The Angel and the Jabberwocky Murders (21 page)

“Lord, it's good of you'uns to come! I don't get much company way up hyare—and lookit you!” She held out her arms to Teddy, who went right into them. “Don't know when I've had a young'un like you to come visit old Corrie.”

Corrie Walraven was old. Just how old it was hard to tell because her skin had a crinkled manila-paper look, although her blue eyes were lively and bright. She wore her white hair, streaked with yellow, in a little apple-size knot on top of her head, and when she smiled—which was often—it looked as though about every other tooth was missing.

Augusta took to her at once, as did Teddy, and practically fastened herself to the woman's side, taking in every word. As soon as Joy Ellen and the others arrived, Miss Corrie took us around to the back of the house where she had a fire laid under a black iron pot. The ground had been covered with frost when we started out that morning, but the sun had mellowed the earth so that by the time we got the fire going I felt comfortable in a sweater. Cold-natured Augusta, however, hovered as close to the blaze as she could get.

Kemper, I noticed, seldom let his cousin out of his sight, and Celeste bore it with as much good humor as possible, but I could tell it was wearing on her. When he followed her to the woodpile that afternoon, Celeste stopped in mid-stride. “Will you give me a break, Kemper! The woodpile's only a few feet away, and there's nobody up here but us. I feel like we're stuck together with super-glue!”

“At least you can still
feel,
” her cousin said. “That's more than those other girls can do.”

The wheels of justice had better grind a lot faster, I thought, if those two were going to remain on speaking terms.

Miss Corrie showed us how to make lye by pouring water over hickory ashes in a crude wooden trough, then collecting the liquid that ran through. She added this to an assortment of fat scraps and boiled the mixture until it thickened. Teddy and the girls took turns stirring it with a wooden paddle, coughing and rubbing their eyes as the smoke searched them out.

With her apron, Miss Corrie fanned the smoke from her face. “It's just me and Henry now, so I don't make lye soap much anymore unless some of them ladies in Elkin or Wilkesboro take a notion to sell some at a church fair or something,” she said. Henry, she explained, was her “baby” brother, who worked at the sawmill down the road a piece.

“Now, if it was spring,” she told us, “we could make this soap smell real good with some of them wild ginger leaves—that's what Mama Doc used to put in it. That woman knows a purpose for just about everything that grows, but I reckon store-bought spices will do near 'bout as well.” Miss Corrie showed Teddy how to tie whole cloves and cinnamon sticks into a piece of cheese cloth, then added it to the pot. When the soap was thick enough she poured some into a square enamel pan to harden overnight. “You-all take this along with you now and you oughtta be able to get a few bars out of it by tomorry.” When Joy Ellen and I protested, she laughed and flapped her sooty apron at us. “Lord, I don't need that ol' pan no more! Just keep it. Now you-all come in and have some apple pie afore you go.”

We sat at a long table covered in blue-checkered oilcloth in our hostess's simple kitchen with its white plank walls and worn linoleum. Augusta took delight in inspecting the row of African violets in pink, blue, and lavender that thrived on the windowsill, and a white cat named Aunt Mamie that was as big as Blythe's two put together entertained everyone just by twitching her long tail.

Celeste scraped her plate clean and stared longingly at mine. “Think again,” I told her, and she looked at me and laughed. “You know,” she said, “I've felt safer here today than I have since this awful Jabberwocky mess began.”

Later I would remember what she said.

When we got ready to leave, Miss Corrie insisted on seeing us to our cars, then stood waving as we made our way down the long twisting drive. “You-all come back now!” she called to me. “And bring that pretty lady with you.”

“What lady?” I hollered, waving good-bye.

“Why, the one with the long sparkly necklace and candlelight hair!” Her keen blue eyes didn't blink.

I phoned Eva Jean Philbeck from a gas station just outside the little town of Elkin and asked her if we could meet somewhere for dinner. “I realize it's late, but we've been making lye soap up near Sparta and it took longer than I thought. We'd like for you to be our guest, of course.”

“My goodness, that does sound tempting, but we're babysitting tonight. In fact, my son and his wife are due to drop him off in a few minutes.”

“Really? How old is he?”

“Matthew's four months. He's our first, and his parents don't like to leave him often, but some friends are having a dinner party, so we get to have Matthew all to ourselves for a while.”

Matthew.
She'd said his name twice. Loved saying it, just as I did Teddy's. Sometimes I suffer through entire conversations waiting for somebody to ask me about my grandson, and when they don't, I tell them about him anyway. “Four months!” I said. “Oh, you're in for a treat.” And babbled on about crawling and toddling and adorable first words.

“And how old is your grandchild?” There was polite interest in her voice.

“Teddy's six, and he came along with us today. I hoped he would learn something from the experience, but it's been a long drive and I'm afraid we wore him out.”

The woman laughed. “Well, he'll grow up fast enough.” She paused, waiting for me to go on with it or hang up. It was obvious she wasn't going to invite us over.

“Mrs. Philbeck, I know this is a terribly inconvenient time for you, but this Mad Jabberwock issue is more serious than I led you to believe. My friend Ellis is with me, as well as my grandson, and I give you my word we won't stay long, but if it's at all possible I'd like to see you this afternoon.”

She sighed, and I was afraid she was going to say no or hang up on me. “I knew all along something would come of this. All right, come on.” The joy in her voice was gone as she gave me directions to a two-story brick on a cul-de-sac called Graylag Drive, which sounded sort of like the way I felt.

Earlier, Paula and Troll, the two girls who had ridden with us, had met their dates at a local McDonald's and would go from there to a fraternity function at nearby Appalachian State, and Teddy, having been treated to a chocolate shake, was currently engrossed in a puzzle book.

“What if she's
the one?
” Ellis whispered when we pulled up in front of the house. I knew what she meant because I'd thought of the same thing. The possibility that one of the Mad Jabberwocks could be responsible for the killings was becoming more and more likely, and Eva Jean Philbeck was the one who lived the closest. How could this loving grandmother be guilty of something so totally evil? But of course she hadn't always been a loving grandmother.

A blue car was parked in the driveway, and as we started up the walk a young couple came out of the front door, then turned and waved to someone who stood behind them. They both smiled and spoke when they saw us, but didn't stop as they cut across the lawn to their car. They looked to be in their mid-twenties, and the man walked with a pronounced limp.

“Our son Ken and his wife, Anne,” Eva Jean explained as she ushered us into her living room. “I'd show off my grandson, but he just got to sleep.” She introduced me to her husband, Bill, who invited Teddy to watch football with him in the small paneled den. He didn't seem alarmed at our being there, so she must not have told him of her concern. And the woman was definitely nervous. She smiled and said all the proper, polite things, but there was a tense look in her eyes and her hands were never still.

Mrs. Philbeck seated Ellis and me on the sofa and took the wing chair opposite, then thought better of it and stood, offering coffee. Augusta, standing in the doorway, brightened considerably at the prospect but seemed resigned to waiting for her favorite beverage until we got home.

“Thank you, but I know we must be delaying your dinner,” I said. “And I really don't want to take any more of your time than necessary.” I glanced at Augusta, who gave me a “Get on with it!” look. “I suppose you've been hearing about the murders at Sarah Bedford,” I said.

“Yes, the girl they found in the old stone shed. Why, we bought candy and soft drinks there! And if I remember right a few years ago there was a drowning in the lake where we used to swim.”

Ellis looked at her face-on. She's good at that. “You know about the verses then?”

The woman picked at a thread in her skirt and nodded. “Of course I do. I just can't understand what it has to do with us. I—I tried, but I can't get in touch with anyone. Irene's in some kind of hospital—nerves, her husband says. I left a message on Audrey's answering machine, but she never returned my call, and I don't even know where Dorothy is.” Mrs. Philbeck stood and walked to the window and back. I had never seen anybody actually wring their hands before, but she did.

When she sat again it was as if she had suddenly run out of energy. “Well, I don't care if they like it or not. I can't keep it to myself any longer. This has to be about what happened to Carolyn Steele.”

Ellis looked at me and mouthed the words I was thinking:
Who's Carolyn Steele?

“Carolyn was a freshman in the fall of my junior year,” she explained. “A sweet girl—I liked her, but kind of…well, I guess you'd call her naive.

“The Mad Jabberwocks, as you may have guessed by the name, were not a serious group. We just liked to have fun—and poke fun, too—probably more than we should've. There were only the five of us left that year and we all lived in the east wing of Emma Harris Hall.” Eva Jean smiled briefly. “Carolyn wanted to join. Heck, there wasn't any joining to it. You either belonged or you didn't, but how do you tell somebody that? She was lonely, I think. Didn't have much family.”

She pressed her hands together and looked away. “Dorothy and Irene—oh, what the hell, we were all in on it—we promised her she could join if she'd steal a pair of the housemother's underpants and hang it from the Tree House.”

Ellis and I exchanged glances. It sounded like something we might have done ourselves.

“Mother Godfrey—Hazel, her name was…” Eva Jean shook her head. “Big as a Mack truck with sort of a bovine face. And strict! We were all scared to death of her. Made fun of her to her back, but never to her face.” She shuddered. “No, Lord!”

“And did she?” Ellis asked. “Steal the underwear?”

“Carolyn was such a timid little thing, we never imagined she'd
dare,
but she did. Of course if we had known what would happen, we'd never have suggested it…but then you can't go back and change things. Oh, God, how I wish we could!”

Eva Jean Philbeck leaned back in her chair and looked at us. “She fell,” she said. “Fell from the railing of the Tree House, they think. They found her the next morning with a broken neck.”

“Somebody must remember when that happened,” Ben said the next night as we walked home from a local performance of
Arsenic and Old Lace
at the high school auditorium. “Do you know of anyone who might've been at the college during that time?”

It was cold and wind whipped the bare oaks on Heritage Avenue. We walked close together, arm in arm. Ben's big hand closed over mine and tucked it next to his chest, warming more than my hand. “Joy Ellen was probably still in high school then,” I said. “And Blythe didn't come until much later.”

“What about that peculiar little woman who hid out at your friend Zee's? I'm not too sure about her. Reminds me of Millicent Shackelford.”

“Willene Benson? She's fairly new to the campus. Been there three or four years maybe.” I waited to see how long it would take him to bait me again about Millicent Shackelford—whoever she was. It didn't take long.

“Couple of years ahead of me in school, Millicent was,” Ben went on. “Her daddy ran the picture show and Millicent never missed a one. Claimed she got mixed up at the hospital and went home with the wrong parents.” Ben sneaked a look at me. “Looked just like her daddy, though. All those Shackelfords have those big ol' teeth, just like Willene Benson. Acted kinda peculiar, too, she—”

“All right!
All right.
What happened to Millicent Shackelface—or whatever her name was?”

“Nothing much. Married some Yankee stationed at Fort Jackson and lived up north for a while before she brought him back home for a visit. Came home sayin' ‘you guys' and ‘Jee-a-zuz H. Chriiist!'” Ben laughed as he danced me around a puddle. “Hell, she'd only been up there six weeks!”

We were less than a block from home when Ben decided he needed some pie. The play had made him hungry, he said.

“We can pop some corn,” I suggested.

“Don't want popcorn. Want cobbler—blackberry or cherry, maybe. Warm, with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.”

“Well, I don't have any,” I said, trying not to think of it.

“But The Family Place does.” He looked at his watch. “If we hurry, they might still be open.”

The first time I ate at The Family Place I expected to find swarthy little men spooning up spaghetti in a dark back room, but it turned out to be exactly what the name implied. They specialized in country cooking, particularly desserts, and you didn't even breathe the air in there if you were on a diet.

I vowed anew to begin one as I pushed my empty plate away and added Equal to my coffee. The walls of the restaurant were filled with old kitchen gadgets, Burma-Shave verses, and faded family photographs that must have come from estate sales. Looking at them reminded me of what Willene had said about borrowing relatives from Blythe.

“I think I'll get Willene a picture frame for a housewarming present,” I said. “Her walls look so bare, and she really is trying to make a home for herself. Jo Nell gave her this old end table she'd had for no telling how long and I'm curious to see what she'll do with it.”

Ben put down his water glass. “How long has your cousin lived here in Stone's Throw?”

“Born here—just like me. Why?”

“Wouldn't she remember about the girl falling from the Tree House?” he asked. “The first girl, the one who started it all.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “I barely remember it myself. I think that happened while Jo Nell was working as a receptionist for that doctor's office in Charlotte. I can't imagine why she would've had a connection with the college during that time…but…”

“But what?”

“Nettie might, or better still, Idonia. In fact, I believe she was working in the registrar's office about then.” Over the years Idonia had held an assortment of jobs, among them society editor of
The Messenger,
sales clerk at Mary Lynn's Fashions, and substitute teacher at the high school. She says the reason she didn't stick with one is because she likes variety. I say it's because she's so bossy nobody could put up with her for long.

If Idonia was around when Carolyn Steele was killed, I told Ben, she was sure to know all the details, but I knew better than to call her about it at midnight. Time and tide wait for no man, my granddaddy used to say, but I don't know anybody who would mess with Idonia Mae Culpepper's beauty sleep.

Claudia and Jo Nell were leaving when I dropped by Idonia's after class the next day and Zee's red Honda was in the driveway. Their surprise bordered on the uncomfortable and Zee acted as if she wanted to hide when I walked in. Were The Thursdays holding a secret meeting without me? Maybe I should have called first.

But their awkwardness vanished when I told them the reason I had come.

“Law, yes! I sure do remember when that poor girl fell,” Idonia said. “I didn't actually see it, of course, but a student who helped in the office at the time was one of the ones who found her. Said it looked like she either tried to stand on the outside of the railing or leaned over too far.

“That was when you were living out west with what's-his-name, Zee. Your first husband—Walter, wasn't it? Anyway, there were Hazel Godfrey's big old drawers just abillowing from the Tree House, flapping like a great white sail. Trimmed in pink eyelet, somebody said. And that child lay there in the frosty grass all in a crumpled heap.” Idonia paused to clear her throat and dabbed at a moistened eye.