Prayers of Agnes Sparrow (28 page)

“Those Gates boys look so nice,” Ruth said with a nudge to my spleen.

They wore dark suits, but somehow I could see all the colors of the rainbow shimmering like abalone in the sun.

“Look at them suits,” Vidalia said. “Um, um, um. Like oil in a puddle. Reminds me of my Drayton. He wore such pretty colors.”

Then without so much as a throat clear, they started playing and singing and shouting. The music bounced and ricocheted all around the sanctuary that night.

They sang
This Little Light of Mine
, but let me tell you, it wasn’t the Sunday school version. They were jumping and shouting and pouring sweat over that little ditty of a tune, so much so that Darcy, who was sitting in the front row on the right, looked like a woman with the vapors and had to fan herself with a leftover bulletin. I noticed Pastor snap his fingers once, but he recovered quickly from that display and folded his hands on his lap.

It wasn’t until after their third song,
Take Me to Beulah Land
, that Melvin spoke up.

“All God's children got hands and feet. How ’bout usin’ them? Come on now, get up, and clap your hands.” He started clapping and walking back and forth across the platform as they started the music.

No soap. What the Pearly Gates didn’t know was that the congregation of the Bright's Pond Chapel of Faith and Grace was about as animated as a pound of slugs in summer. The only folks who shouted back, or raised their hands, or clapped were the out-of-towners, and even they got embarrassed after a while. Most of the people in Bright's Pond wouldn’t dance if they caught fire.

The only person I saw who expressed any emotion that night, besides the Singers, was Ruth. She had stars in her eyes, and every once in a while she swayed—just a bit.

But I got to hand it to the group, they hung in with us and ended the concert with a beautiful rendition of
The Windows of Heaven Are Open
, which brought tears to my eyes and made Ruth grab onto my hand and not let go. Even Vidalia had to take out her hanky. Zeb left early to open the café. He was expecting a large after-concert crowd.

By eight-thirty the sanctuary cleared out. Ruth lingered a moment still dabbing tears and fighting back full-scale blubbers.

“I wish my Bubby Hubby were here tonight. He would have loved them Pearly Gates.”

Ezekiel Moses Ramstead was on the platform packing up his keyboard. He was so kind to Ruth and so gentle even though Ruth quivered like she had been stung by bees when he reached out his hand and took hers. He looked into her eyes and smiled, his white teeth bright against his coal dark face.

“That man you’re missing was here tonight, dear.”

“Who was?” Ruth asked, nearly mesmerized.

“I’m assuming it's a husband you’re missing. He was here darlin’, looking down on you with such love in his heart—” he practically sang “—missin’ his sweet, sweet woman.”

Ruth swooned and Ezekiel caught her just before she slipped to the floor. She thrust her autograph book in his face. “Sign it, please.”

Ezekiel took the little book and opened to a clean page, not that Ruth had many autographs beside Frank Sinatra's, who had gotten lost once on his way to Jack Frost and stopped in at the Full Moon to ask for directions. Ezekiel signed: “For my friend, Ruth. God Bless. Ezekiel Moses Ramstead.”

She clutched it to her breast. “Oh, thank you.”

Then the rest of the Singers came out and shook our hands and signed her book. Melvin was still curious about Agnes, but I told him she was home resting and he seemed satisfied.

“How about we head over to Zeb's for coffee?” Vidalia asked.

I felt a yawn coming on and said, “I think I better get back home.”

“Me, too,” Ruth said. “I’m just all atwitter now, and I think I want to go home and look at my photo album.”

“Fine,” Vidalia said. “I’m not tired at all, and since Winifred and the children are arriving tomorrow, I best be getting things in order.”

I
n the time it took to watch the concert and walk home I forgot all about the speaker sitting in the entryway and tripped right over it. Fortunately, I was able to grab onto the radiator and stop myself from falling flat on my face.

“That you, Griselda?” Agnes called.

“Yep, just me. I tripped over the speaker.”

I rubbed my knee and joined Agnes. Her face was red and blotchy like she had had an asthma attack.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I just had a coughing jag in the middle of
Bound for Canaan Land
right through
Do Lord
.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Agnes. Did you enjoy any of the concert?”

“Oh, sure I did, Griselda. I was sitting here like I was having my own private concert—like they came to town just for me.”

“In a way, that's true, you know.”

About twenty minutes later I heard the bus pull away from the curb. “There they go.”

“Did Hezekiah go to the concert?” Agnes asked after I brought her a snack of cake and tea. I wasn’t hungry.

“No. I didn’t see him.”

“I wonder what's up with him? I thought he’d go for sure.”

“Well, if he did, he was sitting in the back or standing out in the lobby with the other latecomers, because I never saw him.”

M
ildred Blessing came knocking on our front door at eight-twenty the next morning.

“Why's someone knocking?” Agnes called. “You forget to unlock it?”

“No, I unlocked it first thing, same as I always do.” I dried my hands on a red, terry towel on my way to the door and found Mildred Blessing on the other side.

“Mildred, what are you doing here?”

Mildred was not on my mental list of frequent visitors.

“I better come inside, Griselda,” she said.

My heart sank just a bit as in that second my brain flashed on the day the state policeman came and told us about our parents.

“Agnes,” I called. I motioned for Mildred's jacket but she refused. “Mildred Blessing is here.”

“Well, my goodness. Invite her in.”

Mildred and I went to the viewing room. It was a tad dark. I hadn’t opened the drapes yet. “What do you say I shed some light on the subject?”

“What can I do for you, Mildred?” Agnes asked. She reached for her candy jar and popped a few.

“Actually, I came to see both of you. Official business.”

I swallowed. “Official business? Something happen?”

Mildred held her cop hat in her hands. Her eyes darted around the room like they were looking for a place, any place, to rest as long as it wasn’t on one of us.

“Spit it out, Mildred,” Agnes said. “You look like—”

“It's Vidalia Whitaker.”

My heart jumped into my throat. “What about Vidalia?”

“She was found dead, Griselda. Looks like she was stabbed with a butcher knife, right there in her house, in that big room. You know, the one with that pretty, flowered settee.”

I can’t remember everything that happened in the couple of minutes that followed, except that my heart stopped beating for a second or two and my knees weakened so much I fell onto Agnes's bed. Agnes reached out and grabbed my hand.

“Stabbed?” Agnes said. “How's that possible? People don’t get stabbed in Bright's Pond.”

“Well, that's what Doc said. Whoever did it used one of Vidalia's own kitchen knives.”

“Wait a second, wait a second,” I said. “When?”

“Not too long ago. Sometime late last night, near as Doc can figure.”

“How? Who—” I couldn’t catch my breath. Agnes continued to hold my hand.

“Ivy Slocum found her.”

“Ivy?”

“That's right, Griselda. Ivy was expecting that Hezekiah fellow—” my heart started to pound “—around six to fix her screen door, and when he didn’t show, Ivy called over to Vidalia's but there was no answer. So Ivy took Al Capone
with her and knocked on Vidalia's door. She thought maybe Hezekiah overslept or something.”

I took a huge breath as Agnes squeezed my hand.

“Anyway, Ivy says the door was open slightly. She rang the bell anyway, wanting to be polite and all. But after a minute or two Al Capone went loping through the door like he knew something.”

Tears welled up as my whole body started to shake.

“Oh, poor Ivy,” Agnes said. “She must be a wreck.”

“Ivy said Al Capone went straight to her. I’m thinking Vidalia was one of Al Capone's regular stops for treats.”

“How's Ivy?” I asked.

“She went on home after she told her story. She said Al lay down next to Vidalia and kept licking her hand like he was trying to wake her up.”

“What about Hezekiah? Did Ivy find him?” I asked.

“No, ma’am, Hezekiah wasn’t at the boarding house, so I thought maybe he came over here,” Mildred said. “Doc and I figure he might have heard or saw something.”

“He was here yesterday working on the garage,” Agnes said. “He left around four, but I haven’t seen him since then.”

“I can’t say for sure if he was there or not, but I didn’t see him at the concert. Vidalia was—” I couldn’t fight the tears. “Vidalia was there, with me and Ruth and Zeb.”

“Um.” Mildred scribbled notes in a little black book she pulled from her hip pocket. “I am so sorry to have to tell you this.” She pushed hair behind her ears.

I stood and then sat right back down. I was so shaky. “Where is she now?”

“Still in the house, I think. Doc will need to do an autopsy.”

“Doc?”

“He's also the coroner, Griselda. It's S.O.P. in suspected murder.”

I nodded. “How terrible for him. I didn’t think Bright's Pond would need a coroner.”

Mildred scribbled another note. “Heck, Griselda, even OZ had a coroner. Now, I’ll need to contact her next of kin.”

“That would be Winifred. She lives out of town. Oh, but wait.” I didn’t think it could be possible but my heart sank lower. “She's on her way here. She's supposed to arrive by train this afternoon.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Agnes said. “This is just awful.”

I swiped tears away and let out a sigh. “She's coming here with three of her kids.”

Mildred looked thoughtful a minute. “Do you know what time her train arrives? I imagine she’ll be coming into Shoops.”

“No, but maybe you’ll find a clue at Vidalia's house,” Agnes said. “I’m sure she wrote it down somewhere.”

“Wait a second. Are you sure her train has even left?” Mildred asked.

“Winifred probably left yesterday. She's coming from Michigan,” I said.

Arthur slinked past my ankles. I picked him up and held him close. “Who would want to hurt Vidalia? She's the kindest woman in Bright's Pond. She opened her house to anyone in need and—”

“Speaking of which,” Mildred said, “if Hezekiah comes by, let him know I want to speak with him.”

“Sure thing, Mildred.”

Crying, I walked her to the door. “I guess you could just call the train station and find out when the train from Detroit will arrive.”

“Good idea.”

I grabbed her arm. “Mildred, let me go to Shoops and meet her. It will be less traumatic.”

She cracked a rare smile. “We’ll get the scum bucket that did this.”

When I got back to Agnes she was trying to reach a box of Kleenex. I plucked three and wiped tears from her eyes.

“Agnes,” I said, “am I dreaming? Wake me up because I don’t want to be in this nightmare anymore.”

She patted my hand. “I’m so sorry, Griselda, but it's not a dream.”

“But why would anyone want to kill Vidalia. I can’t believe it. I’m going over there.”

“Oh, Griselda, don’t go. What if you see her?” She took a breath. “Remember her alive, not … like that.”

“I’ve got to go, Agnes. Vidalia was my friend. I need to see for myself.”

I pulled a gray sweater over my head and slipped into my sneakers. “Would you call the train station, Agnes? Get the time the train is arriving.”

“Sure, but I wish you wouldn’t go.”

I stepped out on the porch and saw Eugene Shrapnel across the street. “I told you,” he hollered, shaking his crooked, old cane. “I told you the sky was gonna fall.”

“Go on home now, Eugene, you miserable, old fool. Get away from my house.”

He harrumphed and kept walking like he owned the town.

Word had already started to spread. I thought a minute about going over to Ruth's. She would be devastated. But I had to see Vidalia first. I had to see with my own eyes. I had to hear Doc tell me she was gone. The closer I got the faster and harder I walked, until I was running down the sidewalk.

I stopped when I saw a red and white ambulance backed into Vidalia's driveway. Doc met me at the door, and by the time I got to Vidalia, she was zipped tight in a black body bag. Two men in white doctor coats carried her out as a small group gathered.

Tears poured down my face when they closed the ambulance door. I turned to Doc.

“Stabbed? Really?”

Doc nodded. “A detective from Shoops was here. He did some snooping, dusted for fingerprints, but didn’t have much to say. Thinks whoever did it, knew her.”

“Knew her? Like someone in town?”

“Looks that way.”

I fell on Vidalia's flowery sofa. Anger boiled inside. “Who would do this? Why?”

“The detective said it might have been robbery. Her jewelry has been rifled through, and we found her purse open over there.” He pointed to the dining room table. “If she had any money, it's gone.”

“Doc, this is all too weird. She didn’t have any other borders except Hezekiah and—you don’t suppose—”

“Hezekiah? Don’t know, but he hasn’t been seen all morning.”

“Sometimes he goes into Shoops for supplies, but he didn’t take my truck and didn’t say anything to me or Agnes.”

I pulled myself up. “I can’t believe this has happened. Nobody dies like this in Bright's Pond. Nobody deserves to die this way, especially Vidalia.”

“I know, Griselda. This is our first murder.”

I cried.

“Come on, Griselda,” Doc said. “Let's go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“No, I want to stay a minute or two.”

Mildred came into the room. “Can’t let you stay, Griselda. It's a crime scene. I’ve got to make it off limits now. There might be more detectives coming in to look around.”

Doc and I left. He climbed into his Dodge Dart and followed the ambulance—slowly like the funeral procession had already begun. Folks stood in Vidalia's front yard, yakking at each other like chickens, each one sadder than the next.