Lucy met Augusta’s calm eyes from across the room as she replaced the receiver. “She said we’ll see,” she told her. “It sounds like Julie may be here for Thanksgiving after all!”
Augusta shook out the cloudlike shawl she had been knitting and laid it neatly aside. “I hope you’re right, Lucy Nan, but it’s wise not to count your eggs before they’re laid.”
“Oh, good! You’ve made copies of Florence’s picture,” Zee said when Lucy dropped by the next morning. “Claudia’s supposed to come for me in a few minutes and this will save us from trying to describe what the woman looked like—especially since neither of us ever saw her.”
Lucy had made a few copies before leaving the original with the printer who was to make up the fliers. “The printer said somebody had just canceled a big order, so he’ll be able to get these ready by tomorrow morning,” she said.
“Good!” Zee examined the photo at arm’s length. She had yet to admit she needed reading glasses. “Does Ellis know we’re doing this?”
“Had to tell her. How else could I get the photograph?” Lucy told Zee how Leonard had left it behind.
“I’m not so sure about that one,” Zee said, frowning. “Do you suppose he knew what Florence was planning?”
“About coming here, you mean?”
Zee ran long fingers through her short dark curls: Arabian Starlight # 5, available at your local drugstore. “And that she might come into money,” she said.
“I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s suing, you know.”
“So I heard…oh, and before I forget—I asked Jay if he happened to notice anyone else at the Folly that morning, and he said the only living creatures he saw were Calpernia’s two dogs.”
“That must have been an awful experience, finding Calpernia like that,” Lucy said.
Zee nodded. “Pretty bad. He doesn’t like to talk about it.” She frowned at her reflection in the hall mirror and pinched her cheeks for color. “I don’t guess you’ve heard anything yet about the clay on Florence’s shoes?”
“You guess right. I went by the police department on my way here and they told me they hadn’t heard anything yet. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure they did anything about it—although they swear up and down they did. I get the impression they think I’m poking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“Who cares what they think?” Zee said, walking with Lucy to the door. “I’ll call you as soon as we talk with these hairdressers. Maybe somebody will recognize that poor woman. Need any help getting those fliers out?”
“I thought I’d mail some to my old roommate in Asheville and Nettie’s niece in Knoxville as soon as I pick them up tomorrow, but we’ll need to phone the rest of these bus stations to get their fax numbers and hope they’ll be willing to put them up.”
“I can do that this afternoon,” Zee said. “I know you have your hands full decorating for the festival tomorrow. You don’t happen to have that bus route with you, do you?”
Standing on the front steps, Lucy dug in her handbag for the folded piece of paper and gave it to Zee; as she did, a car door slammed and Jay Warren-Winslow gunned down the driveway, scattering gravel. He waved as he drove past. On the way home, Lucy wished she had thought to ask Zee not to mention what they were planning to her guest. Poag Hemphill seemed convinced the young director had nothing to do with his wife’s death, as did Zee. But Lucy wasn’t so sure.
She spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon in the church fellowship hall trying to dodge Opal Henshaw’s pointed questions while propping up cornstalks and placing pumpkins about for the festival the next day.
“I know Zee’s a friend of yours, Lucy, but somebody ought to tell her how improper it looks with the man who probably killed Calpernia living right out there in her guest house!” Opal smoothed the long yellow tablecloth with her long yellow fingers and tucked autumn leaves behind a pumpkin, then stood back to admire her work.
At the other end of the table Lucy heaped dried corn and gourds around mounds of bronze chrysanthemums and tried to ignore her. Fall was one of her favorite seasons and she was hoping to enjoy this brief respite from the troubles that had come tumbling around her.
Now Opal stepped up to Lucy’s display and moved a pot of mums a half inch to the left, “All I’m saying is, Zee better watch her step or she may wake up one morning murdered in her own bed.”
Lucy laughed as she moved the pot back where it had been. “If she were murdered, I doubt if she’d wake up, Opal!”
Across the room, several members of the senior high youth group scooped out pumpkins for jack-o’-lanterns and hung apples on strings for a children’s game while a constant parade of women bearing cakes and pies for the cake walk filed through the adjacent church kitchen. Lucy was glad when Opal huffed away to supervise somebody else, allowing her to escape into the kitchen for one of Idonia’s molasses cookies. In spite of Opal’s grim predictions, the mellow October smells of candle wax and pumpkin, the laughter and flurry around her granted a temporary retreat from a world gone crazy.
It didn’t last long. Upon arriving home, Lucy found a patrol car parked behind her house and a young policeman coming down her back steps. Removing his hat, he identified himself as Sergeant Duff Acree. “Lieutenant Tillman said to ask your permission to search your yard for the rings that woman might’ve been wearing when she was killed the other night. If it’s all right, would you mind signing an agreement?” He glanced in the direction of Nettie’s backyard. “Your neighbor said it was okay with her.”
Lucy nodded, scribbling her name on the slip of paper. She had mentioned the possibility of Florence’s losing the jewelry when she had stopped by the police station earlier.
“She did have a habit of slipping them on and off,” Lucy told him. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find something.” But she didn’t think he would.
Inside, she found two telephone messages waiting. The first was from Zee informing her that she and Claudia hadn’t had any luck in finding a local cosmetician who remembered Shirley/Florence.
“We’re going to have to stop calling that poor woman Shirley/Florence,” Lucy said when she returned Zee’s call. “It strips her of her identity.”
“Her husband was willing enough to let her be buried here in the Calhoun family plot,” Zee said. “Guess that’s identity enough for him.”
“But what if she wasn’t Florence Calhoun?” Lucy wondered aloud. “What if the DNA sample doesn’t match?”
“Then the whole thing would be a hoax—and Leonard Fenwick wouldn’t have any grounds for a suit against Ellis,” Zee said.
“That’s worse than if it were true—to think anyone would use that sad, bewildered woman in a scheme like that,” Lucy said. “If we could just find someone who saw her!”
“Maybe we will,” Zee told her. “Just about everybody I called on the bus route who has a fax machine has agreed to post a flier on their bulletin board.”
“Great! I’ll pick up the fliers in the morning and get them out first thing…and Zee, I think it would be a good idea to keep this to ourselves.” She hoped she wasn’t too late with her warning.
Lucy hung up the phone feeling a zing of buoyancy that had been missing in her life, and the second message did nothing to deflate it. The call was from Ben Maxwell.
Lucy walked through the house eager to share her news with Augusta, but the angel was nowhere to be seen. In the kitchen, Clementine looked up from her nap on the rug with a thump of her tail and Lucy stooped to pet her, glad of another warm presence in the room. The house seemed almost hollow without Augusta there, as if she had taken her energy with her, and Lucy glanced through the kitchen window to see if she was on the porch or out in the yard, but all she saw was the young policeman pawing through the underbrush, presumably looking for Florence’s rings.
Now Lucy put a match to the fire Augusta had laid in her den and sat on the floor watching the flames grow brighter. In addition to the picnic on Sunday, Ben
had asked if she wanted to see a movie the next night, the night she had planned to take Teddy to the church festival, and she was torn in two directions. Augusta would know what to do.
And where was Augusta? A little knot of fear began to grow in her chest and when a voice spoke behind her, Lucy whirled instantly to her feet.
“Oh, good! You’ve lit the fire!” Augusta ran to warm her hands at the blaze. “Did you know there’s a man crawling around in your yard?” she asked.
“He’s looking for Florence’s rings…and where have you been? I was getting worried.”
“With Ellis.” Augusta sat across from her and regarded her with quiet eyes. “She needed me today. “Things have been rather turbulent for her since this latest incident.”
Lucy nodded. “I know.” Her conscience gnawed at her for wanting Augusta to herself. “How is she?”
“Worried. And lonely, too, I think.” Augusta smiled. “But Bennett’s with her now.”
“Maybe somebody will recognize Florence’s picture from the flier,” Lucy said. “I’m sending them out tomorrow. So far, we’ve had no luck with the beauty operators. None of them remembers seeing her.” Tucking her feet under her, Lucy told Augusta about her day, including the message from Ben Maxwell. He’s asked me out for a picnic Sunday, and for tomorrow night as well. That’s the night of the church festival.”
“I don’t see the problem,” Augusta said. “Why not do both?”
Lucy remembered how Ben had reacted when the children chased through his workroom after escaping puppies. He had overwhelmed the little ones with his deep, booming voice. “I’m not sure that’s his cup of tea,” she said. “We can go to the movies another time.”
“Of course.” Augusta let her necklace trickle through her fingers, reflecting the glint of the fire.
“Teddy’s been looking forward to the festival. And so have I. I made him a promise, Augusta.” Lucy sighed. “Besides, I doubt if Ben would enjoy it.”
“You might be surprised.” Augusta smiled. “Don’t be afraid, Lucy Nan.”
“Afraid? What do you mean? Afraid of what?”
“To take a chance. Just think about it.” Augusta touched her shoulder on her way to the kitchen. “Does tomato bisque sound good to you?”
It was not until later that night that Lucy finally worked up the courage to return Ben Maxwell’s call. He would be delighted to attend the church festival with Lucy and her grandson, he said, and would be at her door at five. Afterward, Lucy sat with the receiver in her lap wondering why she dreaded the assumed intimacy of such an evening with Ben. It was one thing to sit cloistered in a restaurant or a darkened theater, but the thought of being on display at Stone’s Throw Presbyterian in front of God and everybody scared her half to death.
When the phone rang again as she was getting ready for bed, Lucy halfway hoped it was Ben calling to tell her he’d changed his mind. Instead she heard the familiar rattle of Nettie’s upper plate.
“You reckon that young Acree fellow found anything out there today?”
Lucy yawned. “Didn’t look like it; besides, I doubt if they’d tell us if he did.”
“I saw him scratching around out there till it was almost too dark to see, but it isn’t going to do any good. If that woman really was Florence and she wanted to hide something, it would be somewhere in your house.”
“Nettie, somebody’s already broken in here and turned the house upside down, and the police have searched this place from top to bottom. If anything was hidden, they would’ve found it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not…Nettie paused. “Like most little girls, Florence liked secrets. She had her hiding places.”
“Where?” Lucy put down her hairbrush and sat on the bed. “Do you remember where?”
“Not right offhand. I’ll need to think about it,” Nettie said. “But I got to thinking about that time we stole the lemon drops.”
“Stole what?”
“Lemon drops. Florence’s mama had a terrible cold and she kept these lemon drops in a dish by her bed. We weren’t supposed to have any, but of course we did—went in there and grabbed as many as we could carry and Florence hid them away in what she called her secret place.”
“But you don’t know where that might be?” Lucy asked.
“Well, not right now, but I’m hoping it will come to me in time,” Nettie said.
Lucy looked at the clock. It was a quarter past ten. “If it doesn’t come within the next thirty minutes, put a hold on it, will you? Because I’m going to bed.”
When the telephone rang again, Lucy, awakened out of a deep sleep, struggled to sit up and turn on the light. It was almost three in the morning! Her first thought was of her family. Had something happened to Julie or Roger? Had Teddy been taken ill? Her hand shook as she snatched the receiver from its cradle.
“I know where it is!” Nettie McGinnis said. “Turn on the porch light. I’m on my way.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lucy stood on the back porch shivering in her robe as Nettie picked her way through the hedge and across the lawn. “For heaven’s sake, it’s the middle of the night,” she said, holding open the door. “Couldn’t this wait until morning?”
“By morning I might forget it.” Nettie took her time coming up the steps and paused at the top to catch her breath. “Law, I hate to think how long it’s been since I’ve been out this late, Lucy Nan. Old time’s catchin’ up with me.”
Lucy reached for her hand and pulled her neighbor inside, then hurried to lock the door behind them. “Come in here and get warm—and good grief, Nettie! You’re still wearing bedroom shoes!”
Nettie looked down at her fuzzy blue slippers which now had leaves sticking to them. “Reckon I forgot…oh, well, I’m here now.” She sniffed. “Your house smells just like strawberries. I’ve been noticing that lately. You been doing a lot of baking?”
“Must be the air freshener,” Lucy said, helping Nettie off with her coat. “Now, are you going to show me this secret hiding place or not?”
“That’s what I came for.” Stepping carefully around Clementine, who opened one eye and went back to sleep, they made their way through the kitchen.
“Where now?” Lucy asked, and Nettie pointed upstairs. “Julie’s room,” she said.
Upstairs, Nettie paused in front of the open closet door and switched on the light that came from a bulb dangling from the ceiling. “We’ll need to take out some of these clothes,” she said, grabbing an armful of summer wear Lucy hoped she’d be able to fit into again next spring. Lucy swept out another bundle and laid it across the bed, hoping Nettie wouldn’t notice the cobwebs in the corners of the empty closet. The cubicle smelled musty with a lingering fragrance of the rose sachet she had tucked among the clothing, and the interior was of white-painted wood with an overhanging shelf of the same. Although it was straightened and cleaned on a more or less regular basis, the closet hadn’t been painted since they moved into the house over twenty years before.
Now Nettie stood on tiptoe and strained to look over the shelf.
Lucy pulled up a chair and stood on its seat. “Where?” she said. “Tell me where to look.”
“It was over here somewhere,” Nettie said, pointing to the left corner of the closet. “Up high. We had to stretch to reach it.”
“I don’t see anything. What’s it look like?” Lucy probed behind the shelf.
Nettie frowned, crowding in to look up. “It was just a little opening, no bigger than a deck of cards. Maybe it’s been sealed up.”
“I don’t see anything like that,” Lucy said, climbing down from the chair. “Are you sure it was this side?”
Nettie nodded. “Up high.”
“But you could reach it if you stretched?”
“Right.” Nettie shoved a strand of hair from her face. “Sometimes she put treasures in there, too—little things like marbles and pieces of colored glass. She kept them in a can.”
“Nettie, you were children then. You couldn’t
possibly have reached as high as that shelf. It must have been lower.” Lucy shoved the chair aside and ran her hand underneath until her fingers came across a crevice in the corner. “There’s something here…” She felt inside, hoping she wouldn’t come across what was left of a sixty-year-old lemon drop.
“Does it feel like a ring?” Nettie asked.
“No, it’s something with a clasp—ouch! I stuck myself! I wish I had longer fingers; there’s a lot of dust and lint in here.” Fumbling, Lucy finally drew the trinket from the space beneath the shelf and held it up to the light.
“What on earth is it?” Nettie adjusted her bifocals. “Looks like some kind of costume jewelry. Do-law, you reckon it’s been in there all these years?”
“No, I don’t,” Lucy said, looking closely at the pin, “and I don’t think it’s costume jewelry, either. This is a beautiful piece of work. It looks handmade.” The artist who designed the jewelry had used sapphires and emeralds to create the likeness of an iris rising from green fronds with a tiny diamond dewdrop on one blue petal.
Nettie turned it over in her hand. “It is a pretty thing. Looks like it’s set in silver.”
“More like platinum, I think,” Lucy said. “But where on earth did it come from?”
Nettie made a space for herself on the bed and sat, still holding the pin in her hand. “Florence must’ve put it there—had to have been Florence. Nobody else knew about this place but me.”
“So it really was Florence we buried in the family plot.” Lucy felt a mixture of relief and sadness wash over her.
“Seems so. Whoever did her hair must’ve applied her lipstick, too. It made her mouth look fuller. Didn’t look the way I thought.” She gave the pin to Lucy. “Here, you take this thing. I don’t want to be responsible for it.”
Lucy slipped the pin into her pocket and patted it with her hand. “I don’t know what to do with it, either. It must’ve been somewhere on her clothing when she came, but I didn’t see it. It certainly wasn’t in her purse. Do you suppose she could’ve stolen it somewhere?”
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