“Virginia, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to drive if you will.” She glanced at her friend, who was already gathering her wraps. “We need to get there as soon as possible.”
After banking the embers in the stone fireplace and replenishing the water bowl for Cattus, the library cat, the four of them drove through the darkening December day through the outskirts of town and into the country, dust billowing like russet smoke behind them.
“Should we stop first at Esau’s?” Charlie asked as Virginia turned onto the narrow rutted road that led to the hill where the artist lived.
Miss Dimple frowned. “I don’t see his truck there, but we might find his wife at home. Maybe she can tell us something.”
Annie jumped out and hammered on the door, but no amount of racket brought anyone to answer her. “I guess nobody’s home,” she said, rejoining Charlie in the backseat. “Suzy must’ve gone back up the hill to Mae Martha’s.”
“I wonder why she telephoned you?” Charlie said, addressing Miss Dimple. “If it was an emergency, why not call Doc Morrison or the sheriff?”
“Don’t forget, Suzy is a relative stranger in this area,” Dimple reminded her. “She probably didn’t know who else to call … and she had my telephone number. Remember? You gave it to her yourself.”
Charlie remembered. “Still, you’d think she’d first go to Esau or his wife, or even that fellow, Bill …
“Well, maybe not Bill,” she added when Annie shivered and made a face. “He did look kinda like one of Odessa’s ‘haints.’”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Miss Dimple said a few minutes later as they bumped into the clearing behind Hawthorne’s rustic house.
A galvanized bucket holding sprays of greenery, still with the strong scent of cedar and pine, sat on the stoop by the door. “Strange, I don’t see Max,” Miss Dimple said, pausing at the top of the steps.
“Probably inside with Suzy,” Annie said. “I can hear him barking.
“Suzy! Mrs. Hawthorne! Anybody home?” she called, and was soon joined by the others. When no amount of knocking or hollering brought a reply, Miss Dimple found the door unlocked and stepped boldly inside.
Max immediately threw himself upon them and began whining and racing frantically back and forth to the door that led to the studio.
Miss Dimple knelt and spoke softly to the animal while calmly stroking his head. “It’s all right, Max … shh … we’re here now … here to help. What is it, Max? Show us.”
With the German shepherd leading the way, the four women walked to the closed door of Mae Martha Hawthorne’s studio, where Dimple Kilpatrick wasted no time in turning the knob. “Mae Martha?” The room was in darkness and she called out while switching on the light.
“Oh!” Charlie stumbled backward into Virginia, who reached out for Annie to keep from falling. “Oh! Is she…” As if in a daze, Charlie watched Miss Dimple kneel by the woman who lay on the floor, her gray hair dark with blood that had been collected in a pool beneath her head. It didn’t take long to see Mae Martha Hawthorne was dead, had probably been dead for some time.
“Someone please get the dog away.” Dimple found it an effort to speak calmly as Max attempted to get nearer and began to bark in such a manner it broke her heart to hear him. “Take him outside—hurry.”
“Should we phone for the doctor or the police?” Virginia asked, although it was obvious a doctor would be no help here. While Annie coerced the dog out the way they had come in, the others took in their surroundings.
“It looks like the poor thing fell and hit her head,” Virginia said as Dimple got to her feet. But Dimple shook her head. “What would she have hit it on? The injury seems to be in the back. There’s nothing nearby—and look how she’s lying. Look closely.”
Do I have to? Charlie thought, but she complied. The woman lay on her back with her arms by her sides as if she had merely lain down for a quick nap. Her eyes were closed and if it weren’t for the dark stain congealing beneath her and her mouth had not been open in such a grotesque position, it might appear as if she were asleep. Charlie took a deep breath and looked away. “It doesn’t seem natural that she would’ve fallen like this.”
“Someone moved her, arranged her this way,” Miss Dimple said. “Possibly her companion.”
“But where is she now?” Alarmed, Virginia looked about.
“Surely you don’t think Suzy had anything to do with this?” Annie had returned and now stood in the doorway. They could hear Max still barking outside.
“For heaven’s sake, why didn’t she stay? Call for help?” Charlie said, her voice quaking in spite of her.
“She did,” Miss Dimple answered. “She called me. I think she must’ve found her soon after this happened—probably tried to revive her—and realizing it was useless, left her in this position and went somewhere—probably Esau’s—to telephone me.”
“But if this wasn’t an accident, then somebody must have done it,” Annie said. “Why? Why would anybody want to do this to Mae Martha?” Her voice rose and her eyes filled with tears. “She was so nice!”
“If this companion—this Suzy—didn’t do it, then who did?” Virginia asked. “I think we should get out of here now.”
“And I think you’re right!” Annie said, but Miss Dimple seemed in no hurry, and instead took her time looking over the room. The studio smelled of oil and turpentine, and paintings lined the walls just as they had before. What seemed to be a newly finished scene of two rabbits nibbling near a rustic fence entwined with what appeared to be muscadine vines sat on an easel nearby.
Charlie spoke softly. “Her last painting.”
Miss Dimple nodded. The painting was serene and lovely, just as the artist had been. “I don’t see anything that might’ve been used as a weapon … at least nothing obvious.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine where Suzy has gone.”
“Unless…” Charlie looked from one to the other. “Unless somebody killed her, too! We haven’t even looked in the other rooms.”
Annie groaned. “Okay. This is really getting scary. Can we please leave now?”
“But what if Suzy’s been hurt?” Charlie pointed out. “What if she’s been locked in a closet or something? We have to look.”
But the rest of the house proved to be empty and silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock that stood against the living room wall. Only embers remained of what had been a wood fire in the big fireplace, now mounded with gray ashes. Dimple remembered Suzy telling her she always built the fires as Mae Martha was too frail to lift the heavy logs.
“We can telephone from Esau’s,” Annie began. “Surely somebody’s home by now. I hate to be the ones to tell them.”
“I believe it might be best to report directly to the sheriff in town.” Miss Dimple spoke with finality. “Let’s leave things as they are for now.”
Annie glanced at Charlie who shrugged. She didn’t like to argue with Miss Dimple. Besides, she was usually right.
“What about Max?” Virginia asked as they stepped outside to be met with the dog’s frenzied capers. “We can’t just leave him here. Who would take care of him?”
“I guess we’ll have to take him with us,” Charlie said, glancing at Virginia. “I’d offer to keep him myself, but you know how much traffic we have on Katherine Street and there’s no way to fence him in.”
“He could stay in my room tonight if Miss Phoebe wouldn’t mind,” Annie offered, “but there’s really no place for him there.”
“Oh, I wish there were! He reminds me of my Bear.” Stooping, Dimple again calmed the dog with a few murmured words and offered her hand for him to lick.
“Well, I suppose that leaves me,” Virginia said. “He can sleep at my house tonight and have the run of my fenced-in backyard tomorrow, but I’m afraid he’ll be lonely with no one there all day.”
Charlie agreed. “Poor Max! He needs a family.”
Miss Dimple thought she knew of the very one but, of course, she would have t
o ask them first.
Max didn’t need any coaxing but immediately jumped into the backseat with Annie. Charlie, however, took her time joining them.
“What are you looking for out there?” Annie asked her. “It’s too dark to see a thing.”
“I thought I might catch a glimpse of Suzy,” she said as she climbed into the car. “Do you think she could be somewhere out here in this cold?”
“Well, if she is, she’s had plenty of opportunity to show herself.” Virginia put the car in second gear as they started down the hill. The yellow glow of the headlights cast eerie shadows in the dark trees ahead. “What makes you so sure that Chinese woman had nothing to do with Mrs. Hawthorne’s death?” she said, leaning forward to better see the narrow road in front of them. “Why, she might be just waiting for us to leave.”
“Then why call and ask for my help?” Miss Dimple paused as Virginia braked to keep from hitting a small animal, probably a raccoon. “I think I know why the young woman is avoiding anyone with authority, and if I’m correct, she has good reason to be afraid.”
Charlie spoke up. “I’d be afraid, too, if I’d been the one to find Mae Martha like that, but I wouldn’t waste a minute before calling the police.”
“So, why, Miss Dimple? Why should Suzy be afraid?” Annie asked, cuddling closer to Max for warmth.
The older woman hesitated. After all, she couldn’t be absolutely sure. “I don’t think Suzy’s from China,” she said at last. “I believe Mrs. Hawthorne’s young companion is of Japanese heritage.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Charlie spoke first. “Oh,” she said finally. “You mean you think she’s … but she speaks perfectly good English. And didn’t she meet Mrs. Hawthorne’s grandson at Emory?”
“I only meant she might be of Japanese heritage,” Miss Dimple explained. “I believe she told me she was born in California.”
“But to some people—most, I’m afraid—that doesn’t matter,” Virginia said. “Japanese is Japanese.”
“One of my students told me the other day that when the war first started she threw away a whole set of those little china dolls—the kind that came about ten in a box—just because they said Made in Japan on the back,” Annie said.
Charlie groaned. “Well, that’s silly! The dolls couldn’t help where they were made.”
Miss Dimple smiled. “Just as Suzy had no choice in her family’s origin.”
“I’m certainly no friend of the Japanese, or the Germans, either,” Virginia said. “And with good reason, but I’m afraid most people would be hostile toward anyone they thought might be affiliated with the enemy. If you believe this young woman really is of that heritage I can understand why this would be a problem for her.”
“It doesn’t help that she seems to have run away,” Charlie said. “I honestly don’t know what we can do.”
“Wait, I suppose,” Miss Dimple said. “She phoned once. Maybe she will again, but right now we need to report this to Sheriff Holland, and the sooner, the better.”
A light burned in a back window of the house where Esau Ingram and his wife, Coralee, lived at the foot of the meandering road, but Virginia drove past without slowing and everyone seemed relieved when they turned onto the main road to town.
The streets of Elderberry looked deserted, illuminated only by dim lights in some of the stores. “I miss the lighted Christmas tree we used to have on the courthouse lawn,” Charlie said sadly.
“And the big blue star over City Hall,” Virginia added, “but we wouldn’t want to attract attention in case there’s an air raid.”
They were all familiar with air-raid drills during which everyone turned off their lights and draped their windows with black, but the town was so far inland, Dimple didn’t expect enemy planes to be able to reach them. She had read about the dreadful bombings in England and watched accounts of them in the newsreels, and her heart ached for the people there whose homes were being destroyed and their loved ones killed. Some of the children in the larger cities over there were being separated from their families and sent to safer homes in the countryside. How disheartening it would be if the small ones in her care were forced to do the same!
Annie remained in the car with the dog while the other three went in to see the sheriff. They found Sheriff Holland at his desk, finishing a big bowl of ham and bean soup and corn bread his wife had sent over for his supper, and the tantalizing smell of it made Charlie’s stomach rumble.
The sheriff washed down his last spoonful with black coffee after offering the women a seat and listened intently as Miss Dimple explained the reason for their visit.
“And you say this woman—this companion—phoned you?” he asked after she had related the details of their experience.
“That is correct,” Dimple responded, “but she wasn’t there when we arrived. She would’ve had to go somewhere to use the telephone, possibly the Ingrams since they were the closest neighbors, but no one answered the door there.”
“There’s no telling where she might be by now.” Sheriff Holland reached for the phone. “Can you give me a description?”
Miss Dimple fingered the pin at her throat. “Small, attractive … probably in her mid or late twenties with dark hair.” She paused. “And Asian. Suzy’s Asian.”
He relayed that information to someone on the other end of the line. “Suzy?” the sheriff repeated. “What’s her last name?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Miss Dimple said. “She never told me, but I really don’t think she had anything to do with what happened to Mrs. Hawthorne, Sheriff. She was confused and terrified at finding her the way she did. Suzy had no reason to kill her.”
Excusing himself, the sheriff stood and stuck his head in the door of the room behind him. “Clyde, looks like we’ve got a homicide over there near Fox Grape Hill. Woman’s companion reported it and then took off. I’ve called in a description but you need to get Mabry in here—Dennis, too, and anybody else you can round up. Chances are pretty slim of finding this woman, dark as it is, but we gotta try.
“I’m heading on out there now, so see if you can get ahold of Doc Morrison and ask him to meet me there. Peewee will come with me.
“Peewee!” he bellowed, and the man who had been sitting with his feet on the desk eating peanuts in the small reception area lumbered in. “Yessir?” he answered, attempting to tuck in his shirt, although it would be impossible, Dimple thought, for Peewee to see around his huge stomach in order to know what he was doing. The man appeared perfectly capable, she imagined, of balancing a bale of cotton on each shoulder without shedding the first drop of perspiration.
“Grab your jacket. A woman’s been killed … and for God’s sake—er, excuse me, ladies—leave those blasted peanuts behind! Looks like a circus in here.”
The sheriff turned to the three women. “I’m sorry to have to ask, but one of you will need to come with us so you can let me know if anything’s been moved. And who knows? Maybe you’ll think of something else that might help.”
Miss Dimple agreed to go, as did Charlie, but Virginia said she needed to get home in order to take care of her overnight guest. “I don’t have any dog food,” she admitted, “but I reckon he won’t turn up his nose at some leftover stew.”
“I’m surprised my mother and Miss Phoebe haven’t called the police to report our disappearance,” Charlie said, and Annie promised to stay behind and explain the situation to both. “But I’ll be staying up until you get back,” she told Miss Dimple. “Please don’t make me wait until tomorrow to hear all the details!”
The Ingrams’ house was dark when they drove past and Charlie was glad they had thought to leave a light burning in Mrs. Hawthorne’s kitchen. She remembered how kind and welcoming the artist had been when they visited there and took a deep breath to ease the anger rising inside her. Why would anyone do this to her? And what if they had returned?
She was glad they were accompanied by t
he two policemen as they drew up behind the house. Charlie glanced at Miss Dimple, who sat quietly beside her looking as calm as if she were going to a meeting of the church circle.
She watched Sheriff Holland cautiously draw his gun from his holster as he got out of the car. “The three of you stay here while I check things out,” he told them. “And Peewee, you keep an eye out, you hear? Blow the horn if you see anything suspicious.”
Charlie felt a little shiver of excitement. Wait until Annie heard what she had missed! Shame on you, Charlie Carr! A woman lies dead in there—a talented artist who would never be able to share her beautiful work again, and whoever did it is running around free. She sat up straighter, her hand on the door handle. If she could help find who was responsible for this, she was willing and ready! Beside her, Miss Dimple’s stomach rumbled and she coughed to cover the noise. Charlie wanted to giggle. What was wrong with her? After all these years she still had trouble accepting the fact that the older teacher had human needs just like everybody else … well, maybe not quite like everybody else.
Thank goodness the sheriff stepped outside at that moment to beckon them inside. “I reckon you all left fingerprints all over the place,” he grumbled.
Miss Dimple reminded him that when they arrived earlier, they had not been aware they would find a murder victim there.
Mae Martha Hawthorne lay on the floor in her studio just as they had left her and as far as she could tell, Miss Dimple told them, nothing had been moved.
The sheriff knelt by the dead woman and carefully examined her hands. “Doesn’t look like she put up a fight. Must’ve known whoever it was that did this. Doc should be able to tell us more.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to get prints from all you ladies who were here before, and her nephew and his wife as well. If you can think of anyone else who might have access to the house, we’ll need to get theirs, too.”
“I understand there’s another nephew, Isaac, who lives around here somewhere,” Charlie told him, “and then there’s Bill.” She explained about the man who worked as a handyman and tried to keep an impartial expression as she described him.
Miss Dimple Suspects: A Mystery Page 6