The Angel and the Jabberwocky Murders (22 page)

I glanced at Zee, who rolled her eyes and smirked. The part about the frosty grass and crumpled heap had been added for our benefit, I thought.

“What about the girl's family?” I asked.

But Idonia didn't know. “Seems she didn't have any, or if she did, I didn't hear of it. It was awful for the college, and embarrassing for that housemother, too. I think she left after that.

“Nobody doubted it was an accident,” Idonia said. “Sarah Bedford was just eager to put it all behind them and go on about business.”

Until now, I thought.

I didn't have a chance to ask Claudia about her job prospects as she hurried away before I could speak. Did everyone know something I didn't? And if so, what?

“I think you'd better check your telephone messages,” Augusta said when I got home. “She's called twice, and I'm afraid the woman is most distraught.”

Both messages, I learned, were from Eva Jean Philbeck. I had left my number with her in case she heard from the other Jabberwocks, and the first one was an urgent plea for me to get back to her
soon
.

The second was even more demanding. “Mrs. Pilgrim—Lucy—God, I wish I knew where to reach you! I finally heard from Audrey and told her what you said. Carla, her daughter by her first husband, was killed several years ago in a fall from the Tree House at Sarah Bedford. An accident, they thought. At least they didn't find a note or anything. And I just learned a little while ago that Irene's poor little Rachel was the one who drowned in the lake.”

I could hardly understand her last words because she was crying so. “And then there's Ken—our own Ken. Oh my God! Who's next?”

Eva Jean Philbeck had phoned the police, she told me when I returned her call, and they had checked the records at Sarah Bedford to try and locate Carolyn Steele's family. “It's the strangest thing,” she said. “Carolyn was listed as a freshman that fall, but there's no record of her relatives or a home address.” The woman had calmed down some, but her voice was still shaky. “I wish I could remember where she was from. Seems it was somewhere in the low country of the state—near the coast, I think.”

“What about your son?” I asked. “Is he all right?”

“Yes, thank God! They're all here with us—the baby, too.” Mrs. Philbeck sighed. “We think Ken has already paid his dues. I just hope whoever's responsible doesn't come back to finish the job.”

It happened when Ken was fifteen, his mother told me. He was riding his bike home from school, as he did every day, when he was struck by a car and left bleeding by the side of the road. Neither the vehicle nor its driver was ever found.

“For a while we didn't know if he would live,” she said. “And the doctors had little hope Kenneth would ever walk again. It's been a long uphill battle, but you saw him. Except for some scarring and one leg that's a little shorter than the other, you wouldn't know what he's been through.” She paused. “I think—I
hope
whoever did this thinks he died.”

“What about a note? Did he receive a verse?”

“I never knew about one, but Ken said he did. It came on a postcard a day or so before the accident, and since they were reading that book at school, he thought one of his friends had sent it as a joke. It didn't make any sense at the time, he said, but now that we look back on it, the verse suited well enough.”

In what must have been her classroom voice, Eva Jean Philbeck quoted the first two lines:

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!”

My son
. Because the Philbecks had no daughter. It seemed as if the person behind all this had ignored the first verse and attempted to match the deed to the rhyme. And Kenneth Philbeck must have been first.

“I knew Irene had married an Isaacs but you know how you always remember old classmates by their maiden names, especially if you don't keep in touch,” Eva Jean confessed. “She sent me an announcement when Rachel was born, but I never connected that girl's drowning with my old friend from college.

“I spoke with Irene's husband,” she said. “He told me she hasn't been the same since it happened—been under a doctor's care. They found a verse, you know, but the police didn't want it publicized. I think Irene must've guessed then it had something to do with what happened to Carolyn. Blames herself for her daughter's death…Dear God, no wonder she can't deal with that!”

“After Kenneth, Carla Martinez must have been the second victim,” I said, “only no one realized the connection because the verse was never found.”

“I'm sure one must have been sent,” Eva Jean said, “but it was probably overlooked. I guess nobody thought it was important.

“Audrey wasn't married to Carla's father very long,” she said. “Frankly, I'd almost forgotten about him. Her name has been Tate for as long as I can remember.”

“Well, that makes three of the Jabberwocks,” I reminded her. “What about the others?”

“I don't know what in the world ever happened to Dorothy. The last I heard, she was living somewhere in Virginia. Audrey hasn't heard from her, either—and of course Irene is pretty much out of it. The people at Sarah Bedford are trying to track her down through the alumnae office.”

“What was Dorothy's last name?” I asked.

“Cobb. Dorothy Cobb. Can't remember her married name.”

Dorothy Cobb. D.C.
“If she's who I think she is, she and her husband were killed in an accident several years ago,” I said. “And her married name was Hunter.”

“Oh, God. Of course! The girl who was killed in the shed.” Eva Jean Philbeck began to cry. “I'm sorry. This is all so horrible…I didn't know about Dorothy.”

“You said the other girl died several years ago. Didn't you say her name was Maggie? Do you know if she had any children?”

“Maggie Talbot. Yes. There's a daughter. Maggie was the first of us to marry. Left school after her sophomore year, and then her young husband died. Some kind of automobile accident, I think. Maggie didn't have this baby until a few years later, after she married again. We were all so shocked when she died—during a fairly uncomplicated surgery, I believe. Allergic to the anesthetic.”

Please, God, don't let this be happening!

“Married a Monroe,” Eva Jean went on. “George Monroe. You know, that girl must be close to college age.”

If Augusta hadn't been close by, I swear I think I would've fallen flat on the floor. “I can't believe this is happening!” I said, reaching out for her. “If we don't stop this maniac, Leslie's going to be next! Augusta, what can we do?”

The very touch of her infused me with calmness and I rested my head against her shoulder and closed my eyes for a minute. She smelled of fresh laundry dried in the summer sun—and of strawberries, of course.

“I know,” she said. “I could tell by your conversation, but it won't help Leslie, or her aunt, either, if you let your emotions run away with you now.” Augusta gave me a soothing little pat which I read to mean, “Chin up, shoulders back, and get on with it, Lucy Nan!”

Augusta walked to the window that overlooked the house next door. “The first order of the day is to get that child to a safe place, somewhere no one would even think to look for her.”

I picked up the phone to call Nettie, then put it down and took a deep breath. “I'm going over there,” I said. “Will you go with me, Augusta?”

“Of course,” she said, throwing her cape about her. She was already on her way out the door.

“Is something wrong, Lucy Nan?” I must have looked like an apparition because Nettie seemed alarmed to see me standing in her kitchen doorway.

“Leslie. Nettie, where's Leslie?” The touch of Augusta's hand on my shoulder calmed my racing heart as I stepped inside.

“Why, she's right upstairs working on her term paper. What in the world's the matter with you, Lucy Nan?” Nettie took the top from a pan on the stove and turned crispy pieces of chicken that popped and crackled in deep fat. I probably gained five pounds just smelling it.

“Sit down, honey. There's plenty, and dinner's almost ready.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “
She
hardly eats a thing, you know. Now, what's all this about Leslie?”

“We have to get her out of here—hide her someplace they'll never think to look. Nettie, it's not Celeste they're after. It's Leslie.”

She cocked her head to one side and frowned at me. “They?
They who?
”

“Whoever has been killing these girls—the person who left the verses. I don't want to frighten you, Nettie, but Leslie is next on the list.”

She acted as though she hadn't heard me and reached for serving dishes in the cupboard, taking care to choose just the right ones, as if it were the most important thing in the world. While my neighbor took up the chicken and spooned butter beans into a yellow bowl, I told her about the Mad Jabberwocks and what had happened to Carolyn Steele. “Your niece Maggie was a member, and an offspring of every Jabberwock who was at Sarah Bedford during that time has been killed, except for the Philbecks' son Kenneth, and he was left for dead. That leaves Leslie.”

Nettie pulled her apron over her head and sat, balling it into a wad in her lap. “But Leslie didn't get the verse, Celeste was the one who was sent the warning.”

“It was a mistake. Just think about it, Nettie. Their names sound alike: Leslie Monroe, Celeste Mungo. And they live in the same dorm. Somebody put the verse in the wrong box.”

Briefly she rested her face in her hands. “I can't let this get to me, Lucy Nan. George, Leslie's daddy, and his wife are on some kind of business trip in Chicago and I don't know how to reach them. I have to think about what to do, where to go.”

“Even if they were at home, you couldn't send her there. It would be the first place they'd think to look. In fact, I'd rule out any close relatives,” I said. “It has to be someplace where nobody knows her—as far away as you can get without being out of touch. Someplace they wouldn't link to Leslie, or to you.”

Augusta stood behind Nettie, her hands on the back of the chair, and when I looked into her face her eyes gave me the answer.

Somebody who lives at the end of nowhere. Somebody with a heart as big as the country that surrounds her. Miss Corrie.

“Believe it,” I said to Weigelia, using the telephone in Nettie's back hall. “Celeste is off the hook. It's Leslie Monroe they're after.” I told her what I had learned about the Mad Jabberwocks. “I've already made arrangements with Miss Corrie Walraven for Leslie and her aunt to stay there for a while, at least until they find out who's responsible for all this, but they can't be ready to leave until morning. Do you think your cousin Kemper could find somebody to come over and keep an eye on things tonight?”

“Praise God!” Weigelia exclaimed. “Do-law, Lucy Nan, I didn't mean that like it sounded. You know I don't wish any harm to that other girl, but I feel like somebody's just lifted a slab o' marble off my back!”

I assured her that her reaction was perfectly natural and she promised to have Kemper phone me at Nettie's as soon as she could track him down.

It didn't take long. The phone rang less than ten minutes later. “That Weigelia Jones is one stubborn woman,” Kemper said. “Just straining at the bit to tell Celeste the news, and it took me a while to convince her it would be best not let her know of this latest development just yet. And we'll keep Sue Starnes on the job as well…” He hesitated. “There's a chance you could be wrong about this, you know…if not, we don't want the killer suspecting we know more than he thinks we do. Weigelia has promised she won't say a word about this to anybody, and contrary as she is, she's good for her word.”

“I don't doubt that for a minute,” I told him.

“And that goes for you and Miss Nettie, too. This can't go any farther until we catch this bas—uh—until we apprehend the perpetrator. Understand?”

I understood, I said. Weigelia was right. Her cousin really was bossy.

As far as the school officials were concerned, Leslie was away being treated for her eating disorder. And Kemper was right, it wouldn't do to let word get out that she was hiding because her life was in danger. I didn't want to frighten Nettie and her niece any more than I already had, but whoever put that verse in Celeste's box must know by now they made a mistake. I didn't think the killer was going to wait too long to make things right.

The phone was ringing when I got home from Nettie's and I hurried to answer, thinking it might be Kemper wanting more information about our plans with Miss Corrie.

“Mama…” It was Julie.

Now I can usually tell when my daughter begins with that word if she's happy, sad, or in between. This time it sounded like the latter. There was a moment of silence on the line. “Buddy won't be staying with me in Cedartown. He moved out last week,” Julie said.

If I could remember the words to “The Hallelujah Chorus,” I would have burst into song. “He did?” With great difficulty I restrained myself from shouting for joy.

“I thought we could work things out between us,” she said, “but I just can't see that happening. He left for Greenville last weekend to go into business with his daddy.” My daughter didn't sound unduly distressed.

“I wish him luck,” I said, and meant it. “Now tell me all about your new job.”