Lou bit off a thread and folded the finished skirt. “But wouldn’t the two of them inherit anyway?”
Dimple dared not look at the others. “That’s something we don’t know for sure,” she said.
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that Japanese woman wasn’t hiding out there,” Lou informed them as they started to leave. “She has to be somewhere, and she’s probably already killed once—maybe twice. Promise me you’ll be careful now—please!”
* * *
“Oh, dear!” Miss Dimple sighed as they walked down Katherine Street for home. “This is getting most complicated. It bothers me so when people assume Suzy is responsible.”
“What if you had to put up with Emmaline Brumlow?” Virginia said. “She keeps putting up those silly signs at the library and I keep taking them down.” She laughed. “Now she thinks Suzy herself is sneaking around under cover of darkness to dispose of them.”
“Poor Suzy! What a dilemma!” Miss Dimple slowed her pace to match the others. “We couldn’t mention Mrs. Hawthorne’s leaving her estate to the university as we aren’t supposed to know that.”
Charlie paused to relieve Virginia of some of her groceries. “Do you want to check out Esau’s place tomorrow? Aunt Lou said she thought they fed the Curtises’ chickens about mid-morning.”
“I’m ready with the chow-chow just in case,” Annie said, holding up the jar Lou had given them.
“I think we’d better take advantage of the situation,” Miss Dimple advised as they waited for the light at the corner. “I’ll take care of the gas if you’ll drive,” she said to Charlie.
* * *
“Wouldn’t you know it would be raining?” Charlie grumbled the next morning when she stopped for the others at Phoebe Chadwick’s. Virginia was working at the library and couldn’t accompany them.
“It’s not supposed to last, or at least that’s what they said on the radio this morning.” Miss Dimple placed her umbrella on the floorboard beside her. “When we were there earlier I noticed a place a short distance from the Curtises’ where we might watch unobserved. As soon as the Ingrams arrive to feed the animals, it should be safe to take a quick look at their property.”
Annie shivered and tugged a jaunty red beret over her ears. “Maybe it will stop raining by then. I think it’s turning colder.”
“Some detectives we are!” Charlie said as they drove through the outskirts of town. “We’re bound to leave footprints all over the place.”
The parking spot Miss Dimple had suggested was sheltered from the road by underbrush and pines but they found if they leaned in just the right direction they were able to see the Curtises’ driveway through the trees.
“I think my foot’s asleep,” Charlie said after they had been there awhile. “Seems like they should’ve been here by now.”
“Let’s give it a bit longer,” Miss Dimple suggested. “Look. I believe the rain’s clearing up.”
“Ah! ‘What light through yonder window breaks!’” Annie quoted as the sun suddenly came through the clouds. “And it looks like that car’s slowing … it’s turning in at the Curtises’! Is that the Ingrams’ truck?”
The three waited until they saw two figures emerge and walk toward the back before they felt it was safe to proceed, and Charlie drove carefully to Esau Ingram’s farm over the narrow two lane road, now slick with red mud.
Turning into the graveled drive, Charlie froze as a large dog raced out to greet them, barking nonstop. “Oh, lordy! I hope he’s had breakfast,” she said.
“But not dessert!” Annie laughed, but she didn’t try to get out of the car.
Dimple Kilpatrick had no such qualms. “He’s a nice boy,” she said in a calming voice, and held out a hand for the dog to sniff. “He knows we aren’t going to hurt him, don’t you, fella?”
Still, Charlie gripped the steering wheel. “But does he know we plan to snoop around with ill intent?”
“It’s only ill if we find the paintings,” Dimple told her. “Now, come on, you two. We don’t have time to dawdle. See, he’s wagging his tail.”
No one came to the door when they gave it a cursory knock, although Annie had remembered to bring along the chow-chow just in case. Setting it aside, she followed the others to look at the outbuildings. The dog, befriended by Miss Dimple, trotted happily along beside them.
Aside from the usual farm equipment, the small barn sheltered a mule, a couple of hogs, and several cats, but no paintings, and hens frittered away their time in the fenced chicken yard nearby. The ruling rooster pranced and huffed about to let everyone know he was in charge, and Charlie paused at the henhouse door. “Do you really think they would hide paintings in here?” she asked, holding her nose, and to her relief the others agreed that would be unlikely.
The only other buildings were a toolshed and smokehouse, the latter, empty of everything but hams suspended from the ceiling. Charlie inhaled deeply and reluctantly shut the door, thinking of the delectable prospect of a country ham breakfast with grits and red-eye gravy.
In the toolshed they discovered only the things you might expect to find there. A lean-to on the other side sheltered the family’s supply of firewood from the elements. “You’d think they would have locks on the doors if something valuable is stored inside,” Annie said finally. “Unless the paintings are in the house, it looks like we’re wasting our time here.”
“I believe you may be right,” Miss Dimple said, and began picking her way back across the muddied property using her furled umbrella for balance. They had almost reached the place where they had left the car when Esau Ingram’s faded blue truck turned into the driveway.
Annie, who was in the lead, froze in her tracks. “Oh, no! Is it too late to hide? We could make a dash for the woodshed.”
“Nonsense!” Miss Dimple raised her hand in greeting, noting the dog had already alerted his owners of their uninvited visitors. “Just try to appear calm. After all, we haven’t done anything wrong.
“Ah, so there you are!” she called, hurrying to meet the couple as they climbed out of the truck. “We thought we might find you out in the barn and were so afraid we’d missed you.” Smiling, Miss Dimple extended her hand and reintroduced all of them. “My friends and I have been sent on a mission to round up a few eggs, and we were hoping you might have some to spare. It’s so difficult to find things now with all this wartime rationing.”
Charlie and Annie nodded in agreement, muttering something about running out of eggs for their Christmas baking.
“We plan to pay you, of course,” Miss Dimple continued, stooping to pet the dog.
Coralee shook her head. “I wish I could help you, but our hens have been off a bit lately and I’m afraid I’ll need the few I collected this morning.” She darted a look at her husband and lowered her voice. “My Esau does love my cake!”
Dimple, remembering Mae Martha’s comments on the woman’s culinary efforts, restrained a knowing smile. “I understand,” she said, turning to go. “And I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you.”
“You might try Rebecca Wyatt down the road,” Esau told them. “She sometimes has extra to sell.” He paused to scratch his head. “She’s kinda peculiar, though. Never can tell if she’ll take to you or not.”
“I guess we’ll have to go there now,” Charlie said once they were back in the car.
“We’d better ask her if she’ll sell us some eggs,” Annie said, “in case Coralee or Esau mentions it.”
“A few extra eggs always come in handy, and we wanted to see that place anyway,” Miss Dimple reminded them. “Perhaps this will give us a chance to look around. Mr. Ingram said it was only a few miles down the road—not very far from his brother’s place. It shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
* * *
“Are you sure you turned the right way back there?” Annie asked Charlie after they had driven for what seemed like ages.
“He said turn right after we passed that abandoned barn with See Rock City on th
e roof,” Charlie said. “That was the only one I saw.”
“I believe we might have missed it.” Miss Dimple concentrated on her side of the road. “There should be a mailbox and some sort of driveway along here somewhere. Maybe we should turn back.”
“No, no! Not yet! I think I see it. Slow down.” Annie pointed to a narrow trail leading off into the grass and brambles just ahead of them.
“That doesn’t look like a driveway to me,” Charlie said, coming to a stop. “The ruts are a foot deep and it looks like a jungle growing in the median. I’m not driving up there.”
“Look, there’s a mailbox.” Annie brought their attention to a rusty metal box on a tilted wooden post. She narrowed her eyes to read the name. “I can barely make it out, but it looks like Wyatt. This has to be Rebecca.”
Charlie turned into the overgrown trail and parked. “I hope you’re up for a hike because it looks like we’re walking from here.”
This was no inconvenience to Dimple Kilpatrick, as she walked almost every morning and the others had thought to wear sturdy boots. The tall grass and underbrush from either side snagged at them as they trudged along, sidestepping to avoid puddles.
“Aunt Lou said she was sure the Ingrams didn’t get a look at them yesterday at the Curtis farm,” Charlie said, “but what if they did? What if Coralee connects our being there this morning to her suspicions about somebody hiding in the Curtises’ barn?”
“I doubt if either of them would know your aunt or your mother,” Dimple assured her. “What reason would they have to link the two incidents?”
“Oh, dear!” Pausing, Annie turned to face the others. “That might not be completely true.”
“What do you mean?” Miss Dimple asked.
“I left the jar of chow-chow on their porch. It has your aunt’s name on the label.”
Charlie shrugged. “Oh, well, I think we should let Miss Dimple handle the situation,” she suggested, holding aside a clawing limb. “You certainly thought fast back there when the Ingrams suddenly showed up.”
Miss Dimple poked at a briar with her umbrella. “I dislike telling falsehoods as a rule, but there are times when a person has to do what she deems necessary.”
“This Rebecca sounds like a recluse,” Annie said. “I hope she doesn’t have a shotgun.”
“I expect she’s just shy because of her scarred face,” Miss Dimple told her. “At any rate, we should find out in a minute.”
The small house sat in a grassy area bordered by trees on one side and a fenced garden on the other. A weathered barn sat behind the house, and to the rear of that, the rolling hills of a pasture. The garden was barren now, but a tangle of brown bean vines still clung to the remaining skeletons of cornstalks and it looked as if the withered leaves of melons or pumpkins had been gathered into piles at one end. At one time the house had been painted white but it was sorely in need of another coat, and orange-red berries on nandina bushes on either side of the steps gave the only color to a drab setting.
Miss Dimple walked boldly up to the front door and knocked but it appeared that either the woman wasn’t at home, or didn’t welcome company.
“I don’t see a light inside,” Annie said, peering in a window. “Maybe she isn’t here.”
“She has to be somewhere unless she knows how to fly,” Charlie said. “There’s no way a car could make it down that driveway.”
“Perhaps she’s somewhere out back,” Miss Dimple suggested, noticing a plump calico cat inside on a chair by the window. “Surely she can’t have gone far.”
“Maybe we should try the back door,” Annie said, leading the way around the side of the house. But although a glance through the window revealed a tidy kitchen with yellow dishes lining a green-painted cupboard and a potted red geranium on a table, the house seemed empty and silent.
“Suzy said Mrs. Hawthorne’s milk and eggs were always left in the springhouse,” Miss Dimple recalled, looking about. “I expect it’s in that stone building over there under the oak.
“Mrs. Wyatt!” she called, not wanting to startle the woman as they approached the small, ivy-covered springhouse. She repeated the greeting as they drew nearer, but no one answered.
“Wow! It’s even colder in here than it is outside,” Charlie said, shivering as they stooped under the low door and stepped down into the earthy chill of the springhouse, where a stream of clear water flowed through a wooden trough in the center of the building. Crocks of milk and butter were keeping cold in the water along with a wire basket of eggs. Shelves along the sides of the walls held jars of canned vegetables, probably from Rebecca’s garden, as well as baskets of onions and potatoes. A dipper hung from a shelf near the spring.
The evasive Rebecca was obviously industrious, Dimple thought, and probably wouldn’t welcome their prying about. “This woman, it seems, is an extremely private person,” she said. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. I believe we should leave right now.”
“Suits me!” Charlie said, following her up the narrow steps.
“Ah! ‘How poor are they that have not patience!’” Annie quoted. “We’re here now. Why pass up the opportunity? Let’s at least take a quick look in the barn. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
The usual chickens roamed about the barnyard, but the three stalls inside the building were empty except for obvious evidence of resident cows that had most likely been turned out to pasture. Annie scampered up the ladder for a hasty glance into the loft to report it revealed nothing but hay, while Dimple inspected a storage room in the rear.
“Okay, we looked,” Charlie said, stepping outside where a blast of cold wind whipped bare branches of the lone tree in the barn lot, causing her to turn up her collar. “I couldn’t see any place in there where paintings might be stored, could you?”
Miss Dimple shook her head. “Nor could I. Let’s head on back, shall we?” She didn’t want to say anything to the others, but Dimple was almost certain she’d seen something in there that seemed out of place, and she had an uneasy feeling that the sooner they left, the better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It was almost impossible to hurry as they made their way across Rebecca Wyatt’s soggy backyard but Dimple Kilpatrick picked up her feet and set the pace. Once they reached the car, she could begin to relax, but she wouldn’t feel completely at ease until they were surrounded by the dear, familiar town of Elderberry.
“Golly, Miss Dimple!” Annie protested, panting. “Are we going to a fire or something? I can’t keep up with you.”
They jumped as the sharp crack of a rifle shot rang out that seemed to come from the other side of the house.
“What’s that?” Charlie asked, pausing.
“Probably just somebody hunting,” Annie said, catching up with her.
“Don’t stop!” Quickly Miss Dimple reached back to hook the crook of her umbrella on Charlie’s arm and gave her an unceremonious tug.
Good heavens! What’s come over our Miss Dimple? Charlie glanced at her old teacher in concern but she didn’t have time to do anything else before a second shot zinged nearby, sounding much too close for comfort.
“Run!” Miss Dimple shouted, giving the umbrella, and Charlie along with it, another tug.
But where? The house was probably locked, and even if it wasn’t, chances were, the person shooting was Rebecca Wyatt herself. Dimple looked about. The closest building was a small shed at the edge of the now-spent garden. “This way!” she commanded, and took off in that direction.
Good heavens, was she leading them from the frying pan into the fire? Dimple wondered as she slid off the metal bar that kept the door closed. Together they wrenched open the door and stepped inside a tiny, foul-smelling room less than half the size of Phoebe Chadwick’s garage, and since there was no window, it took awhile for their eyes to become adjusted to the darkness.
“We’re going to be sitting ducks in here!” Annie said, attempting to hold the door shut behind them. “What’s to keep whoever that is
from coming in here after us? We can’t even lock the door.”
A narrow opening between the walls and the roof let in just enough light for Charlie to make out an assortment of garden tools lining the walls, and a cold December sun crept between gaps in the weathered boards to stripe the dingy floor. “Maybe we can tie it shut,” she said, looking frantically about. “See if you can find a rope.”
“What about a belt?” Annie hurriedly unbuckled the narrow leather belt around her waist. Thank goodness she’d worn dungarees! “We can loop it around the door handle.”
“But there’s nothing to tie it to.” Charlie dug in her heels and tugged on the handle. What chance would they have if somebody really wanted to pull open that door?
“Yes, there is. Quickly, Annie, give me that hoe,” Miss Dimple demanded. Taking the hoe, she positioned it across the door, and while Annie held it in place, tightly secured it to the metal handle.
“And if that doesn’t keep them out, this oughta help,” Charlie said, snatching up a garden rake with sharp metal prongs. “Here,” she added, passing a shovel to Miss Dimple and a pickax to Annie. “We’ll clobber him if we have to.”
“If he—or she—doesn’t get to us first,” Annie said under her breath.
Now, armed and with the door fastened as best they could manage, they waited, quietly listening for the gunfire to continue.
“Do you think it could be Rebecca?” Annie asked Miss Dimple. “I thought you said she was shy!”
“Maybe she didn’t see us come in here,” Charlie said, hoping. “What if she thinks we’ve gone?” But Miss Dimple quietly put a restraining hand on her arm. “Listen,” she whispered.
Charlie found it hard to listen over the pounding of her heart, but as the three of them stood, unmoving, she heard not gunfire, but something just as threatening: the sound of footsteps approaching. She gripped the rake, poised to strike if he attempted to force open the door. Were they all going to be killed in this horrible shed that smelled of something dead? She thought of Will, her wonderful, witty, lovable Will, and their plans for a future together. Not a day went by that she didn’t worry about him training to become a fighter pilot where he would risk his life confronting the enemy with nothing but space between himself and the blessed ground. Oh, Will! I’m so sorry I got myself into this mess! she thought, longing to hold him once more. Beside her, she was sure Annie was thinking much the same about her Frazier.
Miss Dimple Suspects: A Mystery Page 17