An Angel to Die For (15 page)

I nodded numbly and followed.

“How is he?” I asked as she sat across from me, steaming cups in hand. I could wait no longer. “Is he happy? Healthy?”

The woman tore open an envelope of artificial
sweetener and sprinkled it into her cup a few grains at a time. “You’re asking me?” She stirred it before looking up at me.

“Well, yes. Who else would know? He is all right, isn’t he?”

I never knew fear could hurt, but when she didn’t answer, my entire body ached and I thought I was going to be sick right there. “Joey,” I said. “Where is he now?”

She stiffened and leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table in front of her. “I believe we need to get some things straight,” she said. I noticed her well-manicured nails polished with a slight pink gloss, her emerald-cut diamond that probably cost as much or more than my car.

This woman was not Ola Cress
.

There was one quick way to know for sure. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.” I spoke softly, remembering to breathe slowly and think
blue
. “I was almost ready to phone our mutual friend.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Our mutual friend?”

“The person we agreed upon earlier,” I said. “You know.”

Her silence answered me. She didn’t know. “Who are you?” I started to rise; coffee spilled onto my wrist, the front of my blouse.

“I thought you knew. My nephew said . . . I assumed he’d been in touch, and you didn’t seem surprised to see me.” The woman held out a hand, palm down, as if to delay my leaving. “I’m Sonny’s aunt, Julia—”

“How did you know where to find me?” I pretended not to notice her hand.

I didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and walked out quickly, losing myself in the crowded mall. Sonny Gaines’s aunt had followed me here.

Thank heavens Augusta waited in the car. I didn’t have time to look for her now. “You heard?” I said, and she nodded. “We have to get out of here before she can follow, then find a telephone fast.”

We zigzagged through a maze of streets before we felt at ease enough to phone Tisdale Humphreys from an out-of-the-way pizza restaurant. He was waiting for my call.

“What took you so long?” he wanted to know. “Ola phoned more than an hour ago, said she was sure she was being followed.”

“There must be more than one of them,” I said, and told him about Sonny’s aunt. “Probably a whole clan of them—human bloodhounds!” I shuddered at the notion and glanced at my watch. “We still have time to meet. Did Ola mention another place?”

“I wrote down the address. Cousin of hers, I think. Just a minute, I know it’s somewhere on this desk . . .”

While waiting, I read the messages scribbled on the wall by the phone and hoped my straitlaced angel wasn’t looking over my shoulder. It was much too warm in the restaurant, and the floor needed a thorough scrubbing. I looked at my watch again. Had our friend Mr. Humphreys forgotten all about me?

“Sorry! Place is a shambles here. I’m having the upstairs hall repapered and you know what a mess that is!”

I didn’t know and didn’t much care, but he was such a good sport I pretended to sympathize. The address he gave me was in a nearby town of Jasper. “Won’t take long to get there,” my friend assured me. “Ola says it’s small, so you shouldn’t have much trouble finding the house.”

But we weren’t counting on the afternoon traffic and it was later than I anticipated when we finally crossed into the city limits of Jasper, Tennessee. Ola’s cousin, Lydia Bosworth, lived on the corner of Willow Trail and Academy in what Ola remembered as a small yellow cottage with a big stone chimney. I found the house with the big stone chimney, but now it was painted white. Obviously it had been a while since Ola’s last visit.

I didn’t realize how long until I rang the doorbell and asked for Lydia Bosworth.

“Who?” The frowning child who answered the door looked to be about ten and I could see that I was interrupting her dinner.

“Lydia Bosworth. I was told I could find her here. Maybe your mother could help me,” I suggested.

The girl shrugged. “Mom!” she yelled, revealing a mouthful of partly chewed sandwich. “You know anybody named Lydia—who’d you say?”

“Bosworth.” I smiled at the child’s mother who hurried from the back of the house.

“Lydia Bosworth? My goodness, I’m afraid she died a
couple of years ago. We bought this house from her estate.” The woman reached out to touch my arm. “I’m really sorry. I hope this isn’t too much of a shock.”

I shook my head and mumbled thanks, then walked numbly back to the street. What was I to do now? Was Ola Cress playing cruel games with me?

And then as if the scene were being orchestrated from above, I heard the threatening rumble of thunder and looked up to see dark clouds gathering. And I sat on what used to be Ola’s cousin Lydia’s cold stone steps and cried.

A raindrop splashed on my nose and somebody started blowing a car horn nearby. Couldn’t Augusta see I was upset? What was the matter with her? I darted a nasty look in the direction of my car, but Augusta sat patiently in the passenger seat working on her needlepoint.

“Over here!” A skinny white arm waved to me from the window of a car parked across the street and the horn beeped timidly once again. “You are Prentice Dobson, aren’t you? Sorry about the mix-up. It’s been a long time since I was here.”

Oh, God
, I thought, this
time please let it be Ola Cress!

S
he appeared to be in her sixties, maybe older, and I guessed that ill health, hard work, and probably something more had contributed to her drawn, troubled look. Life had offered no free lunches to Ola Cress.

The threatening storm had hastened nightfall and it was difficult to see well in the gloom, but the woman seemed harmless enough. Her hair, spiderweb gray, was pulled into a bun at the back, and the light from a passing car glinted off her bifocals.

“I’m afraid we’re in for a storm,” she said as I drew nearer. “Better climb in before you get drenched.” And then she saw my face in the light of the open car door, and her expression stirred a memory. It was like that of a mother searching for a child in a crowd. I had seen it in my own mother’s face from the window of a bus or at the airport gate on returning from camp or college.
But Ola was clearly unfulfilled when she saw me. “You’re not very like your sister, but I can tell you’re kin,” she said.

Then I heard a sweet murmur from the seat behind her and saw the sleeping child. He was in a child restraint seat, as he should be, of course. I hadn’t thought of that, but even in the darkness I could see he was a Dobson. My sister’s own child. Joey.

I reached out to him, spoke his name, swallowing my tears. If I cried it might frighten him.

“Shh! He’s sleeping. Don’t wake him.” Ola glanced back at the little boy with such love and pride on her face, I realized Pershing Gaines might not be my fiercest opponent. “He’s just getting over a cold, and he didn’t take much of a nap.” And then her voice softened as if she realized she might be treading on sensitive ground. “You know, I believe he looks a bit like you.”

I closed the door behind me and sat in the darkened car with no sound but that of the rising wind and the rain thudding on the roof. I was really here within touching distance of my own flesh and blood! Maggie’s baby. Finally. I had to let the reality sink in.

“Looks like March will be coming in like a lion,” Ola said, breaking the silence. I could see she was struggling, just as I was, about how to approach the subject of Joey’s future. “I hope that wasn’t too much of a shock to you finding my cousin had died,” she added with a nod toward the house across the street. “Believe me, I didn’t know. She was one of those people you just assume
will live forever, and I thought of meeting here as sort of a last resort. When I called to let her know we were coming, I learned that number was no longer in service. You can imagine my distress when I called my brother and he told me the poor soul had died!”

“I’ll have to admit, it did shake me up,” I said. “I’m sorry about your cousin.”

“I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was well into her eighties. I’m just sorry I didn’t keep in touch. Life is all too brief and it surprises us around every turn . . . but then I think you know that.”

The baby stirred before I could reply and Ola reached back and tucked a blanket around him. “He should be in bed. I’ve a room—a small suite really—in a little place not far from here. Could you follow me? Do you mind? We could talk there.”

And
you could lose me in the traffic and lead me up another blind alley
. I looked back at Joey, his tiny fingers curled in a fist beneath his chin. We couldn’t sit here all night. I would have to trust this woman. But I would follow so closely she’d think she had a Siamese twin!

“Don’t worry. I’ll drive slowly so you can follow,” Ola said, as if she read my thoughts. “Wait, I think I have a card with the address.” She fumbled in her purse and produced a business card with the name of a motel in a town not too far over the Georgia line. At least we would be on the way home.

“I’m going to need your help.” There was an urgency in her voice.

I nodded, still reluctant to leave my nephew in her
care. Yet Joey was familiar with Ola Cress; for weeks she had been the only caretaker he knew. I was the stranger here.

The woman touched my arm. “I don’t blame you for being concerned, but you’re going to have to believe me. I want what’s best for Joey. I just can’t run anymore.”

“You drive. I’ll navigate,” Augusta said when I scooted under the wheel of my car. “Get closer so I can read her license plate.”

“Why, Augusta, I do believe you’ve been reading detective stories,” I said. “You’re getting to be a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

“Hmm, well, Arthur had a few problems with that first one. Plot development and such. Don’t mind saying I gave him a hint or two.”

“Arthur . . .?”

“Conan Doyle. You know. The man who wrote the series. Let me tell you, there were times when we both despaired, but it worked out well, don’t you think? Only I do wish he’d left out that part about Sherlock smoking dope!” Augusta stuffed her needlework back into her bag and held onto the door grip. “She’s turning right at the next corner. Step on it, Prentice, I believe we’re gaining on her.”

I was glad it was too dark for her to see my smile. Ola Cress wasn’t driving above forty and I was close
enough to read the name of the company where she’d bought the car.

Still, I was relieved an hour later when we pulled into the near-empty parking lot of The Dogwood Inn.

Since neither of us had eaten, I picked up sandwiches at the motel coffee shop while Ola got Joey ready for bed. Ola’s rooms were as she had described them: comfortable but nothing fancy. The bedroom, just large enough for a double bed and the baby’s crib, led off of a small sitting area and kitchenette. A playpen took up one corner of the living room, toys were scattered about, and a quick look in the kitchen cabinets revealed a good supply of baby food and formula. It appeared as if Ola Cress was prepared to stay awhile.

“Would you like to give Joey his bottle?” Ola asked. “You’ll find one ready in the refrigerator. Just zap it for about ten seconds in the microwave.”

I hadn’t baby-sat since my college days, but I did remember how to heat a bottle, shake it, and test a drop on my arm. My nephew made his entrance howling and clung to Ola for dear life until he saw I had the bottle. I held out my arms and bribed him with milk, and from then on, it was a piece of cake. I sat across from Ola at the small kitchen table while Joey drained his seven ounces, burped obligingly, and dropped off to sleep in my arms. Finally, Ola, seeing I wasn’t going to give him up voluntarily, picked up the sleeping infant and tucked him into bed.

“Thank you,” I said when she returned.

“For what?”

“For letting me hold him, feed him.”

Ola opened a couple of soft drinks and found plates for our sandwiches. “He has to get used to you. I can’t just abandon him with someone he doesn’t know.” She pulled out a chair and sat across from me, but didn’t touch her food. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said, grabbing a paper napkin to blot her tears.