Miss Dimple Rallies to the Cause (17 page)

Aunt Lou put her empty mixing bowl in the sink and filled it with water. A damp spot from leaning against the sink spread across her red striped apron, but she didn’t seem to notice. “But they haven’t been able to locate Buddy, so how do they know somebody didn’t shoot him, too?”

“He’s been acting peculiar lately—all nervous and jittery. Several people have noticed it. I don’t like to believe it’s true, but have you considered that Buddy might’ve been the one who did the shooting?” Charlie reasoned. “After all, both the War Bond money and Buddy Oglesby disappeared about the same time Jesse Dean was shot.”

“If he really did take that money, he’d better steer clear of Virginia Balliew,” her aunt said. “He’d have a better chance with Bobby Tinsley and his crew.”

Charlie agreed, but if Buddy wasn’t the one who fired the rifle, the evidence pointed to Reynolds Murphy, the genial merchant who always tossed in extra candy for children who shopped at his store. No. It had to have been somebody else.

Charlie helped herself to a glass of iced tea from the white stoneware pitcher her aunt always kept in the refrigerator. She wasn’t going to think about it anymore—for a while, at least. “Who’s coming to your party Saturday? Anybody I know?”

Her aunt laughed. Of course her niece knew them all. “The list is out in the hall by the telephone, and just about everybody’s coming. Except for Jesse Dean, who’s not able, and a couple of people who plan to be out of town.”

*   *   *

“Of course you’re going, Virginia!” Dimple Kilpatrick stood in front of the open door of her friend’s closet, reached in, and chose two dresses, a blue-and-white georgette and a green tailored shirtwaist with wide lapels. “There’s nothing wrong with either of these.”

Virginia groaned. “The blue one’s too summery. It is October, you know.”

Dimple nodded. “And still warm as springtime outside, but green’s more your color anyway.”

Virginia pushed it away. “I never have liked that dress. Really, Dimple, I’d rather not go.”

Miss Dimple hung the garments back in the closet and sat on the side of the bed. “This has nothing to do with dresses, does it?” When her friend didn’t answer, she continued. “No one in his right mind thinks you had anything to do with the missing bond money, but if you keep to yourself and act like you’re ashamed, they might begin to wonder.”

“I just don’t think I can do it. I have to
make
myself open the library every day and sit there pretending as if nothing’s happened, but I know what people are thinking.”

“Then perhaps you might want to consider a mind-reading booth at the Halloween carnival this year. I wasn’t aware you had that gift.”

Dimple was pleased when Virginia smiled. “Oh, I don’t know, Dimple … all those people! Everybody in town will be there.”

Miss Dimple touched her friend’s shoulder. “And every one’s a friend. Now, what about this gray one with the turquoise trim?”

Sighing, Virginia waved her hand. “If only the police had arrived sooner Saturday night, all this might have been avoided.”

Dimple paused, gray dress in hand. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember? There was some kind of false alarm that sent Bobby Tinsley way out to the edge of town, so he was late getting to the auditorium to collect the money.”

“Of course! I remember Charlie going to look for a telephone, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I know you didn’t let that satchel out of your sight during the first part of the follies.”

“Buddy helped with sales during intermission and turned the money over to Bobby as soon as he arrived.”

“But as it turned out, it wasn’t
all
the money,” Dimple said. “Someone had to switch what was in that other satchel just before the entertainment began after intermission.”

“Dimple, I counted every penny of that money and put it in the satchel myself,” Virginia insisted.

“And then what?”

“Well, I knew the police were on the way, so I left it with Buddy and went back to my seat in the auditorium…” Pausing, Virginia grasped the closet door for support. “Oh, Dimple, that must’ve been when he did it. He took the money out of the satchel and crammed it full of leftover follies programs before turning the satchel over to the police.”

“How long do you think you were gone before the police came to collect it?”

Virginia frowned. “Not long. Probably about five or ten minutes. The lobby was empty because it was almost time for the womanless wedding to begin.”

“And Buddy was there the whole time you were gone?”

“He
said
he was, but you know as well as I do that Buddy Oglesby’s word is worth about as much as last year’s ration book. Dimple, what in the world am I going to do?”

Dimple Kilpatrick draped her friend’s gray dress across the foot of the bed. “Well, first of all, I think you should tell Bobby Tinsley exactly what you’ve just told me, and tomorrow you should wear this dress and those lovely aquamarine earrings your Albert gave you and go to the Willinghams’ party.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

What a fool the woman had been! She had actually believed him when he told her they would run away together. Everybody knew she slept with any man who took her fancy. Well, he’d taken her fancy and he’d enjoyed it, but that was the end of it. And now, after all this time, she turned up like a bad penny! Still, there had been times when he’d remember her laugh, the intoxicating scent of her, and the way she could tease a man to distraction. Two years was a long time, but not long enough.

*   *   *

Lou Willingham passed around a silver tray of dainty sandwiches cut in a variety of shapes. The tray had belonged to her grandmother on her father’s side, and she had made the sandwiches after she got home from the ordnance plant the day before. “Please have a sandwich, Marjorie, and how about another cup of Russian tea?”

Marjorie Mote smiled and selected a sandwich shaped like a pumpkin. (Lou had put her Halloween cookie cutters to good use.) “I just can’t resist olives and cream cheese, and your cheese straws are always a treat, Lou. What a nice idea this was.”

“I’m afraid we get so busy we don’t make time to visit anymore, so this gives me an excuse and an opportunity to introduce everyone to Jordan and Millie.” Lou moved along with her tray and glanced back to see Marjorie chatting with Bessie Jenkins. It was good to see her neighbor enjoying herself once again after losing a son during the first year of the war. The Motes’ remaining son was now stationed with the army somewhere in Europe, and the gold star in their window had been joined by a blue one.

Phoebe Chadwick sat quietly in a corner with a plate on her lap and an expression on her face that clearly read “keep out.” Earlier Lou had seen her sister, Jo, go over and speak to her, as had several others, but apparently their conversations had been brief.

Well, this would never do! Lou quickly replenished her supply of sandwiches and went over to sit beside Phoebe. “A penny for your thoughts?” she said.

“What?” Phoebe blinked and looked about. “I’m sorry, Lou. My mind’s a million miles away.”

Lou smiled. “With your nephew, I’ll bet. How is he?”

“Harrison’s doing all right, or at least he says he is. It’s a shame, though, how they drill these poor boys until they’re completely exhausted.”

Lou set her tray aside and took the woman’s hand. “They’re turning them into men, Phoebe. God bless ’em. Now, let me refresh your punch. Have you tried one of my tarts?”

Phoebe thanked her and declined, sinking back into her reverie, and Lou made her way across the room, where Alma Owens had poor Harris Cooper backed into a space between two overstuffed chairs.

“And to think we’ve been trading with Reynolds Murphy all this time after he did such an unspeakable thing!” Alma said. “But you know, I always did think his eyes were too close together.”

“It hasn’t been proved yet that he did anything, Alma. They’re only holding him for questioning,” Harris said while signaling “help me” to Lou with his eyes.

“Well, it certainly took them long enough, and I don’t know about you, Harris, but I hope they won’t release him anytime soon. Why, I won’t feel safe walking our streets. After all, how do we know we won’t be next?”

“Well, now, I don’t know about … that is, we just can’t…” Harris looked frantically about for a route of escape, and Lou obligingly stepped up to the rescue. “I think someone’s looking for you in the dining room,” she said to Harris, nodding her head in that direction. “Another sandwich, Alma?” she asked, blocking the woman with her tray.

Catching Miss Dimple’s eye across the room, Lou made her way through the gathering to inquire in what she considered hushed tones about Phoebe’s strange behavior. “What on earth’s gotten into Phoebe Chadwick?” she asked. “She looks like death warmed over, and I can’t get two words out of her.”

Unfortunately, Lou had never learned to whisper, and Dimple hastily drew her into a private corner, but she was sure those standing nearby caught every word. “Yes, I’m worried about her, too,” she said, speaking softly. “I know she’s been concerned about Kathleen’s boy being drafted, but it’s more than that, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

Lou shook her head. “If you could just get her to tell you what’s troubling her, maybe…”

Miss Dimple glanced at her friend still sitting gray and droopy with an empty punch cup in her lap and saw misery etched on her face. She took a deep breath. “Well, whatever it is, I plan to do my best to put a stop to it. You can count on that.”

It was unlike Dimple Kilpatrick to let emotions get the better of her, but she found it difficult to disguise the anger in her voice. She was almost certain her friend had been receiving threatening messages, and
someone
was responsible, possibly someone in this very room. Noticing Lou’s concerned expression, she quickly helped herself to a ghost-shaped sandwich, commented on the lovely refreshments, and moved on.

Earlier, Lou had made a point of introducing Jordan and his wife, Millie, to all the guests, and after politely weaving her way through the gathering, Millie had now established herself in the adjoining sitting room, where some of the younger people congregated. Hearing their laughter, Lou saw her niece, Delia, among them and was glad she seemed to have found a friend in the coach’s wife. Delia had been kind of like a lost lamb when she and her baby came home to Elderberry after her young husband was shipped out, and although Millie was a good bit older, she seemed to enjoy Delia’s company.

In the dining room, Jo was relating an apparently funny tale to Virginia Balliew and Velma Anderson, and Lou was glad to see Virginia smile as she knew she’d almost made herself sick worrying about that missing bond money. And didn’t she look pretty in those aquamarine earrings?

As she watched, her sister moved to the table and helped herself to a couple of tarts and some cheese straws, and Lou Willingham shook her head in envy. Jo could eat her weight in sweets and starches and never gain an ounce, while Lou seemed to put on pounds just from the smell of chocolate. But then Jo never did like to cook, while Lou enjoyed even the challenge of coming up with appetizing menus in spite of wartime shortages. And wasn’t Ed—bless his heart—always bragging about what a good cook she was?

Lou started back to the kitchen to replenish the miniature tea muffins when she heard voices in the hallway, where she found Dimple Kilpatrick in earnest conversation with Jordan McGregor.

“The heat and humidity must be unbearable in a tropical climate like that, but I understand it’s much cooler in the mountainous areas. And what is the name of that river that flows through the western part of New Guinea? I remember learning about that country in geography, but unfortunately my memory’s not as good as it once was.”

“I can’t imagine your memory being less than perfect,” the coach said, smiling. “Why, just about everybody I’ve met here sings your praises.”

Miss Dimple frowned. “It’s not the Sepik, that’s on the eastern side … no, it begins with a C … Car … something. Oh, well, I suppose it will come to me later.” Miss Dimple paused for a sip of punch. “Tell me, do the natives really build their homes on platforms? I read once they do that for protection.”

Coach McGregor nodded. “Well, I really—”

“And I imagine malaria must be prevalent there. A great uncle on my father’s side suffered so from that. Lived in coastal Mississippi, you know, with all those pesky mosquitoes. The fever would come back on him now and again for the rest of his life. I hope you won’t have that problem, Mr. McGregor.”

Lou hesitated, tray in hand. Neither of them seemed to have noticed her approach—and what was all this chatter about New Guinea and malaria? She had never heard Dimple Kilpatrick speak in such a rude manner without giving the poor man an opportunity to reply. And why was she pretending ignorance when everyone knew her mind was as sharp as a bayonet? “Memory’s not as good as it once was”—humbug!

“Is that a new dress, Miss Dimple?” she asked. “That color is perfect with your complexion.” It was purple, of course, as was most of her attire.

“Why, thank you, Lou, but no. Bessie made this for me several years ago. I’m sure you must’ve seen it. I wore it to church just last Sunday.” Miss Dimple made no attempt to hide her annoyance at the interruption.

“Well, you should wear it more often,” Lou said, taking her tenant by the arm. “Jordan,” she began “it’s really a shame we never get a chance to visit, even with the two of you living right here behind us. Why don’t you come to the kitchen and talk with me while I get a fresh supply of muffins?”

“Only if you’ll let me help,” Jordan answered, taking the tray from his hostess. Of course this left Dimple with no choice but to return to the rest of the guests in the other part of the house. Sometimes Louise Willingham could be too bossy for her own good, but at least she’d learned one thing from her one-sided conversation with the new coach. Jordan McGregor had never been in New Guinea.

*   *   *

Ed Willingham found Reynolds Murphy stretched out in a rocking chair in his tiny cell in the Elderberry City Jail with a pillow at his back and a plate of apple pie in his lap.