries on nandina bushes on either side of the steps gave the only color to a drab setting.

Miss Dimple walked boldly up to the front door and knocked but it appeared that either the woman wasn’t at home, or didn’t welcome company.

“I don’t see a light inside,” Annie said, peering in a window. “Maybe she isn’t here.”

“She has to be somewhere unless she knows how to fly,” Charlie said. “There’s no way a car could make it down that driveway.”

“Perhaps she’s somewhere out back,” Miss Dimple suggested, noticing a plump calico cat inside on a chair by the window. “Surely she can’t have gone far.”

“Maybe we should try the back door,” Annie said, leading the way around the side of the house. But although a glance through the window revealed a tidy kitchen with yellow dishes lining a green-painted cupboard and a potted red geranium on a table, the house seemed empty and silent.

“Suzy said Mrs. Hawthorne’s milk and eggs were always left in the springhouse,” Miss Dimple recalled, looking about. “I expect it’s in that stone building over there under the oak.

“Mrs. Wyatt!” she called, not wanting to startle the woman as they approached the small, ivy-covered springhouse. She repeated the greeting as they drew nearer, but no one answered.

“Wow! It’s even colder in here than it is outside,” Charlie said, shivering as they stooped under the low door and stepped down into the earthy chill of the springhouse, where a stream of clear water flowed through a wooden trough in the center of the building. Crocks of milk and butter were keeping cold in the water along with a wire basket of eggs. Shelves along the sides of the walls held jars of canned vegetables, probably from Rebecca’s garden, as well as baskets of onions and potatoes. A dipper hung from a shelf near the spring.

The evasive Rebecca was obviously industrious, Dimple thought, and probably wouldn’t welcome their prying about. “This woman, it seems, is an extremely private person,” she said. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. I believe we should leave right now.”

“Suits me!” Charlie said, following her up the narrow steps.

“Ah! ‘How poor are they that have not patience!’” Annie quoted. “We’re here now. Why pass up the opportunity? Let’s at least take a quick look in the barn. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The usual chickens roamed about the barnyard, but the three stalls inside the building were empty except for obvious evidence of resident cows that had most likely been turned out to pasture. Annie scampered up the ladder for a hasty glance into the loft to report it revealed nothing but hay, while Dimple inspected a storage room in the rear.

“Okay, we looked,” Charlie said, stepping outside where a blast of cold wind whipped bare branches of the lone tree in the barn lot, causing her to turn up her collar. “I couldn’t see any place in there where paintings might be stored, could you?”

Miss Dimple shook her head. “Nor could I. Let’s head on back, shall we?” She didn’t want to say anything to the others, but Dimple was almost certain she’d seen something in there that seemed out of place, and she had an uneasy feeling that the sooner they left, the better.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-ONE

It was almost impossible to hurry as they made their way across Rebecca Wyatt’s soggy backyard but Dimple Kilpatrick picked up her feet and set the pace. Once they reached the car, she could begin to relax, but she wouldn’t feel completely at ease until they were surrounded by the dear, familiar town of Elderberry.

“Golly, Miss Dimple!” Annie protested, panting. “Are we going to a fire or something? I can’t keep up with you.”

They jumped as the sharp crack of a rifle shot rang out that seemed to come from the other side of the house.

“What’s
that
?” Charlie asked, pausing.

“Probably just somebody hunting,” Annie said, catching up with her.

“Don’t stop!”
Quickly Miss Dimple reached back to hook the crook of her umbrella on Charlie’s arm and gave her an unceremonious tug.

Good heavens! What’s come over our Miss Dimple?
Charlie glanced at her old teacher in concern but she didn’t have time to do anything else before a second shot zinged nearby, sounding much too close for comfort.

“Run!” Miss Dimple shouted, giving the umbrella, and Charlie along with it, another tug.

But where? The house was probably locked, and even if it wasn’t, chances were, the person shooting was Rebecca Wyatt herself. Dimple looked about. The closest building was a small shed at the edge of the now-spent garden. “This way!” she commanded, and took off in that direction.

Good heavens, was she leading them from the frying pan into the fire?
Dimple wondered as she slid off the metal bar that kept the door closed. Together they wrenched open the door and stepped inside a tiny, foul-smelling room less than half the size of Phoebe Chadwick’s garage, and since there was no window, it took awhile for their eyes to become adjusted to the darkness.

“We’re going to be sitting ducks in here!” Annie said, attempting to hold the door shut behind them. “What’s to keep whoever that is from coming in here after us? We can’t even lock the door.”

A narrow opening between the walls and the roof let in just enough light for Charlie to make out an assortment of garden tools lining the walls, and a cold December sun crept between gaps in the weathered boards to stripe the dingy floor. “Maybe we can tie it shut,” she said, looking frantically about. “See if you can find a rope.”

“What about a belt?” Annie hurriedly unbuckled the narrow leather belt around her waist. Thank goodness she’d worn dungarees! “We can loop it around the door handle.”

“But there’s nothing to tie it to.” Charlie dug in her heels and tugged on the handle. What chance would they have if somebody really wanted to pull open that door?

“Yes, there is. Quickly, Annie, give me that hoe,” Miss Dimple demanded. Taking the hoe, she positioned it across the door, and while Annie held it in place, tightly secured it to the metal handle.

“And if that doesn’t keep them out, this oughta help,” Charlie said, snatching up a garden rake with sharp metal prongs. “Here,” she added, passing a shovel to Miss Dimple and a pickax to Annie. “We’ll clobber him if we have to.”

“If he—or she—doesn’t get to us first,” Annie said under her breath.

Now, armed and with the door fastened as best they could manage, they waited, quietly listening for the gunfire to continue.

“Do you think it could be Rebecca?” Annie asked Miss Dimple. “I thought you said she was
shy
!”

“Maybe she didn’t see us come in here,” Charlie said, hoping. “What if she thinks we’ve gone?” But Miss Dimple quietly put a restraining hand on her arm. “Listen,” she whispered.

Charlie found it hard to listen over the pounding of her heart, but as the three of them stood, unmoving, she heard not gunfire, but something just as threatening: the sound of footsteps approaching. She gripped the rake, poised to strike if he attempted to force open the door. Were they all going to be killed in this horrible shed that smelled of something dead? She thought of Will, her wonderful, witty, lovable Will, and their plans for a future together. Not a day went by that she didn’t worry about him training to become a fighter pilot where he would risk his life confronting the enemy with nothing but space between himself and the blessed ground.
Oh, Will! I’m so sorry I got myself into this mess!
she thought, longing to hold him once more. Beside her, she was sure Annie was thinking much the same about her Frazier.

Dimple Kilpatrick had no such thoughts. She had been in tight spots before, but this time was different. It had been
her
idea to spend the morning investigating the area near where Mae Martha Hawthorne had lived—and died; her idea to take shelter in the garden shed instead of taking a chance on making it to the car. If this crazy person managed to open the door and fire at them they would be like fish in a barrel. There was no way she could escape being shot, but first she would do as much damage with her shovel as possible and give the others a chance to escape. A pity, she thought, hoping a better solution would soon present itself, as she did look forward to the beautiful Christmas Eve service at her church and a pleasant dinner with friends on Christmas Day. And then, of course, there was Suzy. What was to become of her?

Whoever was out there made no effort to be quiet but tramped around on the muddy ground, seemingly circling the shed. Well, why should he be quiet? Dimple thought. He was the one with the gun. At least, she thought, he hadn’t tried to burst open the door.

The three clung together in the middle of the shed as the person outside stomped right up to the door and slid the metal bar back into place.

He’s barricading us inside!
Miss Dimple turned to face the others and knew they were all thinking alike.
Well, it’s no secret now that we’re in here
,
so what’s to lose?
she thought, and began to make her displeasure known.

She was joined in shouting by Annie and Charlie, but whoever was outside remained ominously silent.

“Hey!” Annie shouted, thinking whoever locked them inside might not realize what they’d done. “We’re in here! Let us out!”

Still nothing.

Did he intend to leave them there until they died of exposure or starvation? Dimple wondered. Would Rebecca Wyatt sit inside by her warm stove with her warm cat while three people died in her garden shed?

Of course they weren’t going to die! Rebecca must have occasional visitors, although from the appearance of the driveway, they were few and far between. And Esau and his wife knew they were going there. When they didn’t return, Lou and her sister would surely trace them here. Wouldn’t they?
Except they were working that day at the munitions plant!

“You’re taking this rather poorly, don’t you think?” Charlie shouted. “We only came to buy a few eggs!” Still no response from their captor except for the sound of muffled footsteps in the grass.

“I’m freezing,” Annie muttered thorough chattering teeth, and then wished she hadn’t because through the cracks of the old wooden shed came the distinct smell of smoke, and gray wisps began to curl through the crevices and waft toward the ceiling, consuming the air around them. Whoever was out there had set fire to the tall grass and dried underbrush surrounding the shed!

Somebody screamed. It was Annie, Charlie thought. No, it was her. It was both of them. “Save your breath!” Miss Dimple told them. “Get down on the floor, quickly!”

Charlie obeyed, remembering from her first aid training that smoke rises. She covered her mouth and nose with an arm and saw the others doing the same, but how long could they stay here? Already the walls were growing warm.

Beside her Annie began to cough. “Ugh! Dead rat!” she yelled, and turned her face away.

So, that was what smelled so bad, Charlie thought, but the rat was nothing compared to the realization that they could be burned alive if they weren’t first overcome by smoke. She coughed in an effort to breathe through the choking fumes and was aware of Miss Dimple doing the same.
I would rather be shot than be roasted alive
, she thought. They had to get out of here!

“Kick!” Miss Dimple shouted hoarsely, inching her way toward the wall. “We have to try!”

Charlie, eyeing cracks between the weathered boards in the shed’s wall, began to squirm along beside her, and together they kicked the loose boards as hard as they could. Some, she saw, had rotted at the bottom and would, she hoped, be easier to break. Annie, struggling to breathe through the suffocating smoke, wormed her way to join them and they were soon rewarded with a brief but precious gulp of fresh air as a splinter of the plank creaked and gave way.

“Harder!” Dimple Kilpatrick compelled them, pummeling the wall with her feet. All those morning walks were paying off. If only she could get enough air to continue! The wall felt hot through her heavy shoes and even the floor was becoming uncomfortably warm.
Was the maniac with the rifle waiting out there to shoot them if they managed to escape?

But it was not a question of choice. “All together now!” she told them in a voice foggy with smoke, and the board cracked and gave way, creating an opening big enough for a small animal to crawl through—but not one of them.

“Wait a minute!” Annie said and, gasping, crawled toward the door, eyes shut against the suffocating smoke, to feel in the darkness until her hand came in touch with the pickax she knew was there. “Stand back!” she warned them, and slammed it against the side. It thudded and bounced away.