Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (24 page)

“They didn't see Leonard,” Annie told her, “but they did speak briefly with his mother, and she accused Dora of being a thief. Do you have any idea why she might've said that?”

“
A thief?
Why, my sister was as honest as the day is long! And what on earth would she steal? I can't imagine why Lucille would say such a thing.” Elaine closed her eyes and shuddered. “That woman has done her best to make life miserable for my sister!

“This has all been a nightmare for me. Dora was my only sibling, and even though I didn't see her often, life won't ever be the same without her.”

Dimple took her hand. “I'm so sorry, and we'll do our best to find out who's responsible.” She couldn't imagine how she would feel if she lost Henry. She had received a brief note from him a day or so before and made up her mind to write him as soon as she had a chance.

It was obvious Elaine was making an effort to fight back tears. “Do the police in Elderberry have any idea who might've done this to Dora?” she asked.

As far as Dimple knew, they didn't, but she wasn't going to admit that to Dora's grieving sister. “They're doing their best to find out,” she told her, “and I promise we'll keep you informed.”

They were preparing to leave, when Dimple noticed the two photographs on the small end table beside the sofa, and for a few seconds she found it difficult to breathe. Others were talking, making polite conversation as they gathered shoes and wraps, but they might as well have been in another world as Dimple reached hesitantly for the black-and-white photo of a young man in his teens.
How could this be?
Her legs gave way beneath her, and clutching the arm of the sofa, Dimple fell back against the cushions, the framed picture still in one hand.

“Your shoes are almost dry, Dimple,” Velma said, then, noticing her friend's demeanor, went to her side. “Dimple, what is it? Are you all right?”

Concerned, the others gathered around as Dimple's face seemed to crumple right in front of them, and Annie, thinking the older teacher might be suffering some kind of attack, dropped to her knees beside her. “Something's not right,” she said with a sob in her throat. “I think we should call a doctor.”

But Dimple held up a hand. “No. Please, no. I'm all right, just a bit shaken.” She held the photograph in front of her and with one finger traced the image of the boy's face. “This young man … is this … is this your son?” she asked Elaine.

Puzzled, and a bit alarmed, Elaine sat beside her. “Why, yes. That's our Edward, but we call him Eddie. He's named for a great-uncle of mine, who, I understand, was our grandmother Mattie's only nephew.”

Relinquishing the photograph at last, Dimple shook her head. “I didn't mean to give you such a turn, but your Edward is the image of someone I knew long ago. His name was Edward, too, but everyone called him Ned.”

Ned! Could it possibly be the same?
“When did you know him, Miss Dimple?” Elaine struggled to speak calmly.

Dimple sighed. “Years ago. He's been gone so many years now. Too many. Ned never lived to see the turn of the century. He died during the Spanish American War—died on foreign soil.”

Crying silently now, Elaine took Dimple's hand. “Of yellow fever. I know. I never knew him, of course, but our grandmother spoke of Ned often, and our cousin Kathleen, as well. She showed me his picture once, and you're right, there's a strong resemblance to our Edward.

“And … oh, my goodness … you're
Joy,
the one he loved. The one he left behind.”

Dimple fumbled for her handkerchief, and minutes passed before she was able to speak. “No one's called me that since I left here that last summer. Ned's sister, Kathleen, named me that—said I looked like a Joy to her, and she never called me anything else. I taught at the little school here, lived with your great-uncle and -aunt. It was the happiest year of my life—well, until Ned was taken from us, and I remember your grandmother Mattie. She always seemed to find pleasure in everyday living, as many of the Applewhites did.”

Dimple frowned, remembering. “And you must be Amelia's daughter.”

“That's right. Our mother was always frail, and she died much too soon. Our grandmother gave us a good home, though, and we never lacked for love.” Elaine smiled. “I remember family gatherings at Willowvale with Uncle Mac and Aunt Sadie—and Kathleen, too, of course. She was teaching then, but always joined us in the summers.”

Kathleen.
Dimple remembered the pretty young girl who loved to have fun and took delight in helping in the classroom. “And Kathleen,” she began, “is she—”

“Still teaching, and she'll be excited to hear about you. You're the reason she went into teaching, you know, but I never knew your real name. She always referred to you as Joy, and I don't suppose you knew this, but she named her daughter after you.”

“Dimple?” Annie asked.

“Why, no, she named her Joy.” She went on to explain that Kathleen and her husband also had a son and were the grandparents of three.

“Oh, how I would love to see her!” Dimple said, slipping at last into warm, dry shoes. She had kept in touch with the family for years but Kathleen moved several times during that period, and Dimple lost track of her address.

“I blame myself for not trying harder to locate Kathleen,” Dimple admitted, “but I couldn't bear the thought of reopening old wounds. She was my closest link to Ned, you see, and I thought I could bury my grief. I was wrong.”

“I believe Kathleen and her husband plan to come here for Thanksgiving,” Elaine whispered to Dimple as she left. “How do you feel about surprises?”

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-EIGHT

As it was too late to stop in town for breakfast, Elaine had recommended a small restaurant between Shelbyville and Lynchburg that served excellent waffles and pancakes. “It's called Bertie's,” she told them, “and it's on a side road only a few miles on the other side of Shelbyville. I promise it will be well worth the detour,” she said, “and it's about the same distance to Lynchburg, so you shouldn't lose any time.”

Everyone had agreed that they preferred to get on the road and put some miles behind them before stopping, and they would all be ready for Bertie's when it was time to stop.

The rain had slacked by the time they drove through the outskirts of Lewisburg. Dimple took charge of the map and felt encouraged when they reached Shelbyville sooner than expected. A short time later, they turned off on the detour route Elaine had told them about, which would take them to the restaurant and then on to connect with the main road to Lynchburg.

“Finally! I thought we'd never get here,” Annie said as they pulled into Bertie's parking lot.

“The first thing I want is a cup of coffee,” Augusta said.

“Make that two cups,” Velma suggested, and once inside and seated, they found the food as good as they had expected.

It would have been pleasant to linger over a second cup of coffee, but no one wanted to be on the road after dark. The rain held off briefly as they got on their way, but the sky opened up a few miles down the road and Velma slowed to be able to see where she was going. “It can't be much farther to Lynchburg,” she said. “Please, Dimple, tell me we're almost there.”

Dimple frowned over the map. She had no idea how far they had come. “I'm sure we'll be there soon,” she assured her, hoping she was right.

The old Ford sloshed along over water-filled potholes, and everyone sat on edge when a tire hit a large rock in the road.

“Uh-oh! All we need now is a flat tire,” Annie said.

“Don't say that. We need to think positive,” Augusta told her. “We aren't going to have a flat tire. We just aren't.”

But they did.

Here they were in the pouring rain, out in the middle of nowhere. Velma began to wish she had never agreed to this trip, but it was too late for regrets. “It looks like I have no other choice but to change that tire in this rain,” she said. “The old thing is held together with patches. Let's hope the spare's in better shape.”

“I think I see a shed of some kind just up ahead.” Augusta pointed it out. “At least we can get the car off the road and out of the rain.” And after thinking about it for a minute, Velma decided the tire probably wouldn't suffer much more damage than it already had.

“I suppose it's worth a try,” she said. “We have to do something soon.”

Fortunately, the shed, which seemed to have once been used as a blacksmith shop, was close to the road and there was just enough room inside for the four of them to stand beside the car. Spiderwebs shrouded the few rusty farm implements on the walls, and water from a leak in the roof formed a puddle on the floor.

Annie watched Velma wrestle to jack up the car. “Let me change that tire, Miss Velma. You must be worn out from driving, and I used to watch my brother. I think I can remember how.”

“Very well.” Velma seemed relieved. “The spare is mounted on the rear. You'll need a hand to get it out.”

“And that hand will be mine.” Augusta stepped up. “I don't know how to change a tire, but I can learn.”

“First we have to get this one off,” Annie said, welcoming the help. She knelt beside the deflated tire and took a deep breath. The old place smelled of earth and mildew and … something else—rats? But she wouldn't think of that.

“What will we do if this one's flat, too?” Annie asked as the two worked together to remove the tire.

“But it won't be,” Augusta said. “Remember, think pos—”

“And if I remember correctly, that didn't work the last time,” Velma reminded her. “Let's just hope we don't have to spend the night in this shed.”

Finally, the two managed to get the spare tire in place, and although it wasn't completely flat, it definitely needed air. “We'll just have to hope we can make it to Lynchburg,” Velma said as they were once more on the road. “I've a feeling we're not too far away.”

“The sky seems to be clearing up again,” Dimple said. “Surely nothing else can happen.”

But of course it did.

Velma threw on the brakes as soon as she saw it. They had rounded a blind curve, only to be confronted with a large pool of water stretching all the way across the road. “Do we dare try to cross it?” Annie asked.

“No!” The others spoke in unison. “There's probably a dip in the road there,” Velma explained. “We have no idea how deep it is.”

Annie frowned. “So what do we do now?”

“We back up and find a place to turn around, and hope we can get back to Shelbyville,” Velma told her.

It was then that Augusta noticed Annie's hand was bleeding. “What happened to your hand, Annie? It seems to be bleeding quite a bit. Here, let's use my scarf and see if we can stop it.”

“Better still, use this.” Miss Dimple offered her ever-present handkerchief. “I always try to keep a clean one in reserve.”

But even with applied pressure, the wound continued to bleed. “I must have cut it changing the tire,” Annie said. “It doesn't seem to be deep.”

By this time, Dimple's handkerchief was useless, and Augusta removed the scarf from her hair. “It's not white, but it's all I have. Maybe it will do.” And she folded the scarf of silvery blue and gold and pressed it against Annie's cut. But blood still seeped through and soon the scarf had turned to red.

“I hate to ruin your pretty scarf, Augusta,” Annie said. “I hope you can save it.”

“I'm more concerned about your hand.” Augusta frowned. “I've a gown in my overnight bag I can tear into strips.”

“No, wait!” Dimple searched her handbag. “I'd almost forgotten about this.” And she unwrapped the biscuit she'd saved from breakfast at the motor court. “I had a feeling this might come in handy.”

“Dimple Kilpatrick!” Velma said as she turned the car once again toward Shelbyville. “How do you think eating a stale biscuit can stop the flow of blood?”

“You don't eat it,” Dimple replied, breaking the biscuit apart. “You press it on the wound. It would be better if it were fresh, but it should help to absorb the blood.” She passed it back to Augusta, who did as instructed and the piece of biscuit did exactly what it was supposed to do. “Why, for heaven's sake, it
is
slacking,” Augusta said.

“Spiderwebs would probably do just as well, but this is what we have on hand,” Dimple told her. “Now, take that one off and put the other half in its place. We'll need a clean sock or stocking to hold it there.”

“Use one of mine.” Annie, who was relieved they didn't have to rely on spiderwebs, gestured to her bag on the floor. “Hate to mess up another of somebody else's accessories.”

*   *   *

By the time they returned to Shelbyville, the cut had finally ceased to bleed, and when they stopped on the outskirts of town to have one tire patched and the other inflated, Dimple poured antiseptic over Annie's wound and bound it with a strip torn from her extra petticoat. When Annie protested at her sacrifice, Augusta assured both that she could mend it as good as new. “Just give me a few minutes when we get back, and I promise you won't see the difference,” she said.

And Dimple knew it was so.

“How did you find a dry place to change that tire way out in the middle of nowhere?” the filling station attendant asked before they left. “The few people who live out there are so far from the road, you'd never know they were there. If you ask me, it's a dad-blamed long way to go for pancakes, and if that Bertie didn't serve such good food, he wouldn't stay in business a minute.”

Velma explained to him about the deserted blacksmith shop. “It was just off the road, and we would've all been soaking wet if we hadn't found it.”