Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause (14 page)

“And which side was he on before the lights went out … before you heard the shot?”

This was met with silence as the men looked at one another in an effort to remember.

“He was still on the left!” Sam Odom, who had played the minister, exclaimed. “I remember him looking kind of shocked when I threw down the book I was using for a Bible. It was actually an outdated textbook I had back in college.”

“So he must have gone over to return the glove while the rest of you were taking bows,” Bobby said. “I guess that’s when Buddy left since none of you seems to have seen him since…” The police chief took a pencil from his pocket and threaded it through his fingers. “That is,
if
he left. Did any of you notice anything out of the ordinary about Buddy tonight?” Bobby asked.

“I doubt if any of us had time to notice much with all that’s been going on,” Reynolds told him, “but … well, maybe it was just me, but I thought Buddy had seemed on edge the last few days. I just assumed it was because of all his responsibilities for the rally.”

Several others admitted that they had noticed it as well. “And don’t forget how he reacted at rehearsal the other night when somebody mentioned that skeleton they found,” Sam added. “I thought he was going to hit somebody.”

Chief Tinsley frowned. “But, think now … let’s be sure … none of you has seen him since the incident with the rifle tonight?”

Everyone jumped as the front doors of the building slammed abruptly and Officer Padgett hurried down the aisle to speak in an undertone to the chief.

Bobby Tinsley stood with a sigh. “I might as well tell you we haven’t had any luck locating Buddy Oglesby with any of his poker buddies, and his aunt says he
still
hasn’t shown up there…” He shook his head as he reached in his pocket for a handkerchief to mop his glistening forehead. “I don’t mind telling you, it isn’t looking good.”

“Do you think it will be all right if we leave now?” Reynolds asked, half-rising from his seat. “It’s really late, and I have to check on things at the store before I can go home.”

The chief held up a hand. “Now, just hang on a minute there! How many of you who were in the wedding drove here tonight?”

The high school was located several blocks from the main residential area, and every one of the men raised a hand.

“We still haven’t located the weapon that was used, and I’ve asked a couple of my men to search the classrooms that were locked, as well as the cars,” Chief Tinsley said. “After that, you’re free to go. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it looks like we have a dangerous person running loose, and that rifle might still have prints.”

The two young women, he added, were free to leave, but because they were riding with Charlie’s uncle Ed, they would be forced to remain as well.

“I’m glad to stay if you think it will do any good, but that rifle is probably at the bottom of the river by now,” Jordan McGregor said, yawning.

“I think you’re right,” Sebastian Weaver agreed. “Whoever used that weapon tonight wouldn’t put it back in his own car. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“None of this makes any sense to me!” Sam Odom muttered.

“Well, then, let’s hurry and get on with it,” Uncle Ed said. “It was past my bedtime an hour ago.”

“You can search the whole town for all I care, but I’m getting out of this blasted dress!” Reynolds Murphy announced, tugging at his gold taffeta gown.

*   *   *

He had changed into a lightweight shirt and comfortable trousers a few minutes later when one of the older policemen returned with a weapon held over his head like a trophy.

“Is that my rifle?” Ed asked, rising.

“You tell me,” Bobby Tinsley said, holding the gun at a distance.

“Sure looks like it,” Ed said, trying to get a closer look. “Where’d you find it?”

The large room grew silent as Chief Tinsley looked about before answering. “Under a blanket in the trunk of your Plymouth, Reynolds. Mind telling us what it was doing there?”

The merchant’s face grew red as he glared at him in apparent confusion. “How am I supposed to know that since I sure as hell didn’t put it there? Is this some kind of joke?”

“If it is, it isn’t funny,” Coach McGregor said. “Anybody could’ve put that gun in there.”

“That’s right,” Ed Willingham echoed, stepping up to stand with Reynolds. “I don’t see how you could even think that of Reynolds, Bobby. Why, you’ve known him all your life.”

“Right,” Delby added. “Besides, when do you think he would’ve had time to do it?”

Chief Tinsley pretended to study about that for a minute. “Well … being as most of your vehicles were parked just behind the auditorium, it would’ve taken only a short time for somebody to dash out one of the back exits, shove the gun in the trunk, and be back inside before any of you noticed he was gone. With all the confusion when the lights went out and after the shot was fired, how many of you can vouch for Reynolds—or anybody else—during that time?”

“Huh! I can damn well vouch for Ed!” Delby claimed. “He stepped on my foot, and I’m almost sure he tore my train.”

This brought laughter in spite of the seriousness of the situation, except for Reynolds, who continued to frown.

“And I can do the same for Delby,” Ed said. “I honestly don’t see how he could have run outside and back in that getup with all those pillows in his bosom. Besides, he was standing next to me when we heard the shot.”

“What about the rest of you?” the chief asked. “Any of you remember who was near you at that time?”

Sebastian said he had just passed Sam Odom and Evan Mitchell in the passageway behind stage right and had heard both men shouting questions after the shot was fired. H. G. Dobbins, on his way to the dressing room, claimed to have heard them as well.

“For what it’s worth, I was on my way backstage to get out of that long-tailed dress when the lights went out,” Reynolds volunteered.

“Any idea who might’ve been near you?” Bobby Tinsley asked.

Reynolds shook his head. “No, but all hell broke loose after we heard that shot, and then Jesse Dean hollered, except we didn’t know yet it was Jesse Dean. Somebody bumped into me as I was fumbling around, trying to find my way in the dark, but I couldn’t tell who it was.” He looked about at the others. “You all
do
believe me, don’t you?”

A chorus of positive endorsements followed, and Charlie found herself agreeing with the rest of them. She had always liked Reynolds Murphy and while in high school had spent a couple of weeks during Christmas vacation working in his store for spending money. Murphy’s Five and Ten was a favorite place for many of the local children as well because Reynolds let them browse freely through the comic book selection.

The local police chief, she noticed, maintained a stoic expression. “Oh, go on home, all of you!” he said finally. “But, Reynolds, don’t plan to take any trips before we get to the bottom of this.”

*   *   *

Charlie found Jo and Delia waiting up for her when she got home that night. Her mother had sacrificed precious sugar to make hot chocolate, and the three sat sipping it at the kitchen table. She was certain her aunt Lou had stayed up to greet her uncle as well.

“Poor Reynolds!” her mother said. “Why in the world would he want to shoot Jesse Dean?”

“Everybody seems to think Buddy was meant to be the victim,” Charlie told her.

“Well, why would he want to shoot Buddy, either?” her mother huffed. “That’s just plain ridiculous! Somebody must’ve planted that rifle there.”

“Wonder why they chose that particular car,” Delia said.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was the closest one,” Charlie said, yawning. She wished she had a marshmallow to melt in her drink. She missed marshmallows, which were in short supply, along with most everything else. Charlie drank her chocolate slowly, relishing the rich, dark sweetness. Thank goodness she didn’t have to go to school tomorrow! She felt she could sleep for a year.

“Poor Reynolds!” her mother sighed again. “Well, at least they didn’t arrest him.”

But soon they would hear otherwise.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

Oh, this was just too good! What luck! If one played one’s cards right, there was no telling how much this could be worth. Of course there was danger involved, but it would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Actually, the thought was stimulating. Not that the other little scheme wasn’t proving profitable. Not by a long shot, but that was easy money. This would require caution—extreme caution—in addition to some long-term planning, and, of course, a good bit of luck.

But that was what made it fun.

*   *   *

Miss Dimple Kilpatrick sat in her usual pew in the fourth row from the back on the left-hand side of Elderberry First Methodist Church and fingered the tiny gold bar pin at her throat. The pin had belonged to her mother, gone so long now Dimple could barely recall her face, but touching the simple jewelry somehow brought her closer, as well as bringing a brief respite of peace.

With all the war going on in the world, peace would be most welcome here in her little town, but that was not to be. Even here in this sacred place the talk before the service was of nothing but the shocking news of the night before.

The morning was warm, and even with the windows open, people in the congregation stirred the air with cardboard fans showing Jesus blessing the children on one side and an advertisement for Riley’s Funeral Home on the other. It came to her attention that someone nearby was wearing Evening in Paris cologne, and the scent was overpowering. Miss Dimple reached for a fan.

The minister chose to speak that day about pathways and the choices thereof, using as a reference Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken,” a favorite poem of hers. Miss Dimple wondered what pathway Buddy Oglesby might have taken since he seemed to be missing. There had even been speculation earlier that perhaps he was fleeing from Reynolds Murphy or whoever shot poor Jesse Dean. And now Reynolds was being questioned, not only on suspicion of shooting Jesse but of killing his own wife!

For now the pathetic remains in the water-soaked grave had a name:
Cynthia Murphy.
Everyone thought she had run off with a traveling salesman when she’d disappeared several years before, and no one, it seemed, had been shocked, or even surprised. Cynthia Murphy was a well-known flirt, and most people considered her absence good riddance, except for Reynolds, who had never stopped looking for his wife or expecting her to return. Finally, feeling inadequate to raise his young son alone, he had enrolled the boy in an expensive military school. Everyone knew Reynolds Murphy was an expert marksman and even instructed the men of the Home Guard in riflery, but was he capable of committing murder? She fervently hoped not, yet
someone
had buried Cynthia Murphy in the Hutchinsons’ river-bottom field, and the fact that the woman’s dental records matched the teeth on the skeletal remains had recently come to the attention of the authorities.

She had been pleased when, at the beginning of the service, the minister had announced that Jesse Dean was improving and requested the congregation pray for his recovery. Miss Dimple planned not only to do that but to visit her friend as well. Perhaps Phoebe’s cook, Odessa, also a friend of the young man, would bake him some of her special gingerbread cookies.

Across the aisle Louise Willingham plucked at the neckline of her dress as she fanned. Being rather generously endowed, Lou seemed to suffer more in the heat than her slender sister Jo, who sat beside her. Ed Willingham had not accompanied his wife to church today, she noted, probably because he wanted to avoid talk of all the dreadful happenings of the night before.

Louise, on the other hand, had seemed to relish the attention before church that morning as she attempted to answer questions right and left. As fond as she was of Lou Willingham, Dimple Kilpatrick knew without a shadow of a doubt that every story the woman told would grow like Jack’s beanstalk as the day wore on.

“Well, for all we know, poor Buddy Oglesby could be lying dead out there somewhere,” Alma Owens said after church that day as people gathered in hushed clusters on the lawn. “I heard nobody’s laid eyes on him since that happened to Jesse Dean. And is it true they found the rifle in Reynolds Murphy’s car? It’s hard to believe he would do such a thing!”

Bessie Jenkins, who happened to overhear, stepped up, eyes snapping. “You can hardly blame Reynolds for whatever happened to Buddy, Alma, since he was right there in the auditorium the whole time.”

Alma sniffed. “He managed to get away long enough to hide that gun in his trunk, didn’t he?”

“Miss Bessie’s right,” Charlie said, slipping an arm around her neighbor. “We don’t know who put that rifle in Reynolds’s car.” In fact, she thought, they were a long way from knowing much of anything.

She had been saddened and shocked when they learned the identity of the remains that morning, although even back in high school Charlie had heard rumors about Cynthia Murphy, who was, according to whispers, “no better than she should be” and “too fast for her own good.” Apparently, Charlie thought, the latter had been true. “This must be horrible for Reynolds,” she said. “He never gave up hoping Cynthia would come back—even had the kitchen remodeled with new cabinets and everything. Said she’d always hated the ones they had.”

“Looks like she was ‘one that loved not wisely but too well,’” Annie said as they walked home.

Charlie smiled at her friend’s choice of quote. “Doesn’t seem like she loved too well, either. Somebody must not have thought so.”

Annie shook her head. “But you know how nice Reynolds is! I just can’t believe he’d do a thing like that.”

Charlie frowned. “I remember when she disappeared. Reynolds had been on a buying trip to Atlanta and came home to find her gone. Ross, their son, was on some kind of outing with the Scouts, and nobody was at home. They say he was frantic not knowing where she was.”

“Who could blame him?” Annie said. “Didn’t they have any idea what might’ve happened?”

“A waitress at some dive in the next county said she’d seen her with a man not long before they discovered her missing.” She paused. “The man wasn’t Reynolds. Maybe we’ll know more after they check the gun for prints,” Charlie added. “It won’t tell us who killed Cynthia, but they might be able to know if Reynolds handled the gun last night.”