Miss Dimple Suspects (12 page)

The house was quiet when she reached home and Charlie took advantage of the opportunity to write to Will and Fain. But what could she tell them? For the past few days her life had revolved around the murder of Mae Martha Hawthorne and the frenzied involvement that followed. Charlie took out her notepad and filled her fountain pen in preparation. But how to begin?
Remember the artist I wrote you about? The lady who took in Miss Dimple and Peggy when they couldn’t make it home in the dark? Well, guess what happened?

For heaven’s sake, that wouldn’t do! Charlie stared at the blank sheet of paper. That kind lady deserved better than this! Maybe a cup of tea would help.

Later, sipping the brew, Charlie wrote to Will and Fain about Suzy’s mysterious phone call that led them to discovering the body, and how she had later disappeared. She didn’t tell them they were keeping her under cover at Virginia Balliew’s. And she also didn’t tell them Suzy’s ancestors came from Japan.

*   *   *

The next afternoon, true to her word, Miss Dimple borrowed a leash from her young neighbor Willie Elrod, whose dog Rags seemed to have an aversion to it, and dutifully walked Max to his new home with the Ashcrofts. There they were greeted with unbounded excitement and hugs too many to count. Peaches, as expected, took refuge under the living room sofa. Peggy was scheduled to have her tonsils removed in a few days and the prospect of Max’s faithful company on her return from the hospital would make the ordeal easier to face, her mother confided.

Dimple wasn’t surprised on her arrival to find Lottie Nivens there, as she would be filling in for Kate during her absence at school and the two were discussing the upcoming Christmas production.

“I hope you’ve had a chance to settle in at Bessie’s,” Dimple said. “My friend Charlie tells me how excited her neighbor is to have such good company over the holidays.”

“And I’m happy to be there,” the young woman said. “It would be a lonely Christmas with my husband so far away with the navy. My aunt, who raised me, died a few years ago and Miss Bessie has gone out of her way to make me feel welcome.”

Peggy insisted on taking Max to the kitchen to give him the bone her mother had begged from Shorty Skinner the day before and Dimple spent the next few minutes attempting to answer Lottie’s questions about the routine at school. When she rose to go, Kate, leaving Lottie to leaf through suggested plans for the program, walked with her to the door.

“I can’t tell you how shocked I was to hear of that terrible thing that happened to Mrs. Hawthorne,” she began. “And now her companion seems to have disappeared. She took such good care of our Peggy I find it hard to believe she had anything to do with that awful murder. I know you had a chance to get to know her some, Miss Dimple. Do you have any idea why she’s run away? And is it true she’s Japanese?”

“Suzy is of Japanese heritage,” Dimple said, “but she’s an American citizen. She was born in the United States.”

“I see,” Kate said, although it was obvious that she didn’t. Most people who lived in their part of the United States had never seen a person of Japanese descent except in the movies. “Emmaline said she was only pretending to have a medical background, but Doc Morrison seemed to think she knew very well what she was doing.”

“I can attest to that,” Miss Dimple said. “She has a medical degree from Emory, and if you think about it, you might realize why the young woman has dropped out of sight.

“I can only imagine, of course,” she continued, “but she told me earlier that her parents, as well as many others of that heritage who lived on the West Coast, have been moved inland to some kind of relocation camps, and they warned her not to return to California. Suzy might’ve thought she’d be blamed for Mrs. Hawthorne’s death, regardless of guilt, when people learned of her background.”

“But you knew…?” Kate Ashcroft let the question hang in the air.

Miss Dimple nodded. “I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure until she explained about her background. Naturally, Mrs. Hawthorne knew as well.”

Kate stood on her porch and watched Dimple make her way briskly down the walk. “Miss Dimple!” she called after her. “It doesn’t look good, does it? For Suzy, I mean. I’m afraid for what might happen.”

You have no idea!
Dimple thought. Aloud she said, “I’ll agree it wasn’t a wise decision, but who knows what we might do under the same circumstances. Let’s just hope the police will find the person who did this soon.”

They wouldn’t, of course, because as far as the sheriff was concerned, they already knew who had killed Mae Martha Hawthorne.
Tucking her purse under her arm, Dimple Kilpatrick hurried home to Phoebe’s, where a warm fire waited in the parlor, perhaps, she hoped, with a small cup of hot spiced apple cider. It seemed they were going to have their work cut out for them.

*   *   *

Does she suspect? Am I giving anything away?
Virginia asked herself that question every time someone came into the library. She was sure she had GUILT plastered all over her face in capital letters. Suzy was the perfect guest—or she would’ve been if she weren’t wanted by the police. The kitchen floor had never been as spotless, and the old range gleamed like new.

“Please don’t feel you have to clean,” Virginia had told her. “You’re my guest, and I don’t expect you to do anything at all … well, except to stay out of sight.” However, Suzy had told her she felt she had to do
something
to occupy her time and she really didn’t mind cleaning. For lunch that day Suzy had treated her to tempura, a Japanese dish of vegetables dipped in egg batter and fried, which Virginia found delicious.

But what if someone saw her? They kept the shades drawn in the front of the house—to keep the sun from fading the sofa, Virginia explained to her neighbor Mavis Kilgore, although the sofa was at least thirty years old and about as faded as it was going to be. Virginia worried about Mavis, who always seemed to know what was going on in the neighborhood. She wondered if the woman sat up all night keeping watch over the street, and her husband, Jerome, who even worse, could nose out information like a ferret. If only they would find Mae Martha’s killer soon!

Suzy had dutifully written the names of all the people she could think of who had even the slightest contact with Mae Martha but couldn’t imagine a reason why any of them would benefit from the woman’s death.

Mrs. Hawthorne’s nephew Isaac, Suzy told them, was responsible for marketing her paintings and saw that the money was regularly deposited to her bank account. She had seen him only on a few occasions and described him as being as robust as his brother was frail. Naturally, as a blacksmith he would have to be muscular, Virginia thought.
And certainly strong enough to kill someone with one blow of an iron poker.

Dimple took one look at her friend when she dropped by the library later that afternoon, and, glancing about, pulled a chair up close to her desk. Thank goodness there was no one around except Bessie Jenkins, who was searching for a copy of the history of the county in the tiny back room.

“I’m sorry to have put this burden on you.” Miss Dimple spoke softly with an eye on the door. “And I promise if things aren’t resolved soon, we’ll try to find another solution.

“I’ve done a bit of research,” she added, “and Mrs. Hawthorne’s paintings are worth a good bit of money. It doesn’t seem rational that either of the nephews, who might inherit, would want to do away with the goose that laid the golden eggs.”

“She must’ve had a will.” Virginia frowned. “I wonder if Sheriff Holland knows … and I haven’t heard anything about a funeral service, either.”

“You all must be talking about that lady who was killed.…”

Neither had heard Bessie enter from the back room. “Bless her heart,” Bessie said, “she trusted that Japanese woman and look what happened! Well, I’m locking my doors, I can tell you that, and I warned Lottie to be sure and do the same. You just can’t be too careful! Emmaline’s having some warning posters printed up and I told her I’d put some up at the picture show.”

“That’s a bit premature, don’t you think? We don’t know if this woman had anything to do with what happened to Mrs. Hawthorne.” Miss Dimple sighed. She was beginning to sound like a broken record.

“Huh! She’s Japanese, isn’t she?” Bessie said, offering the history book for Virginia to stamp.

“Reading up on the county, I see.” Virginia forced a smile.

“Yes, well, actually it’s for Lottie—you know, the young lady staying with me. She said she wanted to learn a little about the area since it looks like she might be here awhile.”

“I understand Peggy’s having her tonsils out tomorrow,” Dimple said. “I must remember to stop by Murphy’s and get her a paper-doll book. I hear they have one now about Princesses Elizabeth and little Margaret Rose.”

“Aren’t they the bravest people?” Bessie tucked the book under her arm. “I heard that even with all the bombing the king and queen mother refused to move to a safer area away from London.”

Dimple readily agreed, grateful for the change of subject. It was getting more and more difficult to steer people away from talking about Suzy Amos—or Suzu Amaya.

*   *   *

“I wish Suzy could come with us,” Annie said when they stopped by the library after school the next day to find Virginia momentarily alone. “We thought we might as well start with Mae Martha’s closest relatives and see if we can learn anything there.”

“Yes, it would seem natural to pay a condolence call on the two nephews,” Miss Dimple added, “especially since they would be the ones to benefit the most financially.

“I seem to remember Mrs. Hawthorne mentioning something about spraining her ankle in a fall,” she said. “I believe it was because of some hickory nuts. Suzy said they were all over the porch and steps.”

“They’re good if you have the patience to shell them and pick out those little nut meats, but they can be treacherous underfoot,” Virginia agreed.

Miss Dimple didn’t say anything but Charlie could tell by the look on her face she wasn’t ready to let go of that subject anytime soon.

“We’d better hurry if we want to get back before too late,” Charlie reminded them. “Mama and Aunt Lou are working an extra day at the munitions plant in Milledgeville and I want to get home before they do. You know how nosy those two are! Mama’s already quizzed me about our meeting at Virginia’s so much, and I’m pretty sure she suspects something.”

“Oh, dear! That will never do.” Miss Dimple started for the door. She knew the two sisters had good intentions, but she also knew the road to a place she didn’t care to go was rumored to be paved in that manner.

*   *   *

“I see Esau’s truck is here so it looks like we’re in luck,” Charlie said a short while later as they pulled up beside the small farmhouse. Esau himself, looking subdued and clean-shaven, met them at the door.

“I thought highly of your aunt and I know this must be a difficult time for you and your family,” Miss Dimple said in a voice that had consoled many a weeping first grader. “We wanted to let you know how very sorry we are for your loss. Mrs. Hawthorne was a lovely person—inside and out.”

The other two stood beside her and nodded solemnly until Coralee bustled from the kitchen and led them into the small sitting room where she offered them a seat on a Victorian sofa, covered in burgundy velvet, shiny with use. Charlie thought she smelled coffee brewing and wondered if Coralee had been baking one of her unappetizing cakes to serve with it. The thought provoked a sweet-sad memory of the down-to-earth artist she had known only a short time.

“It just don’t seem right without her,” their hostess informed them in funereal tones. “Why, I look up on that hill, and for the life of me, I can’t believe she’s not there! Isn’t that right, Esau?”

Her husband nodded silently, his head bowed. He sat on a straight chair across from them, his hands clasped between his knees, and made no move to wipe away the tear that inched slowly down his rugged face.

“The service…” Miss Dimple began, but the words caught in her throat. “Have they … you … decided when that will be?”

Esau Ingram sighed. “I reckon when the sheriff tells us. Right now plans are kinda up in the air. Folks are saying that woman—that Suzy—killed her and went off with the money, but there couldn’t have been a whole lot in there … not enough to kill for!” He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “The folks over at Zion Chapel say they’ll take care of the funeral when the time comes.”

Coralee reached out and patted her husband’s shoulder. “We don’t know what makes people do the things they do, but she’s with Madison now. Don’t guess a few more days are going to matter.”

Their leave-taking was interrupted by the arrival of an older couple Esau introduced as Harriet and Stanley Curtis, who came bearing cloth-covered trays of food that smelled delightfully of fried chicken and gingerbread.

Harriet explained they were from the small chapel down the road where Mae Martha had attended when she was able. “We never could talk her into joining,” she added with a smile, “but she was a good friend to us just the same.”

*   *   *

“If we hurry, we might have just enough time to pay our respects to Isaac,” Miss Dimple suggested as Charlie endeavored to back into the road without getting stuck in the mud.

“Esau is either a very good actor or he’s genuinely sad,” Charlie observed. “Poor thing! I wanted to hug him.”

“I’m glad we had a chance to meet the Curtises,” Annie said with a backward glance at the house. “I wonder if they were the people Suzy was talking about when she mentioned visitors from the church. Anyway, now that we’ve met them, it should make it easier to drop in for a visit. They might be able to tell us more about Mae Martha than her relatives would want us to know.”

“Maybe they’ll have some of that good-smelling chicken,” Charlie said, her stomach rumbling. “If they’d offered some, I wouldn’t have said no.”

Miss Dimple was silent as they drove the few miles to Isaac Ingram’s blacksmith shop. “I suppose Mrs. Hawthorne is happy to be with her grandson again as Coralee pointed out, but between you, me, and the gatepost, I’ll be willing to bet she would just as soon have put that off awhile longer.”