Ding-a-ting!
The sharp peal of the bell kicked me out of the starting gate. I barreled out of the refrigerator, pulled a sharp u-turn halfway into Dad’s workshop, remembering I’d forgotten to close the freezer door behind me.
Bumph!
Hettie took care of it.
I didn’t give one whit about making noise now. I rushed through the doors, zipped up the ramps, raced down the hallways, clambered up the steps, and I think I did it all while holding my breath. Dad was still snoring loud enough to wake the dead (and I really hoped that wouldn’t become a reoccurring occurrence). In my bedroom, curtains plucked up in front of my window. I closed the window, triple-checked the lock. Tonight, Thomas would have to wait. In bed, I pulled the covers up over my head.
Morning seemed an awfully long wait away.
Chapter Eleven
Saturday morn had finally scooted Friday away. Usually I’m over the moon for Saturdays, the only day it’s easy to wake up. But today, once the sun came up, I finally felt fit for sleep.
Others conspired against me.
In my fitful sleep, I mistook the non-stop clanging of the doorbell for the small silver bell wrapped around Hettie’s corns. I sat up, terrified, the bed sheets sweat-drenched. Once I staked claim to the here and now—the sunshine comforting through my window—I exhaled in relief.
But our Saturday morn visitors were far from relaxed, banging on the bell like there was a three-alarm fire.
Apparently out and about, Dad didn’t answer the door, so the welcome wagon duties fell on me. Fully experienced in welcoming mourning customers, I thought I’d dealt with it all. But nothing prepared me for the surprise on our doorstep.
Linked arm in arm, a human pretzel in matching black, ankle-length dresses, the Sooter sisters greeted me with customary, bare-boned nods.
“Miss and Miss Sooter,” I said, “what brings you to our neck of the woods?” I’m sure I looked a mess, bed-hair and all. A right good thing, then, only one of the sisters could see.
“Good morning, Dibby,” Yvette answered. Miriam nodded, lips set into a prim line of bother. “Is your father at home?”
On tip-toes, I looked out into the drive, verified Dad’s absence. “Reckon he’s out at work. I’m awfully sorry for any inconven—”
“That’s fine. We’ll wait.” Still hooked together, the Sooter gals railroaded past me. They moved fast, almost as one, and much more graceful than folks with all senses intact. They settled into the living room, taking up but a third of the sofa.
I lingered in the living room doorway. “Um…might be a spell before Dad gets home. If you’d like, I can—”
“No, no, Dibby, we don’t want to be any trouble at all. We’ll just wait, nice and quiet like. Isn’t that right, Miriam?” Miriam agreed. I think. “Besides…it’ll give us a chance to catch up. We haven’t seen you around the library in days.” Their thin smiles were about as sweet as salt-water.
Shanghaied in my own home, I sought cover in Dad’s recliner. But I kept my feet on the ground, sat on the tip of the worn cushion, ready to spring away if need be.
“I’ve been pretty busy with school work and all.” That didn’t seem to dent their armor. “And, well…Dad grounded me.”
In tandem, they tossed their heads back, opened their mouths as if making a discovery of Sherlockian proportions. “Yes,” said Yvette, “we’ve heard something about your troubles with the Keating girl. Caused by that rather unsavory Mackleby boy, we presume.” Miriam posed an empathetic face, pursed lips and head tilted.
“No, I shoulder the responsibility.” I felt helpless, on trial without counsel.
Yvette smacked her lips. “I certainly hope you don’t let that Mackleby boy draw you down the wrong path, Dibby. You’ve such a bright future ahead of you. It’d be a shame to waste it.”
That kinda talk armed the teenager in me. “Well…honestly, ladies, I don’t see what James has to do with my future. Or non-future, for that matter. Seems to me—”
“Is he the one who put you up to vandalizing our newspaper?” Yvette scooted forward, Miriam along for the ride. Literally on the edge of their seats now, ready to pounce.
“I didn’t take any newspaper article and that’s a fact. Goodness sake, you know me better than that.”
Miriam gripped her sister’s arm, gave a couple squeezes, a few tugs. Grabbed her ear twice like a baseball catcher.
Yvette said, “Then how in the world did you know a newspaper article had gone missing, Dibby?”
“Um… Well, folks talk. You know how word gets around here.” Word did fly, but I doubted James’ wanton act of periodical destruction caught wind with most folk.
“I see.” The sisters waited for me to crumble.
I bellied up and played the waiting game. The mantle clock tick-tocked an impatient heartbeat.
Yvette buckled. “Well now, moving right along… We’re still curious as to why you’re researching the Saunders’ family. And we know darn well there’s no such school assignment involving Hangwell history. Mrs. Hopkins verified it, of course.”
“I do apologize for not being forthcoming regarding that, ladies. Truth be told, I was just curious about my neighbors, the Saunders. Just wanted to get to know them. After all, doesn’t the Bible preach to be good neighbors?” I rolled the dice, took a chance. Of course we Caldwells weren’t much for the Bible. But I assumed the Sooters were, everyone else in Hangwell swore by it. And old or new testament, surely a mention was made somewhere about being neighborly.
“That’s all very fine and well, Dibby, but you were researching a very specific time period. One involving the Saunders’ tragedies. In no way would your knowledge of such matters ingratiate you to the Saunders. Perhaps it would behoove you to leave such things alone. For your own benefit as well as the long-suffering Saunders family.”
This could go on all day. “Honest to Pete, I haven’t the foggiest notion what you’re getting at. Saying as I was looking into a certain something, maybe the missing Saunders’ boy and his daddy—and I’m just conjecturing, mind you—but why in the world should my inquisitive nature be a bother to anyone? I’m just a young girl, after all.”
Miriam started quaking, a human seismometer. Her fingers squeezed her sister’s arm, prompting Yvette to jerk up straight. Miriam laid her head back, gaze poring through the ceiling.
“Miss Sooters? Ma’ams? Are you okay? Should I fetch you some water or—”
“Good morning, Miss Sooter. Miss Sooter.” Dad swung in and a right sight for sore eyes he was. His natural settling calm worked wonders on the three of us. With reverently clasped hands, he addressed the sisters. “May I get either one of you a glass of iced tea? Lemonade, maybe?”
The sisters had recovered, back to prim and proper. “No thank you, Mr. Caldwell,” said Yvette. “We’re fine as can be.”
“I apologize for being out. Business waits for no one.” He smiled, waited for the Sooters to acknowledge his mortician’s humor. They didn’t, of course. I’d warned him many times that vein of humor didn’t suit socializing. “I hope this is a social call, ladies.”
“I’m afraid we have business to take care of, Mr. Caldwell.” Yvette looked at her sister, got a nod of affirmation.
It never ceased to amaze me how fast Dad could change demeanor. His brow lowered as did his voice. “My goodness, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Dad sat on the opposite end of the sofa and faced them. “Have you lost a loved one?”
“You might say that,” answered Yvette, although she sounded a hair uncertain. “It’s our understanding you’re in possession of Hettie Williquette’s mortal remains.”
“I am.”
“We’re here to take her home.”
Dad seemed as flabbergasted as I was. His eyes wouldn’t stop blinking. “I don’t… Frankly, ladies, I don’t understand.”
“Hettie was our sister.”
Just when I thought I couldn’t uncover any more Hangwell secrets, another one always h
appened right along.
Dad had an even harder time hiding his shock. “I had no idea.” His clasped hands sunk between his knees and I thought the rest of him might follow. “Ladies, I’m sorry you’re experiencing a delicate and hard time right now, but…I honestly didn’t know Hettie was your sister. Please forgive me for being taken aback.”
Miriam slashed a hand through the air.
Yvette agreed with her gesture. “There’s no need to worry about us, Mr. Caldwell. Given the circumstances, your manner’s appropriate. I don’t believe a living soul knew Hettie was our sister.”
I certainly knew of one dead soul who knew, right beneath our feet.
“Hangwell’s just full of surprises,” said Dad.
“Yes, indeed. Now I’m not one to speak ill of the dead…” Miriam shook her head, mouth buttoned. “…but the reason we didn’t trumpet the fact Hettie was our third sister is because we’d had a falling out with her, oh…seems like centuries ago.”
And now, seeing the sisters in a different light, I suspected that might not be far from the truth. The librarians might very well be witches, too, living however long witches did.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Dad.
Other than book talk, Yvette never struck me as much of a chatterbox. Today she appeared to be in fine form. “I appreciate that. But we’d said our goodbyes to Hettie a long time ago. You see, without digging into the particulars, Hettie’d decided to pursue a different…course than us. One we didn’t approve of.”
And I harbored no doubt she meant witchcraft of a dark nature.
Miriam agreed, her head bobbing.
“And we didn’t deem it to be anyone else’s business but our own,” added Yvette.
“I can certainly understand that, ladies,” said Dad.
“Be that as it may, our only regret is we didn’t get to patch things up before Hettie passed.” Yvette’s voice straddled the thin line of rock solid and tissue thin. “We would’ve liked to have made amends, welcome her back into our fold.” Miriam dabbed a tissue behind her glasses and came dangerously close to taking them off. “But now, it seems…we won’t have that chance. At least not now.”
I sorely wanted to comfort the sisters, tell them they still had a chance to say their piece to Hettie. As I’d learned last night, just because someone’s dead, doesn’t mean they’re gone. Not by a long shot. If my suspicions were on the nose, and the Sooters were witches, surely they’d embrace the notion. Course I had to handle Dad with kid gloves. I suspected he couldn’t abide by the truth.
“Ladies, I’m absolutely certain you’ll be reunited with Hettie someday.” Dad handed out consoling words like Halloween candy. Yet, like candy, he didn’t have any personal use for it.
“You’re correct, Mr. Caldwell.” Yvette girded her loins, flushed iron into her voice. “We will be reunited again.” She placed a hand on Miriam’s. “Sooner than you think.”
I interpreted Yvette’s cryptic statement a bit differently than Dad. He scooted even closer to sofa’s edge, serious as a heart attack. Clearly, he believed the Sooters planned on hastening their reunion with their sister by their own hands.
“Ladies… I know you’ve been dealt a shock. An awful, horrible shock. But, please know I’m here should you need to talk to someone. Life goes on even after the loss of a loved one. It may not seem like it now, but given time, I’m sure you’ll find happiness again. But for now, you must seek solace in knowing that Hettie’s probably kicking her heels up in Heaven now—”
“Highly doubtful,” said Yvette.
Dad just shut up. The Sooter sisters were quite unlike any customer he’d ever tended to, I imagined. Since his usual rigmarole didn’t appear to work, he changed gears. Finalized matters.
“Be that as it may, I’m sorry for your loss,” said Dad. “How would you like me to take care of Hettie’s departure, ladies? Would you like a formal burial ceremony or a small, private gathering? Perhaps cremation, that’s—”
“No, no, none of that.” Yvette seemed ready to get the show on the road. “We don’t want any such thing. We’re here to take Hettie with us. We’d like her remains, please.” She said it plainly, the unfussy nature of someone deciding on a double burger at Carol’s Diner.
Dad’s sensibilities took another punch. He closed his eyes. Tight. “I don’t… I’m afraid I don’t understand. You mean you’re going to dispose of Hettie’s body yourselves?”
“That’s correct.”
“Well, now… I can’t say I’ve ever run across a situation like this. Frankly, ladies, I’m not even certain it’s legal to relinquish a beloved one’s remains. Peculiar County has certain statutes that—”
“I can assure you it is legal.” Yvette dug into her large purse. She brought out a stack of paper, neatly stapled into a booklet, her librarian training showing. “As you can see, we did our research, Mr. Caldwell. I also checked with our Sheriff and Mayor Hopkins. There are no laws explicitly prohibiting such an action.”
Dad riffled through the pages, his face blank. “But…may I ask what you intend on doing with Hettie’s remains?”
“No, you may not.” Yvette sat back, wiggled her fanny into the sofa. Her sister did likewise, two snug bugs in a rug. “We’re private people. It’s no one’s business but our own.”
Dad gave up, just breathed out a long, quiet sigh. “Fine, ladies. Let me read through your research, merely for legal reasons, mind you. But there may be another bump in the road.”
From behind her glasses, Yvette’s penciled in eyebrows rose.
“Regarding Hettie, I’m in a somewhat sensitive position, but nothing can be gained by beating around the bush. I’m afraid I may have to hold onto Hettie’s remains for a while longer.”
“Why in the world would you need to do that?”
Dad hesitated, beating around that dang bush he said he wouldn’t. “I’ve, um, done some preliminary studies. But a thorough autopsy has been ordered on your late sister. I’m awfully sorry to tell you ladies this right after—”
“Do you mean to say Hettie was murdered?” asked Yvette.
Dad said, “That’s right, Miss Sooter. It looks like someone took her life.”
The mantle clock ticked. Yvette and Miriam sat stone-still, still as their library gargoyle, Stoney. Their hands froze on their respective purse handles. Mouths puckered into tiny, colorless hearts. Dad waited. I could dang near hear his sweat drop to the floor. Time stopped. I swallowed. I had no idea how the Sooters would respond, but I hoped it wouldn’t be with fire and brimstone.
“Oh, dear.” Yvette’s voice shattered the fragile quiet. “How many days will it be before we can reclaim our sister?”
Dad wobbled, drunk a bit on Yvette’s unexpected response. The sisters appeared to take to murder as a commonplace happenstance.
“I’m not sure, Miss Sooter,” Dad mustered. “Could be a couple days or it might run into something longer. But you’ll be the first person—”
“This definitely stitches up our plans,” said Yvette. Together the sisters sniffed, tossed back their shoulders. “Very well, Mr. Caldwell. Please do everything in your power to hurry the process along.” They stood, ankles and legs just a’snapping.
“I certainly will, Miss Sooter.” Dad stood, too, ready to close with a more appropriate farewell. But the sisters were fast, sidewinder fast, and beat it around the table and down the hallway. “Dibby will see you out,” Dad called out.
“That would be fine, Mr. Caldwell,” Yvette volleyed back.
Near hypnotized by the entire strange encounter, I’d melted into the recliner. Dad cleared his throat to stir me, then jerked his head toward the front door.
I clambered out of the chair and raced through the house.
I needn’t have hurried. Blockaded in front of the door, the sisters didn’t appear to be going anywhere just yet.
“Let me get that door for you, Miss Sooters.” I opened the door, smiled. Ready to see them on their way.
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br /> “Remember what we talked about, Dibby,” said Yvette. “Stay out of folks’ business that doesn’t concern you.”
I’d heard that back-handed advice time and again, and certainly had no mind in heeding it. My timing terrible, though, I did recollect what Hettie’d asked me to tell the Sooters the night before she died.
“Um, there’s something you oughta know,” I said.
“Yes?”
“I visited your sister, Miss Williquette…the night before she passed.”
“Oh?” A sure attention grabber, P.T. Barnum big, I’d earned the ladies’ full attention. “And where did you visit with her?”
“At her house, ma’am. I offered to do some work around her fields. She wanted me to say hello to you ladies.” Course it wasn’t exactly the send-off ol’ Hettie’d wanted me to deliver, but a fair amount of sugar-coating never hurt anyone.
Yvette harrumphed. Miriam smiled. “Dibby…that’s a very kind thing of you to say, but we very well know it’s far from the truth now, isn’t it?”
I dug a toe onto the floor, locked my eyes down. As I didn’t care to stir up Hettie again, I acted like Sweden: straight down the middle.
“Well, those weren’t exactly her words, no. But she wanted me to offer you salutations. Of a sort. You were very much on her mind.”
Smiles let me know I’d passed muster. “Very well, Dibby. You just heed our words, though, heed them well.” With that the women scuttled away, stiff and starched. Both of them crawled into the driver’s side of their ol’ fishtailed Cadillac, twenty years old and as well-preserved as its owners.
I shuddered to think what they had in mind for Hettie’s body, but frankly I’d be on the upside of giddy once Hettie left our house. And as soon as I thought it, I figured it might not be the nicest sentiment a ghost might lend an ear to.
A light finger tapped at my shoulder blade. I whirled, half-expecting to meet Hettie’s awful open-mouthed smile. But I saw no one.
Instead, Hettie’s cats greeted me. Now a permanent fixture, they rubbed against my legs, reminded me of breakfast-time.
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