Miss Dimple Suspects: A Mystery

by Mignon F. Ballard

  Was anyone looking? The streets seemed deserted as Lottie parted the heavy branches and ducked beneath them to the musky, dusky shade of the tree. Even in late December it smelled of mud and summer and black, sooty bark, and brittle leaves rattled under her feet. Lottie took the small trowel she had borrowed from Miss Bessie’s toolshed and began to scrape near the base of the tree. Which side had she hidden them on? There should be an indentation in the roots somewhere … but what if this wasn’t the right tree? There were countless magnolia trees in countless Southern towns.

  On her hands and knees she crawled around the base of the magnolia, scraping away the surface of the soil. Years of dirt, twigs, stones, and leaves had filled in the crevices but Lottie, now resorting to her fingers, carefully swept them away. This must be how an archeologist works, she thought, smiling at the comparison.

  But when her fingers felt the dirt-encrusted surface of the tiny china cup, Cassie Greeson Nivens knew she was finally home.

  * * *

  “I don’t see a light. They must not have gotten here yet,” Charlie said as the three women made their way up the mud-slicked driveway that led to Rebecca Wyatt’s. The beam from her flashlight sent a pale sliver through the dark night, briefly revealing the scorched shed by the garden where the smell of burned wood lingered, reminding them of their close brush with death.

  “I hope they’re all right,” Miss Dimple said. “They had to make their way through the woods with no light, and Rebecca didn’t look at all well.”

  “I guess all we can do is wait,” Annie said. “They should be here soon, but it’s freezing out here and I’m sure the house is locked.”

  “The barn isn’t,” Charlie reminded her. “At least we’ll be out of the wind and we should be able to see the house from there.”

  Later, Dimple Kilpatrick would tell herself she had a feeling something wasn’t right as the three of them hurried to the barn that cold December night, but then things had seemed topsy-turvy all evening long, not unlike their world since this dreadful war began. It was good to be out of the frigid night air, and the barn smelled as barns should: of animals, manure, leather, and fodder. The only sound she heard was an occasional lowing of a cow, the chickens having long gone to sleep.

  Dimple was the first to notice the canvases were gone. The small storage room still held an assortment of tools and implements, but the art materials that had been there before had been moved. “I wonder if Rebecca put them somewhere else,” she said.

  Annie frowned. “When would she have time?”

  “You’re right. She wouldn’t,” a voice said behind them, and they turned to find Isaac Ingram in the doorway with a gun.

  * * *

  Suzy gripped Rebecca’s hand as they stumbled over the rough terrain, feeling their way in the dark. “I can’t see a thing!” she said, tripping on a fallen limb.

  “Just hang on to me,” Rebecca said. “I’ve come this way plenty of times before. I should be able to get us there before long.”

  Rebecca had thrown her shawl over her head and was still bundled in the blanket Suzy had wrapped around her. It dragged the ground as she walked and now and then she had to stop and cough, holding on to a tree until the spasm passed. Suzy frowned at the sound of it, hoping they didn’t have much farther to walk. Rebecca needed dry clothing, warmth, and steam for that worrisome rattle in her chest, and the sooner, the better.

  “How much farther?” Suzy asked, shoving aside a limb. “We need to get you out of this cold.” She could tell earlier by Rebecca’s flushed face that the woman was probably feverish.

  “Not too far now.” Rebecca coughed again. “Just watch out for that ditch ahead, then there’re a couple of hills and we should come out near the barn lot.”

  Suzy shivered, wishing she had worn warmer clothing. She had left her belongings in a paper bag in the small closet in her old room at Mrs. Hawthorne’s and hoped Esau and his wife wouldn’t notice it if they decided to search the house. She couldn’t imagine what Miss Dimple had told the couple to explain their presence there, but Suzy had known Dimple Kilpatrick long enough to believe she would come up with something credible. After all, who would not believe Miss Dimple Kilpatrick?

  They had reached the top of the second hill when Rebecca suddenly stopped.

  “What’s the matter?” Suzy held on to a slender pine sapling, eager to go on. “Are you all right?”

  Rebecca held out an arm in the darkness. “Shh! Wait. I think I see somebody moving about down there.”

  “It’s probably Miss Dimple and the others. They said they would meet us here.”

  Still, Rebecca held back. “Let’s get a little closer to be sure, but that looks like a truck parked behind my barn.”

  “Whose truck?” Suzy whispered as they edged closer.

  Rebecca crouched behind a clump of cedars and urged Suzy to do the same. “It belongs to Isaac Ingram, and we can’t let him find us here. He’s the reason I hid at Mae Martha’s, and if he sees us—”

  “But Miss Dimple and the others should be there by now. What do you think he might do?” Suzy peered through the feathery boughs to see a stocky figure standing in the open doorway of the barn. “Is there some way we can warn them?”

  Suddenly a shout rang out sounding almost like a scream. Charlie! Suzy recognized the voice and it was coming from inside the barn. Charlie was trying to warn them.

  “What do you want? Get out of my way!” It sounded like … it was! Miss Dimple, of course.

  Suzy gripped Rebecca’s arm. “We have to go for help!”

  Rebecca nodded. “There’s a path up the hill to the left that leads back to the road,” she whispered. “We’ll have to stay close to—” Her words were interrupted by a harsh spell of coughing and a bright beam of light immediately lit the ground in front of them.

  “I know you’re up there,” Isaac Ingram shouted, “so I’d advise you to come on down now. I don’t think you want me taking potshots at those bushes, do you?”

  With one arm, Rebecca shoved Suzy to the ground. “Stay low and be still,” she whispered. “He thinks I’m alone. Wait here and then go back to the road for help.” She stood, still coughing, and made her way slowly down the hillside to where the man with the gun stood waiting.

  Suzy held her breath as she lay facedown on the damp ground. What had happened to Miss Dimple, Charlie, and Annie? In all likelihood Isaac Ingram had killed two people and had tried to kill three others. Could she get help before he added to the list?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Something wasn’t right. Phoebe tried Virginia’s number again. Still no answer. Probably cleaning up at the church after feeding all those young people. It had been much too long since Dimple and the others had left to find Suzy, and they should’ve been back by now. Phoebe paced the back hallway, wishing Odessa were there. She would know what to do. She could always rely on Odessa for good common sense, but her cook was spending the Christmas holidays with her family.

  She would telephone the Carrs. She didn’t have to tell Jo anything about them looking for Suzy. Maybe she had heard something from Charlie.

  * * *

  “Three of us will be better than two,” Jo assured Phoebe when she and her sister stopped by for her a short while later. “Safety in numbers, you know.” Besides, she knew the wrath she would endure if she didn’t include Lou on any would-be adventure. Jo was relieved when Phoebe had called as she, too, had expected her daughter back sooner. What were the three of them doing out there anyway at this time of night? The unpaved roads could be treacherous, especially in the dark, and everybody knew those artificial rubber tires weren’t worth a tinker’s damn.

  “Maybe we should phone the police or the sheriff or somebody,” Phoebe suggested as they drove through the deserted streets of town. After all, if the women were in some kind of trouble, what could they do?

  Lou drove, bumping over the railroad tracks as she spoke. “If it turns out to be nothing, I’m not crazy about
getting that Sheriff Holland all riled up. You may have noticed we weren’t on his Christmas card list this year. Let’s drive out and see what’s going on. I don’t understand why they took a notion to go out there anyway. Maybe we’ll meet them on their way back.”

  But most people, it seemed, had decided to stay at home on the day after Christmas, as they didn’t meet a single car on the way to the turnoff for the Hawthorne place. “That’s Esau’s house just up ahead,” Jo pointed out. “Maybe we should stop and ask if they’ve seen them.”

  “I don’t see a light,” Lou said. “Looks like they’ve already gone to bed. Do you think we ought to wake them?”

  “I suppose we could try Mrs. Hawthorne’s first, although I can’t imagine why they would’ve gone there,” Jo said, looking ahead for the turn. “It’s just at the top of this hill.”

  “Stop! Wait a minute!” Phoebe, in the backseat, rolled down her window. “I hear somebody calling—there’s somebody in the road behind us! Maybe it’s Charlie or Annie. Quick, Lou, turn the car around so we can see who it is.”

  Lou made a sudden turn in Esau Ingram’s driveway and managed to face the other direction. “Oh, sweet Jesus!” she exclaimed, getting a look at Suzy’s frantic face. “We’re being ambushed by the Japanese!”

  After a few minutes of explanations from Phoebe, Lou and her sister eventually grew calm enough to listen to what Suzy was trying to tell them. “You mean Isaac Ingram is holding Charlie and the others at gunpoint in somebody’s barn?” Jo gasped. “We have to call the sheriff now!”

  “We can use the phone here at Esau’s,” Lou suggested, stepping from the car. “I’ll go pound on the door and wake them.”

  “No, wait, please! This is Isaac’s brother, remember!” Suzy put a hand on her shoulder. “How do we know he doesn’t have something to do with this?”

  “You’re right. Then who’s the closest neighbor? The Curtises, of course!” Lou answered her own question. “Get in, then—we have to hurry!”

  Suzy didn’t hesitate a second before sliding onto the backseat beside Phoebe.

  * * *

  “Where do you think he’s gone?” Annie asked Rebecca as the four of them huddled together in the crude storage room in Rebecca Wyatt’s barn. Earlier Isaac Ingram had held Annie roughly aside and forced the other two to enter by threatening to shoot her if they resisted. As soon as Charlie and Dimple were inside, he had shoved her in to join them. Not long after that, he’d thrust Rebecca in with the others and padlocked the door behind her. Their jail, they found, was of solid boards at least an inch thick and the door was securely bolted. They could scream all they liked, but who would hear them?

  The others had made Rebecca as comfortable as possible with a feed bag for a pillow and covered her the best they could with her shawl and mud-spattered blanket. “He’ll be back,” Rebecca said. “You can be sure of that. I expect he’s gone to his place to load up all the paintings he’s been hoarding.”

  “And then what?” Charlie asked, although she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

  Rebecca’s coughing caused her to shudder. “Let’s hope your friend Suzy gets help here in time,” she told them.

  Isaac Ingram had set fire to the garden shed with the three of them inside, and he wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to the barn. Miss Dimple closed her eyes and spoke to her Creator. I know you’re aware of our situation and that it’s in your power to help, but if it’s all the same to you, sooner would be a whole lot better than later!

  Rebecca’s face was almost gray, and the two younger teachers were trying to maintain their composure, but it was hard to ignore the white knuckles on their linked hands. How long had it been since Suzy left Rebecca to go for help? Twenty minutes? Thirty? An hour? How far would Suzy have to go to find it? And she would—of course she would! Dimple wouldn’t even allow herself consider the alternative.

  “How does Isaac think he’s going to sell those paintings after everybody knows what he’s done?” Annie asked after a long silence.

  “Unfortunately, there are all kinds of unethical dealers in the art world, just as everywhere else,” Miss Dimple told her. “I’m sure he has connections. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t already found a buyer.”

  “But we know what he’s done,” Charlie pointed out, and gasped when she realized what she’d said.

  Miss Dimple patted her arm. “Perhaps he plans to leave here and go somewhere else to begin anew with all the money he’ll be getting. Locking us in here would give him time to be far away before we’re discovered.”

  Charlie smiled in spite of herself. Miss Dimple was becoming quite an accomplished liar. “Virginia knows where we’ve gone,” she said, to assure herself as well as the others. “And Phoebe, too. I’m sure they’ll send someone to look for us if we don’t come back soon.”

  “What about your mother?” Annie asked her. “She must be curious about where you’ve gone.”

  “I told her I’d probably just have a sandwich with you at Miss Phoebe’s, so she isn’t expecting me for supper,” Charlie said. “Does anybody have a watch? I have no idea what time it is?”

  But no one answered, and Miss Dimple thought of the timepiece she usually wore pinned to her blouse. Earlier, assuming she wouldn’t need it, she had left it on the dresser in her room. Dimple thought fondly of her small room at Phoebe Chadwick’s, with its comfortable bed covered with the colorful patchwork quilt that had belonged to her for as long as she could remember; the cheerful rag rug beside it, and the small oak desk by the window. Would she ever see it again?

  “The cows!” Charlie said suddenly. “Cows have to be milked. Isn’t there someone who has been doing that for you?” she asked Rebecca.

  “Abbott Fuller. He usually comes early in the morning and sets the milk in the springhouse, although I told him to sell it if he could.” Rebecca paused. “He’s only fourteen, but such a great help. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  “Then he’s sure to come in the morning,” Annie said, brightening.

  “I almost hope he doesn’t. If Isaac were to … If anything happened to that boy…” Rebecca turned her face away. “Oh, this is all my fault! I should’ve known what Isaac was doing, but he promised me a chance for a brand-new face—a better life, and by the time I knew what had been going on, it was too late.”

  Isaac had seen samples of Rebecca’s artwork several years before, she told them, and had approached her about painting scenes much like the ones Mrs. Hawthorne created. He could sell them, he told her, and she could invest the money. When she had enough, he assured her that he knew of a plastic surgeon in Atlanta who could give her the kind of face she had before she was scarred in the accident.

  “I didn’t know he was using Mrs. Hawthorne’s signature on my work until I’d been painting them for some time,” Rebecca told them. “And then he convinced me that I was even guiltier than he was and could be sent to prison for what I’d done. And, of course, he demanded I turn out more.”

  “Did he ever pay you?” Annie asked, and Rebecca nodded, pausing again to cough. “Oh, yes, I made sure of that in the very beginning. The money was deposited in a savings account—not enough for the surgery I need…” She shrugged. “But I had hoped that someday…”

  “I don’t understand why Mrs. Hawthorne wasn’t aware of what was going on,” Charlie said. “Didn’t she know these paintings were being sold with her signature?”

  “Mae Martha was a very private person—extremely shy, and too modest for her own good,” Rebecca said. “Her nephews ran most of her errands, so you seldom saw her out, and then, of course, Isaac sold enough of her paintings so that she had sufficient income.”

  “She must have begun to suspect things weren’t as they should be,” Miss Dimple reminded them. “That’s probably why she asked the Curtises to store several of her paintings in their church.”

  Charlie groaned. “And that rat Isaac ended up getting them back after all!”

  “B
ut why kill the goose that laid the golden eggs?” Annie asked.

  “Mrs. Hawthorne changed her will after her grandson was killed. Any paintings that remained, or the proceeds from them, are to go to the university.” Miss Dimple shivered in spite of herself and turned up the collar on her coat. “It looks like Isaac planned to make sure there weren’t many left.”

  Annie burrowed into a sparse mound of straw and hugged herself for warmth. “I can’t imagine anyone being cruel enough to do what he did to someone as kind as she was—and his own aunt, at that!”

  “He killed Bill Pitts, too, I’m sure of it,” Rebecca told them. “I had Bill mend a railing on my back porch a few weeks ago, and forgot he’d be able to see the room where I do my painting through the window there. He must’ve mentioned it to Isaac. Poor soul! How was he to know?” Rebecca buried her face in her hands.

  “What about Esau?” Charlie asked. “Is he in on this, too?”

  “I don’t think so,” Rebecca said. “Esau loved his aunt—checked on her almost every day, and I think Coralee was fond of her, too. She was the one who told me Esau took his aunt to see a lawyer about changing her will after Madison died.”

  Rebecca closed her eyes. Her chest rattled ominously when she breathed, and Miss Dimple touched her forehead with the back of her hand and found it scorching hot. Silently she signaled the others to move closer to provide extra warmth, and snuggled together, everyone grew quiet.

  Waiting … waiting … but waiting for what and for whom?

  * * *

  Dimple bolted upright at the sound of footsteps outside and a slant of light sliced through a crack between the rough boards behind them and wavered on the wall. She’d closed her eyes but hadn’t been able to sleep, and neither had Charlie nor Annie, who had continued to whisper spasmodically to one another. Rebecca slept fitfully, coughing in her sleep