I was a little reluctant to tell him we didn't know where Mildred was. "She said she was going to visit a friend," I explained, "but we found out later her friend knew nothing about it. Now we're trying to learn where she went." I told him about the taxi driver delivering Mildred to the bus station in Rock Hill. "I'm afraid we've sort of run into a brick wall," I said.
He must have thought our family needed to be kept in a locked, padded room, but he didn't say anything except to tell me to look at a spot on the wall while he shined a light in my eyes. His eyes, I noticed, were kind of a grayish green.
Doc Ivey (whose first name was Harrison, I learned from his tag), said he thought Mildred was a sly one, and that I might have a mild concussion; then he tended my cuts with antiseptic and adhesive bandages.
"Do you have anybody to drive you home?" he asked.
I lied and said yes. The last thing I wanted was to have Vesta or Gatlin fussing over me. Wilbur Dobbins's taxi service would have to do.
"Go home then, and take it easy. No driving today. Will there be anyone with you tonight?"
I nodded. "My grandmother."
"Good. Have her wake you a couple of times during the night." He gave me a brief pat on the shoulder as he started to leave.
"And, Minda?" He hesitated at the door of the examining room.
"Yes?"
"How about giving me a call tomorrow? I'd like to know how you are… and your friend Mildred, too, of course." Why in the world did I tell that doctor Vesta would be staying with me? I asked myself as Wilbur drove me home.
I knew the answer, although I didn't like to admit it, even to myself. I wanted Harrison Ivey to know I was single! and did he ask everyone to call him after a bump on the head? I'd like to think he didn't.
Wilbur was still chatting away when we pulled into the driveway. "… and I told your grandmama if she planted them rhododemdrams too close to the house, they'd block out all thesun… and sure enough, I'll bet it's dark as a dungeon in that front room! My wife's the same way—won't listen to nobody. I said, 'Mae Lynn, if you knew just one fourth as much as you thought you did, you'd be a dad-blamed millionaire!'"
If Mae Lynn had a fraction of a brain, she wouldn't have married Wilbur, I thought as I dug in my pocket for bills. The man talked as if he were announcing a wrestling match, and my head rang with his hollering. All I wanted just then was to run inside and bolt the door behind me.
Chief McBride had left my bicycle with the bent front wheel propped against the garage, and I maneuvered it inside before going into the house. Rusty Echols had told me about a bike shop in Charlotte that might be able to repair it. Maybe I would be able to get an estimate when I drove over to speak with Mamie Estes.
Mamie Estes! I had completely forgotten about my scheduled visit with the last living member of the Mystic Six! I'd phoned that morning to ask if it would be convenient to drop by, and Tess, her daughter-in-law, said they would expect me around two.
It was after one when I stepped inside and glanced at the kitchen clock, and the doctor had advised me not to drive. Besides, I was too shaky right now to venture anywhere— with or without a lick on the head. At least I would have a chance to telephone my excuses and beg off until another day.
"I'm so glad you called! I've been trying to reach you," Tess said when I phoned. "I'm afraid Mamie's a bit under the weather today, and it doesn't take much to tire her."
"I hope it's nothing serious," I said. (How can anything not be serious when you're a hundred and two?)
"A little cold, I expect. Why don't you give us a call tomorrow and we'll see? I told her you were coming, and I know she'd like to see you."
I promised to phone in the morning, hoping Mamie wouldn't take a turn for the worse and join the other five Mystics before I could talk with her. "Just my luck!" I muttered, heading for the living room sofa.
"What's just your luck?" Augusta wanted to know.
I told her about Mamie Estes being under the weather. "I'm afraid if I wait much longer, she might be under the ground," I said.
"Then I'd think that would be her misfortune, not yours," Augusta said in her calm, matter-of-fact voice.
Her inflection was less than angelic, I thought. "You're right, of course. As usual. It was a callous thing to say, but my head hurts and I feel rotten. I'm scared to death, Augusta! I don't get almost tossed over a cliff just every day, you know, and I'd just as soon not get used to it. I don't know why you're so annoyed with me," I said. "After all, you were the one who encouraged me to visit Maureen Foster. In fact, you insisted on it."
"That's correct, and I share the blame, Arminda. I should have been more careful, but so should you. I didn't realize you'd be riding a bicycle! Don't you see how vulnerable that makes you?" She plopped a pillow at one end of the sofa and plumped it up, indicating that I was to rest there. A shadow of a frown crossed her brow. "I'm afraid I didn't grasp the seriousness of the situation. I thought we had more time."
"More time for what?" I put my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. The pillow was smooth and cool, and so were Augusta's fingers when she touched my forehead.
"Time to work things out," she said. "I take my work seriously, you know, and I want to keep you safe, but you'll have to do your part."
"Uh-huh," I said, feeling the pain ebb as she stroked my head with gentle fingers. They smelled of the lemon verbena my mother used to grow. "The doctor said to wake me," I said, just before drifting off. "Something about a concussion."
"I know," Augusta said. And of course she would. Hadn't she been trained by Florence Nightingale herself?
I woke to Augusta's humming something that sounded kind of like "Pennies from Heaven" and wondered how she could sing off-key and still be melodious. A clatter came from the kitchen, and something smelled rich and wonderful.
Augusta had drawn the draperies against the dark, and I felt a little safer for it. But if somebody out there really wanted to harm me, they wouldn't have much trouble getting inside.
"Time to wake up," Augusta said, plucking my coverlet aside. "You've slept the afternoon away, and I've made vegetable soup for supper."
I was relieved to find my headache gone, but my appetite was present in full force. "I hope you made a lot," I said, making my way to the kitchen. When the telephone rang, I almost resented the intrusion and started not to answer it, then thought better of it. Otto was dead, and somebody had tried to put me out of the picture, as well. What if something had happened to Mildred? Or Gatlin or Vesta?
Chapter Sixteen
What's this I hear about your having to go to the doctor?" Vesta wanted to know. "Wilbur Dobbins said you fell off your bike and hit your head. You're not having blurred vision, are you? Do you need me to come over?"
I assured my grandmother that except for a few scrapes and bruises, I was fine. "Doc Ivey didn't seem concerned," I said, "so please don't worry about it. You have a enough on your mind with Mildred and all."
"That Mildred! Do you know I had a message from her on my answering machine when I got back from the dentist's this afternoon? Said she was visiting family and would be home soon." Vesta hummed sort of low in her throat—which to her is equal to a growl. "It's a good thing I wasn't there to take the call! I'd have told her a thing or two. Why, I was that close to calling the police!"
I didn't know how much that close was, but I could guess. "I didn't know Mildred had any family," I said.
"She never talked about them much, but I knew she had relatives somewhere down below Columbia. Once in a while she'd hear from one of them, and a couple of times she went down there to a wedding or a funeral or something, but I got the idea they weren't very close."
Somehow I had always felt we were Mildred's family. "I'm glad she's all right," I said. "At least we can stop worrying now. Did she say when she'd be home?"
"Well, of course not!" Vesta snorted. "That would be the thoughtful thing to do, but I imagine she'll just show up one day and act like everything's hunky-dory."
If only it were, I thought.
I wished Vesta could have asked Mildred if she still had the pills Irene Bradshaw gave her, and I went to bed that night mulling over the list of people who might have tried to do me in with that nasty little rope trick. I wasn't sure Irene had the strength to pull the rope that tight, but she wouldn't have to keep it that way long—just long enough to send me into a terminal skid.
Irene had seemed unusually interested in Otto's bookshop. And I knew Edna Smith had at one time been a Girl Scout leader, because Gatlin had been in her troop. Not only would she know about the logging road behind the water tower, but she'd be familiar with tying knots, as well. And so would her daughter, Sylvie.
Peggy O'Connor was obviously trying to cover up something, and she owned a car similar to the one that had passed on Water Tower Road. But Gertrude Whitmire and her brother, Hugh, were the two who had access to Holley Hall the night Otto was killed, although Otto did have a key and could have let a third party inside. And the local police seemed satisfied the two had nothing to do with it.
Unable to sleep, I went down to the kitchen to find Augusta brewing hot chocolate. "I thought you might could use a cup," she said.
"You really are an angel," I said, and meant it. "I just can't believe somebody I've known all my life murdered Otto and might be trying to do the same to me. These people are our friends, Augusta. It's awful not to know who to trust anymore."
She set the steaming cup in front of me. "Drink up now," she said. "We'll think about it in the morning."
But I was forced to think about it a little earlier than I intended when Rusty Echols phoned the next day just as I was getting out of the shower. All the students who had been absent the day before were accounted for during the time I was thrown from my bicycle, he told me. Except for one.
"We haven't been able to locate Duncan Oliver," Rusty said, "and frankly, I wouldn't be too surprised if the little devil might've had something to do with it. It wouldn't be the first time he's pulled a dangerous stunt like that. I know he was the one who threw that rock from an overpass and damaged some tourist's fancy foreign job, but we never could prove it. Even his own mama can't seem to keep up with him."
"You mean she doesn't know where he is?" I asked.
"I mean nobody answers when I call their place. Checked with the neighbors, and they said Duncan's mom quit her job at the mill and went to work somewhere else. None of them seemed to know where. Hadn't seen either of them for a couple of days."
"What about his father?"
"He's not in the picture," the policeman said. "As soon as we locate them, I'll get back to you on this. Meanwhile, I'd stay close to home if I were you.
"By the way," he added, "Chief McBride went back to that place where you said the rope was tied and found fiber strands embedded in the tree bark. It's not much, but at least it's something to go on."
When the phone rang just after breakfast, I hoped it was Rusty or his uncle calling to tell me they'd arrested whoever was making my life miserable, but it was Tess Estes phoning to let me know Mamie was up to having a visitor if it still suited me to come. I told her I'd be there in a couple of hours, and had started out the door when I remembered it might be a good thing to let Vesta know where I was going. There wasn't room in the doghouse for Mildred and me both.
"I don't suppose you've heard from her," I said.
"Not so much as a mumblin' word," my grandmother told me. "And how is your head this morning?"
"Got a lot of straight yellow hair on the outside and not much in the inside," I said. "Other than that, it's okay."
"Ha. Ha." She didn't sound amused. "If that's the best you can come up with, you do need to take it easy today. And just why are driving to Charlotte?"
"I'm going to see Mamie Estes," I told her.
"Who?"
"Mamie Estes. The last of the Mystic Six."
"Oh. Mama always spoke of her as Mamie Trammell," my grandmother said. "You don't mean she's still alive?"
"A hundred and two," I told her. "And every minute counts. Gotta run!"
But before I left, I telephoned the Better Health Clinic and left a message for Dr. Ivey. "Just tell him I called to let him know I'm okay," I told the receptionist.
"If you'll hold a minute, I think I can chase him down for you," she said.
"No, that's all right. Thanks. I'm fine, really. All patched up."
If we spoke on the phone, Harrison Ivey might ask me out. Or maybe he wouldn't, and I wasn't sure which bothered me more. But I couldn't deny that I was attracted to him. The thing that puzzled me the most, I think, was that he wasn't one bit like Jarvis.
Augusta seemed unusually quiet during the drive to Charlotte, but I was reassured by her company, especially after what happened the day before. I tried not to think about where I might have ended up if Augusta hadn't warned me to jump, but I found myself glancing in the rearview mirror every few minutes to see if I recognized the car behind us.
"I don't think we need to worry any more about the idiot who tied that rope across the road," I said, more to myself than to Augusta. "Paddington Bear seems to think it was a local delinquent who's done this kind of thing before."
"Paddington Bear?" Augusta was concentrating on the traffic in the other lane and didn't look at me.
"Officer Echols. He said the boy wasn't in school yesterday, and they haven't been able to locate him."
The angel spoke softly. "Vigilance, faith, and determination—they will see us through."
"Glad to hear it. Those are powerful words. Who said them?"
"I can't remember," Augusta said with a perfectly straight face. "But I think it might have been me."
The Esteses lived in a blue Cape Cod with white trim in an older part of Charlotte, and Tess Estes, a plump, graying woman who looked like she should be on the cover of a Mother Goose book, met me at the door. She wore an apron that read, PAYTHECOOK… FORGET THE KISSES! and a smudge of cocoa on her chin.
"You're just in time! Come join us in the kitchen. Coffee's hot, and I've a batch of molasses cookies ready to come out of the oven."
"It smells wonderful in here!" I trailed happily after her past a living room furnished with overstuffed chintz and velvet Victorian, through a dining room featuring Danish Modern, and into an Early American kitchen, where a child-size old woman sat at a table sprinkling unbaked cookies with red sugar.
"We're trying to get a head start on our Christmas baking," the lady in the apron said, "and please excuse my poor manners." She stuck out a floury hand. "I'm Tess, and this is Mother Estes, cookie decorator extraordinaire. The pastry chef on that TV cooking show's been trying to hire her away from me, but I'm not letting her go."
Mamie Estes completed a ginger snowman's attire with a row of raisin buttons and looked up at me with eyes almost as blue as the gingham curtains behind her. She wore no glasses. "You're Lucy's granddaughter." It was more of an announcement than a question.
"Great-granddaughter," I said, and took the hand she offered. It was so tiny and delicate I was afraid I might crush it in my larger, stronger one.
Tess scooped spicy brown cookies from the baking tin and piled them on a blue spatterware plate that she set in front of us. I bit into a nut-encrusted Christmas tree and thought of Augusta, who was looking on, no doubt, with her mouth watering.
"I came to ask you about the Mystic Six," I said to the woman sitting next to me. "I need your help, Mrs. Estes."
A small blue blaze flared in her old eyes, but only for a second. "What kind of help?" she said.
"I need to know about the quilt, what happened to it."
Mamie Estes broke a cookie in two and it crumbled into her lap. "That's all over and done with. Nobody left but me."
"I know," I said. "Still, it could be important."
Tess looked at me across the table and her eyes signaled, Don't go there!
But what else could I do? "I'm sorry," I said to both of them, "but… well, things hav
e happened that might have been prevented. Bad things." I couldn't tell her about Otto! What if she dropped dead from the shock of it? However, even in her frail condition, Mamie Estes looked as if she could handle a bombshell or two.
"There's something about that quilt you made back then that might help us to work through a difficult problem now," I told her.
Mamie looked at her daughter-in-law and slowly shook her head. "What does it matter now? I can't see the harm—but why? What good would it do?"
She was reluctant to let the old quilt go, and I didn't blame her. She was the last member and had earned the right to keep it. "If you could just let me see it, that might be enough. I'd understand if you'd rather I not—"
"I don't have it," Mamie said in a voice that didn't seem frail at all. "I'd give it to you if I could." She fumbled in the box of cookie cutters until she found one she liked. It was an angel. "I don't care if I never see the blamed thing again."
"Then who? There's nobody else. You were the last one." I glanced at Tess with what I hoped was a "help me" look, but Tess, upper arms jiggling, thumped dough onto a floured board and rolled it into a plate-size circle.
"Flora had it last." Mamie patted the tabletop with pale twig fingers. "I sent it to her just before she died. We were the last, you see."
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