Miss Dimple Disappears (19 page)

Stepping back from the mirror, Jesse Dean adjusted his bow tie. It was green with brown stripes, which was as close to military colors as he could find. He didn’t have to wear a tie at all, but he thought it made him look more responsible and self-assured. There was no doubt that people seemed to take him seriously when he knocked on their doors to warn them about a showing of light. Jesse Dean was strict about that. He took his job seriously.

Fingering the metal whistle around his neck, Jesse Dean began his rounds, and was pleased to see the streets dark and empty. The party for the troops in the old appliance store had been over for almost an hour so everyone should’ve had a chance to get home. Quickly—or as quickly as possible for Jesse Dean—he walked the streets of the town. Downtown was as silent as Cemetery Hill and most houses loomed in utter blackness. At the Sullivans’ house across from Phoebe Chadwick’s, a glimmer of light peeped through an upstairs window. The new baby was probably suffering from colic, he thought as he rang the front doorbell, and sure enough, young Mrs. Sullivan answered the door with a crying baby in her arms, looking as if she hadn’t slept in a week.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he began, “but there’s a light—”

“Oh! Of course. I’ll take care of it. Thank you for letting me know,” she said, not giving him time to finish. And seconds later the light was extinguished. Jesse Dean smiled as he walked away. She knew he was doing his part. He walked a little straighter.

He had made a circle now and was at the end of his rounds near the park when he saw the car. It was partially hidden by an overgrown hedge in the alley beside the library at one end of the park and it hadn’t been there before … or had it? There seemed to be someone inside, maybe more than one, but he didn’t want to turn on his flashlight unless it was absolutely necessary. Still, the car was parked very near to the place where Geneva Odom had been struck down only two nights before. Jesse Dean crossed the street to get a closer look. The car didn’t look familiar but it was hard to tell. In the darkness they all looked pretty much alike. People weren’t supposed to park here but they weren’t showing any lights. Probably a sparking couple, Jesse Dean thought. Well, it was none of his business. Let Bobby Tinsley worry about it. He started to move on but curiosity got the better of him. What if it was the person who attacked that teacher? He could at least give them the number of the license plate.

Creeping closer, Jesse Dean reached for the flashlight that hung from his belt and felt for the switch with his finger, but before he could turn on the light, the car’s engine came to life, and with a grinding of gears, the driver took off into the night.

Jesse Dean stood watching the car as it was swallowed in the surrounding darkness. The feeble flashlight beam was of little use now. Whoever was driving was in one great hurry to get away, he thought. They were driving with no headlights.

*   *   *

“I can’t come here anymore,” the visitor said. “It’s too risky. After that little scene in the park the other night they’ll be keeping a close watch over there.”

“It wasn’t my idea to hit that woman over the head,” Mr. Smith answered. “It’s a wonder she wasn’t hurt worse than she was.”

The visitor laughed. “What did you expect me to do? Another few steps and she would’ve seen you.”

“I didn’t agree to this—to kill people.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it? And now we’re going to have to speed things along.”

“
We
? Isn’t that supposed to be your job? I’ve got the woman just like we planned. It’s up to you to deal with her brother.”

“I gave him the proof he demanded—that note in her handwriting and the pin she claimed belonged to her mother. Now he’s playing us for time and time is running out! If that doesn’t convince him, we can see how he responds if we send him a whole finger!”

Mr. Smith tried not to show his revulsion. He hadn’t been feeling so well lately—throat definitely felt scratchy. He was probably coming down with something, but it was too late to back out now, and besides, he was afraid of what might happen to him if he did. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stay here much longer,” he said. “You know the situation.”

His visitor shrugged. “Then take care of it. The colonel’s getting impatient and I told them we’d have those plans by December. I suggest you take a look at your calendar.”

*   *   *

“Didn’t you tell me Hugh said Elwin Vickery owned a house somewhere in the country?” Annie asked over breakfast the next morning. Odessa didn’t cook for Miss Phoebe on Saturdays so the roomers usually helped themselves to cereal and toast in the kitchen. Today, Charlie had invited her friend over for waffles, which was the only decent thing her mother could make.

Jo Carr poured batter into the sizzling iron and closed the lid. “I believe he bought the old Brumlow property out on the Covington Highway. Hugh’s uncle Martin owned it for the longest time. Raised cotton out there. I don’t know what in the world that fellow would want with it as far out as it is.”

Charlie glanced at Annie who pretended innocence and made a point of sipping from her cup, but her sharp-eyed mother knew a furtive look when she saw one. “Why?” she asked, frowning. “Why are you two interested in that old empty house?”

It took only a few seconds for the light to dawn and she thumped the honey jar on the table with a bang that made the dishes jump. “You think Miss Dimple’s being held out there, don’t you?”

Charlie groaned aloud. “Mama, everything we mention doesn’t necessarily have something to do with what happened to Miss Dimple. I’ll swear, you’re getting as carried away over this as Aunt Lou … and hadn’t you better check those waffles before they burn?”

“Speaking of Lou,” her mother said, “she’d never forgive me if we went without her. I’d better let her know we’re going … and snatch that waffle out, will you, honey?”

Frowning, Charlie did as she was told. “Going where?” Of course she knew.

“Why, to find Miss Dimple, naturally. I’d never forgive myself if that poor soul was being held prisoner out in that God-forsaken place and we didn’t do something to help her.” And she shut the kitchen door firmly behind her as she hurried to phone her sister.

Charlie forked the crisp waffle onto Annie’s plate and passed her the margarine. “Now, why did you have to go and mention that?” she asked crossly.

“Just think about it, Charlie. It only makes sense to check there
first
. I refuse to invade that poor man’s privacy by snooping in his room unless we have a darn good reason.” Annie scooted her chair closer to the table and reached for the honey. “There’s no telling what we might find in there.”

“That’s exactly why I wanted to check out his room at Phoebe’s,” Charlie insisted. “We might discover something that would lead us to where she is.”

“If Elwin really does have anything to do with it, she must be at that house he owns,” Annie said. “And we should be okay if we hurry. He said he planned to work on something at his office this morning.”

“He
said
 … hmm, maybe we oughta let Bobby handle it.” Charlie ladled more spoonfuls of batter into the hot iron. “I mean, if she really is being held there, it could be dangerous.”

“We wouldn’t have to go in,” Annie said. “We could just sort of ride by and try to get a closer look, see if it looks like anyone’s there.… Is there enough of that batter for us to have more?”

*   *   *

Aunt Lou, who had insisted on driving, slowed as they passed a produce stand by the side of the road. Although the air was brisk, the mid-morning sun shone brightly in a blue November sky. “Remind me to stop here on our way back,” she said. “I’d like to get a couple of small pumpkins and maybe a few ears of dried corn for the Thanksgiving table.”

“Since I won’t be able to bring anything to help out with dinner, why not let that be my contribution?” Annie suggested. “It’s generous of you to include the three of us, and I know it will be a special treat for my brother and Will.”

“This will be our pleasure,” Lou protested. “If I could, I would invite the whole United States Army.”

“What about the navy and marines?” Charlie asked.

Her aunt laughed. “Them, too.”

They passed a farmer on a combine harvesting fodder for the winter, and farther down the road a man in a big straw hat plowed under bare brown stalks of what had been a cotton field, now picked clean. Charlie drank in the peaceful landscape, knowing it was deceptive. The two farmers were doing what they had to do so that life could go on as usual. Did they have sons in the war? Did they dread the hateful telegram as she did? If only things could be as they were before! Earlier she had received her first letter from Hugh. Fairly brief, it was composed mostly of a description of his first jolting days, the food, and the barracks. His bunkmate was called “Slim.” That figured, Charlie thought with a grin.
Our picnic together was a perfect send-off,
Hugh wrote,
and sharing it with you made it even more special.
He had signed his name
with love,
and Charlie filed his letter away in an empty candy box until she had a chance to read it again.

“I think that place is just a mile or so past this country store up ahead,” her mother pointed out. “It’s on the right if I remember correctly. Help me watch, now. Don’t let us go past it.”

“That must be it where that car is turning out,” Lou said a few minutes later. “Right past that big pine tree … looks like the mailbox is about to fall down.” She coughed as the passing car kicked up red dust on the dry unpaved road.

“Wait a minute! That looks like Cornelia’s car!” Annie turned to look out the window. “It
is
! What’s she doing out here?”

Lou slowed and glanced at her over her shoulder. “Cornelia? Who’s she?”

“Cornelia Emerson,” Charlie explained. “She’s teaching Miss Dimple’s class, and it did look like her, Annie, but are you sure that’s her car?”

“Had to be. There was a dent in her back left fender where Velma backed into it in Phoebe’s driveway the other day. But what in the world would she be doing out here?”

“Maybe the same thing we are,” Jo answered. “Unless, of course, she’s lost.”

“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of …’ ” Annie muttered under her breath.

Charlie recognized the lines from
Hamlet
and smiled. Her friend was fond of quoting Shakespeare from time to time. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she whispered.

“Tell you later,” Annie said.

Weeds grew knee-high on either side of the battered mailbox and brushed the underside of the car as they turned into the rutted drive.

“Sure doesn’t look like anybody’s been living here for a while,” Jo said, wincing as a scraggly bush scraped the door on the passenger side. “Louise Willingham, don’t you dare get us stuck out here at the end of nowhere!”

“It was your idea to come,” her sister reminded her. “Look, there’s the house—or what’s left of it. Porch has just about fallen in. I can’t see anybody using this place for much of anything.”

“I can’t, either,” Charlie said. “Let’s go.” She was beginning to feel uneasy and there was only one way out.

Her aunt ignored her. “I just want to see what’s around back,” she said, bumping over ruts in the weed-grown yard.

The same thing that’s around front, Charlie thought. But she was wrong. Someone had obviously begun work on rebuilding the back porch. Steps that still smelled of fresh pine led up to a partially refloored porch and what appeared to be new shutters hung at the four rear windows. Remnants of lumber filled a wooden box beside the door.

“I’m going to see if anyone’s home,” Annie said, and slipped out of the car before Charlie could stop her. She watched as Annie knocked several times at the sturdy oak door, then peered in one of the windows and motioned for Charlie to join her.

“Keep the motor running,” Charlie told her aunt, and tried not to think of the waste of precious fuel.

They looked into a kitchen bare of everything except a rust-stained sink, an ancient woodstove, a small table, and two mismatched chairs. “There’s no place like home,” Charlie said. “Can we go now?”

But Annie had moved to the windows on the other side of the door. “Shoot! The shades are down.” She tapped on the glass. “Can’t see a thing.”

“How inconsiderate of them,” Charlie said as she started back down the steps.

“It seems that Elwin or somebody is renovating this old place,” Lou called from the car. “Maybe he plans to live here.”

“Or rent it to someone else,” Jo added. “Did you see any signs of Miss Dimple?”

Annie shook her head. “No, but it looks like somebody’s been using that kitchen.”

“Really? I didn’t see anything. How could you tell?” Charlie asked.

“Didn’t you notice those dirty dishes piled in the sink? Most un-Elwin-like, though. I knocked on a window to see if I’d get a response, but of course she might not be able to call out,” Annie said.

The idea of the serene and steadfast teacher she had admired since childhood being treated in such a way made Charlie want to kick in the windows and charge inside. She turned and studied the house. “Do you think she could be down here?” she asked, noticing small basement windows below the back porch. Not waiting for an answer, she snatched up a stray scrap of lumber and beat a pathway through the weeds to see inside.

“See anything?” Annie asked behind her.

“Not much. Looks empty.” Charlie shoved aside a clutching weed before realizing it had thorns. “Ouch! Watch out for the blackberry bramble.” Squatting, she looked inside. “Wait, there’re several boxes—packing crates, I think—and something that looks like an umbrella stand. That’s about it.”

“Of course Elwin would have an umbrella stand,” Annie said grinning, “but I don’t see any signs of anybody being held down here.”

“Well, I’m hollering anyway,” Charlie said, and did. “What do you think Cornelia has to do with this?” she asked as they brushed themselves off. “It looks to me like Elwin started remodeling this house, and for some reason, stopped. I suppose he could be planning to sell the place to her.” She lowered her voice. “And what did you mean back there with that quote about Horatio?”