The Angel and the Jabberwocky Murders (9 page)

“What makes you think it's human blood?” I asked Willene, taking her aside. “Couldn't it be beef or chicken—something like that?”

She turned a shade paler and looked away. “Look at it, Lucy—the way it's spattered…it wouldn't be like…that.”

I didn't want to look at the ghastly thing, but it was hard to look anywhere else. The stain dotted the apron from top to bottom like a big question mark.

“Lucy.” Willene spoke softly as we watched the local police winding through the gathering outside. “I'm not feeling well at all. Would you mind staying here with Pearl?”

Before I could answer, she had scurried out the back way.

I recognized Captain Hardy, who was accompanied by Weigelia's cousin Kemper Mungo and Sheila Eastwood, two of Stone's Throw's finest. Pearl, more composed now, was able to show them where she had found the apron in the narrow room behind the kitchen where soiled laundry was collected.

“When I seen what was on there, I dropped it like it'd been a snake!” she told them. “Willene—she brought it out here so she could look at it in the light.” Pearl mopped her eyes and braced herself on Kemper's sturdy arm. “Do-law! I wouldn't touch that thing again for a million dollars!”

Wearing gloves, Sheila Eastwood carefully placed the apron in a large plastic bag. When she lifted it from where it had been spread on the floor, something fell out of a pocket and landed with a clank, while another, smaller object rolled against my foot.

Not thinking, I reached down to pick it up, and I would have it Kemper hadn't stopped me.

“Don't touch it!” Using a pen, he held the thimble up for us to see. It was hand-painted with tiny blue violets, and on the floor near where it had fallen was a pair of embroidery scissors.

Joy Ellen sank into a chair and looked up at me with shock-glazed eyes. We both knew the thimble and scissors belonged to Blythe Cornelius.

The phone was ringing when I finally got home that afternoon. “Thank goodness I caught you!” My daughter-in-law Jessica sounded as if she'd been in one of her marathons—she runs at least three mornings a week and weighs about fifteen pounds soaking wet.

My heart jumped into a reggae beat. “What's wrong? Has something happened to—”

“No, no! Nothing like that. It's just that Roger and I were planning to take in dinner and a concert at the college tonight, and our sitter just canceled on us. I wondered if you'd mind keeping Teddy for a while?”

“Well, of course not! And you might as well plan to let him spend the night, since you're bound to be late getting home.”

“I suppose you're right,” Jessica said. “It is a school night, though, so he'll need to get to bed early—and if you would, he'll probably need some encouragement to finish his homework.”

“Don't worry, I'll encourage,” I told her.

“I hope it won't be an inconvenience…” Jessica hesitated. “I mean, I wouldn't want you to have to cook anything special.” Meaning, I knew: “Don't feed my son any junk food!”

“Teddy is never an inconvenience,” I told her. “And of course I'll give him something special.”
Like the peppermint ice cream—my grandson's favorite—I keep hidden in the freezer
. I sniffed. Augusta was making her savory fish stew in the Crock-Pot and I knew Teddy wouldn't touch it, but that's what macaroni and cheese is for. He only likes the disgusting kind that comes in a box.

“I really appreciate this, Lucy, and I'll pick him up in plenty of time for school in the morning.”

“There's no need, Jessica. The grammar school's only a few blocks away. I can walk him there in five minutes.” Our two children had walked daily to the two-story red brick building, as had I, and I looked forward to it being a part of my grandson's growing-up experience as well.

“If you're sure it's okay…?”

“I'm sure. Why not spoil yourself and sleep in tomorrow?” I suggested, although I knew she wouldn't. If the automobile industry could figure out how to harness one-tenth of my daughter-in-law's energy, we wouldn't have to depend on foreign oil.

“What's this?” Teddy frowned at the mysterious lumpy red mixture I had ladled into his bowl.

“It's stew. And it's good, just try it,” I urged.

My grandson shoved the offending bowl away. “I don't like stew. It's all smushed together.”

I broke off a piece of French bread and dipped it into mine. “Mmm…sure tastes good to me!” The macaroni and cheese waited out of sight on the stove, but he didn't know that yet.

Teddy drew his bowl a little closer and sniffed. Behind him, Augusta stood with her arms crossed, smiling.

“Smells good, too, don't you think?”

“It's okay.” I could see he was weakening, so I broke off another piece of bread and gave it to him. “Dare you!” I said.

He made a face and dipped timidly into the stew…once…twice, then went at it with a spoon. “Hey, this
is
good!”

“There's some of that macaroni and cheese you like on the stove,” I confessed finally.

“No, thanks,” he said. I threw it in the garbage.

After ice cream we tackled the reading lesson, which went quickly since Teddy has always liked books and so have I. Math was another matter. I don't remember arithmetic being that complicated when his dad and aunt Julie were in the first grade.

Discouraged, Teddy put down his pencil. “I don't see why I have to learn all this stuff. Baseball players don't need to know math, do they?”

“Of course they do,” I told him. “How else are you going to know how to add up all the money you're going to make?”

Teddy nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I guess you're right, Mama Lucy.”

After assuring him I would be sleeping upstairs in the room next to his, we progressed through the familiar rituals of bath, pajamas, story time, bed and prayers, and I had just kissed him good night for about the third time when the telephone rang.

I knew it was Ellis on the other end. She's the only person I know who can make a telephone sound impatient. “I was about to give up on you!” she said. “Phone must've rung five times.”

“Teddy's staying over tonight and I was just getting him tucked in. What's up?”

“What's all this I hear about Blythe Cornelius and a bloody apron? I just came from circle meeting and that's all anybody talked about.”

“Circle meeting! I forgot all about it,” I said.

“That's okay. We put you down to polish the brass for December.”

“Thanks a bunch. Just for that, Ellis Saxon, I ought not even tell you what happened today!”

“Oh, simmer down. I signed up to polish with you,” she said. “Did those things they found really belong to Blythe?”

I told her what I had seen. “Of course somebody else could have put them there.”

“Mama Lucy…?” Teddy stood at the top of the stairs.

“Teddy Pilgrim, you get back in that bed this minute. It's way past your bedtime. Ellis, I've got to go. If Teddy sleeps through school tomorrow we'll both be in big trouble.”

“Okay, but I wanted to let you know I won't be at The Thursdays Monday. I'm going to the doctor with Susan to see her ultrasound.”

“I'm serving Mimmer's banana pudding,” I said, referring to my grandmother's recipe, but I guess I can't compete with that.”

“Tempting, but I'm on a diet,” Ellis said.

“Since when?”

“Since I looked at myself naked in the mirror this morning.”

“Mama Lucy!” Teddy called again. “I'm hungry. I think I'd like some of that macaroni and cheese after all.”

“I still can't believe it,” my cousin Jo Nell said. “Not Blythe Cornelius! Why, I'd just as soon suspect the preacher of stealing from the collection plate.”

“Well, that's been known to happen,” Zee said. “They haven't arrested her, have they, Lucy Nan?”

The meeting of the Thursday Morning Literary Society had come to order, and refreshments having been served and duly consumed, the members got right down to the business of the day, which, of course, was the discovery of the bloodied apron at the college.

“Not that I know of,” I said, “but they did take her in for questioning. Had to, I guess, but it seemed so senseless. What a horrible thing for poor Blythe to have to go through! You should've seen her trying to assure those girls they had nothing to worry about, but I could see she was having a hard time holding back her own emotions.”

Idonia shook her permed red curls. “Bless her heart! Wonder how those things did get in that apron pocket.”

“I don't know, unless somebody put them there to make her look guilty,” I said. “Blythe says she never saw that apron before, and I believe her. She was looking for those scissors when I was there just the other day.”

“Why would anybody want to do that?” Zee asked.

Claudia Pharr spoke up. “Why, to throw the police off the trail, of course—and away from the real killer.” Claudia watches every detective show on television, so I didn't argue with her. Besides, she had a point.

“I wish you'd get on another subject,” Nettie said. “I can hardly sleep at night as it is for worrying about Leslie being over there.” She helped herself to another cup of coffee from the pot on the sideboard. “Good coffee, Lucy Nan. Is this one of those special blends?”

“Nope, just added a few drops of vanilla.” (A little trick I'd picked up from Augusta.)

“Then whoever planted those things there is a fool!” Idonia persisted. “Why in the world would anybody wear an apron to commit a murder, then leave incriminating evidence in the pocket? Give the woman credit for a little sense, for heaven's sake.”

“But if Blythe didn't do it, who did?” I said. “You read the papers this morning. That was D. C. Hunter's blood on there. Whoever killed her was familiar enough with the college to know where the laundry was collected.”

Zee St. Clair leaned forward. “It could be anybody,” she said, speaking barely above a whisper. “One of the students, a member of the faculty—why, it might even be R. U. Earnest himself,” she added, referring to the president of the college.

“Well, it couldn't have been Blythe who killed her. She was at the infirmary all night with that girl who was sick.” I turned on a lamp in the living room window, making it seem even darker outside.

“And that no-good Professor Hornsby
says
he was at Table Rock Mountain,” Nettie reminded us, “but how do we know either one of them was where they claimed to be the whole time?”

I took the opportunity to change the subject by asking Claudia about her recent interview in Columbia.

“I'd end up spending most of my paycheck for gas.” She shrugged. “Guess I'll be filling in as a substitute teacher until something better comes along.”

“God bless you,” Idonia said with a mournful shake of her head.

Jo Nell jumped as the bare branches of the quince bush scraped the shutters outside. “Looks like we've got a murderer running loose at Sarah Bedford, all right.” She turned troubled eyes on me. “Do be careful, Lucy Nan. I wish you wouldn't go to that faculty reception tonight. A woman out alone after dark…”

I never knew what was supposed to happen to
a woman out alone after dark
because my cousin never finished her sentence. My guess is it was just too horrible to put into words. I patted her shoulder. “Then you'll be relieved to know that I won't be alone. Ben's going with me.” I glanced at the clock in the hallway. “And, oh my gosh! I have twenty minutes to get ready!”

“You go ahead and get dressed, Lucy Nan,” Jo Nell told me as the others began leaving. “I'll take care of these dishes. You wouldn't want your friend to walk in on this mess.”

A man who works in wood shavings all day wouldn't notice a mess if it fell on his head, but I accepted my cousin's offer. I knew the only reason she wanted to stay was to get a better chance to size up Ben. She was still puttering about the kitchen when the doorbell rang, so the three of us left the house together.

“Good Lord, are we going to end up in Oz? What's the rush?” Ben asked as we drove away. “Your cousin was just telling me about the time you crawled under the stalls and locked the doors to all the toilets in the ladies' room at the Full Plate Cafeteria.”

“I rest my case,” I said. “Besides, I was only four.”

It was an unwritten law that everyone who is connected with the faculty at Sarah Bedford is required to attend the annual reception at the president's residence, and cars lined the street in front of the Georgian-style house where every window gleamed with light. Someone was playing “Clair de Lune” on the piano and I could hear the rise and fall of sedate conversation as we walked up the long curved drive.

“How appropriate that I'm wearing black,” I said to Ben. “I feel like we're going to a wake. Wonder if Blythe will be here.”

President Earnest and his wife, Vivian, who wore more silver sequins than I ever knew existed, greeted us at the door and passed us along like a pail of water in a bucket brigade. By the time we had reached the end I had smiled so much, my cheeks hurt.

I saw Dean Holland gnawing on a chicken wing at the buffet table, but Blythe wasn't anywhere in sight. The dean looked kind of lost, so we wandered over to speak with him, or at least I wandered over. Ben grabbed a plate and got down to some serious eating.

“Dean Holland?” I stuck out my hand. “Lucy Nan Pilgrim. We met several days ago.”

Nod. Smile. Chew. “Oh, yes…”

“I'm working with one of Ms. Harper's history classes this quarter.”

“Ah, yes.” Nod. Chew. Smile.

I looked around for backup, but my date had abandoned me for roast beef on rye.

“How is Mrs. Cornelius, Dean Holland? Will Blythe be here tonight?”